The air was charged with anticipation. The burly Afrikaans farm manager was barking instructions to the farmworkers as they prepared to head into the Sauvignon Blanc vineyards to pick the fruit. A bakkie drew up with a truckload of women and children from town to help with the picking, their singing rising merrily out of the mist. Jack strode about, talking to the workers, taking the manager aside for a quick word, deriving pleasure from being busy. Angelica stood with Anna, Lucy, and Fiona, thrilled to be part of the scene.
The tractors started up, and they were all carted off into the fields as the sun began to rise. Angelica was given gloves, a pair of cutters, and a crate. Anna explained how to use them. Then they set to work side by side, chatting as the guinea fowl waddled up and down the aisles, pecking at the soil. It was strenuous work, but invigorating, and Angelica’s spirit swelled with pleasure as the light expanded and flooded the valley.
When the crates were full, they carried them to the tractor, which rattled back down the track to the winery. By ten o’clock the mist had lifted and the sun blazed down unobstructed. Half an hour later they were called to a halt, the sun now too hot to carry on. Finished for the day, they returned to the farm for refreshments. A table was spread out in the shade with traditional Cape food: bobotie, breyani, ghema curry, and koeksisters, washed down with wine. Angelica mingled with the workers, chatting and laughing, asking questions about their lives and listening with interest to their answers.
Angelica and the girls swam in the swimming pool to cool off before lunch. The pool was concealed behind a hedge with a pretty white hut to change in. Sun loungers were set in a row on the paving stones, and Anxious appeared with grenadilla juice on ice. Angelica wallowed in the cool water, taking in the fruit trees and climbing roses, listening to the girls’ light chatter and the twittering of birds. She felt stiff from riding the day before, and her arms ached in a pleasurable way from her morning’s work.
Just before lunch, Kat and Dan Scott arrived from the neighboring vineyard. Kat was athletic and blond, with pale blue eyes and full pink lips that curled into an infectious smile. Her long legs stretched out slim and brown beneath a miniskirt, and her toenails were painted bubblegum pink. Her handsome husband was unable to take his eyes off her and grinned indulgently at everything she said. Jack cooked the braai beneath a shady plane tree, the dogs circling like greedy wolves in the hope of scraps. Anna held court in the pagoda as Kat and Dan told them about their honeymoon in Brazil, and Dan, never one to miss an opportunity to amuse, told stories against himself that had everyone holding their stomachs from laughing. Angelica remembered when she and Olivier had been so happy. She glanced at Jack and knew that they could be happy like that, were they ever given the chance. Was it beyond probability that one day they might end up together, holding hands and flaunting their love like Kat and Dan?
Kat turned to Angelica. “Jack tells us you’re going to Warwick this afternoon.”
“Yes, I hear it’s beautiful.”
“Oh, it really is. It has a stunning view of Table Mountain. You must go for a sundowner.”
“It produces the most delicious wine,” said Dan knowledgeably. “The Sauvignon Blanc is unique because of a special hybrid of peach tree planted by a horticