A Vineyard Valentine

‘A slight change of plan, Nessa. I need you to divert across to Belle Rive on your way back.’ 

‘Belle Rive?’ Her pulse jumped and she grimaced. Just the mention of his place and her heartbeat quickened. What was she, twenty four or fourteen? She’d be blushing next. ‘I’m hardly the right choice to transport some VIP this afternoon, Jade. I’ve spent the day on fire patrol, remember?’ 

Initially Nessa had just been spotting bushfires. But when the wind changed, her work had turned into water drops, trying to stop a fire front threatening a small town further up the valley.  

Even in the helicopter it was hot work. She felt grimy and gritty and her work trousers and shirt were anything but pristine. 

She doubted any guests paying top dollar for a scenic ride from Belle Rive would appreciate sharing the chopper with her today.  

The vineyard was making a name for itself as one of the most elite in the Hunter Valley, in fact in the whole of Australia. The guests she flew there were wealthy and used to high standards. She smelled of smoke and probably sweat. Not the ideal chauffeur for a private chopper flight. 

‘I know, Nessa. It’s late and you’ve had a full day. Sorry to drop this on you just before you finish. But Ben’s adamant. No one else is available and it’s just ten minutes out of your way. It’s a very short job, apparently.’ 

Ben was the boss. He paid her salary for taking tourists on joy rides over the scenic vineyards or ferrying them further afield. 

Nessa sighed as she scanned the hills ahead, covered in dark green bush. In the distance the thick vegetation ended where pastureland and vineyards began.  

‘It’s not that I don’t want to. But I need a shower and a change of clothes before doing a VIP run.’  

Liar, liar, pants on fire.  

She didn’t want to go to Belle Rive looking like this. 

Because she might run into him. 

Nessa couldn’t help but remember the last time she’d seen Henri Levasseur, the wealthy Frenchman who’d bought the old Patterson vineyard and was revamping it, pouring in millions of investment dollars. She hadn’t seen him in person that time, but in a news report of the prestigious wine industry awards.  

He’d looked urbane and impossibly handsome in his dinner jacket and bowtie, his arm around a gorgeous blonde woman in shimmering aquamarine and what looked like diamonds at her throat and wrists.  

They’d looked perfect together, both sophisticated, both glamorous. Both at home in the prestigious Sydney hotel and in the spotlight. 

It could have been you. You could have said yes when he invited you. 

But you chickened out. 

She’d told herself she wasn’t ready for dating again. She’d even moved back east to get away from the memories and start over. Even agreed to live with her brother Vic, in the old family farmhouse for a while, until she made a new plan for her future.  

And then she’d crossed paths with Henri Levasseur.  

Despite her wariness, she couldn’t help but notice whenever he was around.  

Notice? Her whole body vibrated with awareness and pleasure/dismay when he was near, even when he was busy with other people.  

It was as if she were suddenly plugged into a powerful current of energy, her blood pumping faster, her breaths turning shallow, and something like excitement trembling under her skin. 

‘Nessa? Did you hear me?’ 

Nessa blinked and concentrated on the voice coming through her headset. ‘Sorry, Jade. It’s been a long day.’ 

‘Well, Ben assures me this won’t take long and at least you’ve got tomorrow off.’ 

‘If that fire doesn’t flare up again.’  

It was under control for now and the weather forecast was good but it had been a tough, unpredictable summer. 

‘Ben was adamant that you’ll have the day off after all the hours you’ve been putting in. We’ve got a full roster tomorrow so you can relax without a worry.’ 

Jade signed off as Nessa flew over a steep ridgeline, the chopper’s shadow leading the way as she headed east. Closer to the vineyards and Belle Rive.  

Closer to Henri Levasseur. 

She tried to recall her plans for tomorrow. Chores, probably. Definitely grocery shopping. Vic was easy company and great at keeping her ancient car roadworthy, but if she left it to him they’d live on a diet of pizza and sausages grilled on the barbecue. 

Unfortunately her shopping list was nowhere near as interesting as Henri, the man who’d fascinated her since she first saw him in his suavely tailored suit, escorting some VIP guests she’d delivered to Belle Rive. 

He was smooth, charming and with an accent that turned her insides to mush. Fluent English courtesy of his Australian mother, but with the most gorgeous French flourish. He was intelligent too, dark eyes flashing with understanding. 

Plus he was considerate. She’d seen the way he welcomed ultra-wealthy guests with gracious ease that had them beaming within seconds. But she’d also witnessed him reassuring Sally, the nervous trainee waitress who’d dropped a tray of canapés at a posh reception in the newly landscaped outdoor events area. 

And he always treated Nessa as if she were someone special instead of merely the person hired to transport him or his guests.  

He made her feel that he saw her. Not just the qualified pilot with her hair ruthlessly pulled back and her no-nonsense dark trousers and shirt. 

As if he saw Nessa the person. He took time to talk with her, asking her opinions or about herself, and really listening. 

He made her feel… That was just it, he made her feel. 

Nessa sighed. Maybe she’d been a coward, not accepting his invitation to the awards night. If it had been something more her style, like lunch at the local pub, or a drink after work to watch the sun go down, she might have accepted. 

But Henri was rich and came from a different world, even if geographically they now lived quite close. There was such a huge gulf between them.  

She’d never been to university. Never been overseas. Never had money. The closest thing she had to dressy clothes was a strappy green dress that brought out the colour of her eyes and a pair of low-heeled bronze sandals her old flatmate had bought on a whim and found didn’t fit. 

Nessa remembered Vic whingeing two years ago about the rich Frenchman who’d bought Pattersons’ while she’d been living on the other side of Australia.  

The newcomer was intent on doing things his way, throwing money at the place, striding about in expensive clothes while Vic and the other workers stood in the dawn frost, river mist up to their knees, pruning vines with frozen fingers. 

Over the months Vic had reported all the changes the newcomer introduced. Turning the old Patterson homestead into a must-visit vineyard restaurant for those with money to burn. 

Vic hadn’t approved, had been doubtful about the production changes in the winery. Had despised Henri as much for his wealth and privilege as for the changes he brought. Though, when Vic had returned to prune at Belle Rive last year, his complaints had been muted and he’d actually murmured approvingly about some of the innovations. 

Nessa pursed her lips and concentrated on the wind change as she cleared the last ridge before the vineyards began. They spread out before her, the land more golden than green in this summer heat.  

Despite working the fire earlier today, she’d rather be here in the chopper than down there, harvesting grapes. It was all hands to the pump at the moment, racing to get the last of the red grapes in before the weather turned. 

Her mouth curled in a self-derisory grimace. It was easier to think about the harvest than about Henri. 

Because in her heart of hearts, Nessa suspected she’d made a mistake. Her first thought when he’d asked her to go to the awards night was Yes! She wanted to be with him, to explore the sizzle of attraction, and the curiosity to know him better. 

It had been so easy to think about how different they were, all the ways their worlds didn’t intersect, of Vic’s initial disapproval of the man. But had she created those objections because she was simply too scared? Had she let past romantic disappointment turn her into a coward? 

No time now for soul-searching. 

She turned the chopper north, above a narrow country road with wide grass verges. 

Nessa frowned, then smiled as she realised what she saw below. On the left of the road someone had mown a heart in the long grass. It reminded her of aerial footage of the Tour de France, where enterprising locals mowed pasture into images of cyclists or used hay bales to create transitory works of art. 

There was another, on the side of the road just a few hundred metres away. It was a bit wobbly but definitely a heart. She guessed it was about the size of a small car. 

But why hearts? 

Then it clicked. It was Valentine’s Day tomorrow, a date she didn’t celebrate, but she hadn’t missed the red-and-white cards and heart decorations when she’d shopped last weekend. 

Strange that someone should bother creating hearts on such a quiet road. Presumably their loved one would drive this way tomorrow. 

Nessa shook her head. Even with a ride-on mower, it must have been hot, thankless work in this heat.  

Not far now. She’d be at Belle Rive in five minutes. 

She’d do her job calmly and quickly. Then she’d go home, have a long shower and forget all about Henri.  

She’d turned him down and knew that was the end of it. There’d be no more invitations from him. 

Yet instead of feeling pleased, she felt… 

There was another one, a much bigger heart on a slope beside a crossroads. It was lopsided but clear. 

Despite her niggling sense of sadness, Nessa smiled. She hoped the lovers, whoever they were, had a happy ending. 

Down by the creek was another one, this time a perfectly symmetrical heart. Though it looked like whoever did it had got into difficulty on the slope. There were gouge marks and bare earth showing through the grass, plus a long trail right down to the bottom of the slope then up again as if they’d lost control of their machine. But the place was deserted except for a white ute driving by. Whoever had made the mark had got safely away. 

Almost there. Would she see Henri? Would he be waving off his guests? 

Knowing her luck he’d be there, looking good enough to eat, while she looked like she’d spent the day working hard. 

That’s nothing to be ashamed of. No man worth his salt would care about that. 

Instead of pursuing that thought Nessa took longer than usual on her regular survey of the instruments before she swung around towards Belle Rive. 

Ahead of her was another heart then another, both huge. Her forehead crinkled. Would you see those from the road? The second one was definitely on Belle Rive land. 

She hovered over the pair, noticing colour against the parched gold of mown grass. Curious, she descended a little and saw one of the hearts had a pink centre. But even as she recognised that, the downdraught from the rotors lifted the colour off the ground. It wasn’t solid but lots of tiny pieces. Like leaves. Or rose petals! 

Quickly she rose, horrified at the thought of destroying the decoration some ardent lover had painstakingly produced. Guilt bit hard. If she knew who’d made it she’d apologise, help them fix the wrecked design. But she saw no-one nearby. All she could do was head on to Belle Rive. 

It opened up before her, the collection of buildings and its beautiful new gardens nestling on the ridge with 360° views. The vineyard sprawled down the slopes towards the encircling creek. In the late afternoon sun it looked glorious. 

The helipad was ahead but before she got there, Nessa noticed something out of place. The carefully nurtured deep-green lawn had been left to grow and in its centre was a massive heart, perfectly formed and decorated in a profusion of colour. Petals? 

Nessa just hoped it was far enough away that she didn’t disturb it as she landed. 

She was almost there when she saw more. Someone sitting on a big mower. Male, by the look of those wide shoulders, and wearing a broad-brimmed hat. 

He was writing something in the grass, shaving letters into the lawn. Be my valentine 

He was almost finished, just completing what looked like a question mark. 

Nessa grinned as she landed the helicopter. At least now she’d find out who the lovestruck local was. And she could apologise for damaging the heart further down the hill, offer to help rectify it. 

Minutes later, Nessa strode towards the gardens, tucking in her shirt then smoothing back her newly redone ponytail. 

Ahead, the guy on the mower had stopped. She saw him lift his hat and wipe his forearm across his brow. He wore dirty work boots and faded jeans that clung to strong thighs. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows to reveal a dusting of dark hair. 

She sighed. She’d always had a thing about men with nice forearms and he definitely qualified.  

What does it matter? You’re not in the market for a guy and he’s taken anyway.  

To put in so much effort to impress a lover… Just the thought of it made her stomach curl with pleasure. 

‘Hi. I love the hearts. Someone is going to be very impressed. But I’m afraid I got too close to one and disturbed the pink…’ 

The man climbed off the massive mower and unfurled himself. He was tall, straight-backed and rangy. Then he turned. 

Nessa blinked, her mouth gaping. ‘Henri?’ 

Why she made it a question she didn’t know. Obviously it was him. He took off his sunglasses and she saw those dark, dark eyes. Mesmerising they were, almost black yet with an enticing glitter that always drew her in. 

She’d taken a few steps closer before she realised what she was doing and pulled up abruptly. 

‘Nessa! You’re early.’ 

She looked at her watch. ‘I am? I was told to come straight here.’ 

For a second she saw what looked like panic on Henri’s perfectly sculpted features. She’d never seen it before and it didn’t sit well on those high cheekbones and winged black eyebrows, much less the stubbled, solid jaw. 

Nessa hitched another breath. She’d never seen Henri Levasseur anything but perfectly shaven and perfectly poised. 

He dragged off his hat, his black hair stuck to his forehead, a smudge of dirt on one cheek as if he’d rubbed it with a grimy hand. 

He looked even more gorgeous than when he wore formal black tie. He looked rugged and earthy and incredibly sexy.  

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. 

Her tongue started working, finding something to babble about while she struggled against the competing impulses to run back to the chopper and to move in close, too close. ‘How long did it take to make all the hearts?’ 

He shrugged. ‘Most of the day. With harvest on I spent a couple of hours early checking on the pickers and the grape processing, but most of the day.’ 

He paused and for the first time Nessa felt he wasn’t sure what to say next. It was odd. Henri was so self-assured, never at a loss for words. 

She cleared her throat. ‘Well, whoever she is, I’m sure she’ll be blown away by the effort you put in. It’s a lovely gesture. Wonderful,’ she added when he stayed silent. 

‘She?’ 

‘The woman you did this for.’ She gestured to the Valentine’s message disfiguring the perfect lawn. His gardener would probably have conniptions when he saw it. 

Still he said nothing and a new thought occurred, accompanied by a wash of relief. Maybe he hadn’t done this for himself. Maybe it was for a guest. Though in that case why would Henri do the hard work himself? 

‘I assume she hasn’t arrived yet?’ 

He shook his head, pacing towards her, closing the space between them until she had to tilt her chin to meet his eyes. Her nostrils tickled as she inhaled the wonderful smell of freshly mown grass, clean male sweat and the tiniest hint of that intriguing aftershave he wore, sharp and citrusy. 

‘She’s definitely arrived.’ 

‘Oh?’ Her heart dropped. ‘So you want me to take her, her and you, somewhere?’ 

Nessa dragged her gaze from his, wondering how long it would take him to shower and change. How long before she had to fly him and his girlfriend to their destination? 

‘You’ve got it wrong. There’s no-one for you to take anywhere.’ 

Her head snapped around to his again. ‘What do you mean? You said she was here.’ 

‘That’s right.’ His voice ground so low that she felt it like a reverberation deep inside. The sensation distracted her for a split-second so she didn’t realise he’d moved until a calloused hand engulfed hers. 

Nessa swallowed. ‘Henri?’ 

‘Nessa.’ As ever, the way he said it with that distinctive accent sent a thrill zipping and curling through her body. ‘It’s you, Nessa. I did it for you.’ 

‘I…’ For the first time she could remember she had no words. 

‘I’ve taken my time, not wanting to push you. I sensed you were cautious. I told myself maybe you didn’t like Frenchmen. Or winemakers. Maybe you preferred blond men.’ He shook his head and she saw a knowing gleam in those dark eyes. ‘But then sometimes you’d look at me with such yearning—’ 

‘I did not!’ 

‘You did.’ He held up his other hand when she would have interrupted. ‘I know because I recognise the feeling. It’s how I feel about you. I’m attracted to you, Nessa. I want to know you better. I want you to know me better. I want to spend time with you.’ 

‘You’re serious!’ 

‘Of course I’m serious. Do you think I’d spend the day out in this heat on a mower, during the middle of vintage, at the busiest possible time, unless I was serious?’ 

Nessa couldn’t help it. She laughed. Not a giggle or a tiny chuckle, but a rich, full-bodied laugh. Because she knew how frantic harvest was. His outrage was real. 

As if reading her mind, he took her other hand in his and murmured, ‘This is important to me. You’re important to me.’ 

She couldn’t resist asking, ‘Even though I don’t fit in your rich VIP world?’ 

He shook his head, grinning. ‘If only you knew. Yes, we Levasseurs brush up well. We know how to sell a prestigious product. But I was brought up working first in the vineyard then in the winery. I might have a custom-made tuxedo but I have multiple pairs of sturdy work boots too.’ 

Nessa swayed closer, drawn by that boyish grin. 

‘Besides, you do fit that aspect of my world. I’ve seen you with those so-called VIPs and you fit right in. In fact they can’t hold a candle to you.’ 

‘Flatterer.’ 

‘Seductress.’ 

Her heart performed some strange manoeuvre as if it rolled over in her chest. ‘Are we flirting?’ 

‘I sincerely hope so.’ 

He lifted her hand and pressed warm lips to her fingers. A dart of heat shot down her spine, melting her knees so she had to grab him for balance. Fortunately he seemed only too eager to hold her. 

‘So, what does being your Valentine entail?’ 

His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘You know the guest cottage I had built further down the slope?’ 

Nessa nodded. 

‘The decorator’s finished. It’s all set for its first guest. I know you’ve got tomorrow off.’ At her raised eyebrows he went on. ‘I cleared it with Ben for you to leave the helicopter here tonight and tomorrow, if you want to stay.’ 

He paused as if waiting for her to object but Nessa said nothing. 

‘The chef’s preparing a special dinner for us and I thought we could eat down at the cottage. It has a wonderful view. Very romantic.’ Again that hint of a grin. ‘Your brother Vic brought an overnight bag with clean clothes so you can stay the night. That way we can drink with dinner if you like and you won’t need to fly back to base.’ He paused. ‘And in the morning, I’ll come back down from the house and we’ll breakfast in the cottage together. If you like, we could spend the whole day together.’ 

Nessa surveyed his serious face. His hopeful eyes.  

Henri had organised all this for her. The romantic gesture, the careful arrangements and hard work designed to make this easy and enticing for her. He’d even enlisted Vic’s assistance. 

He offered her a luxurious escape, a romantic Valentine’s Day and the chance to get to know each other better.  

Yet he took nothing for granted. He hadn’t assumed he’d stay in the cottage with her. 

Henri Levasseur was attractive. Something about him called to her, drawing her in the most elemental way. But he was also thoughtful and respectful, and she loved his sense of humour. 

Nessa leaned close. ‘Yes. Yes, Henri, I’d love to be your Valentine.’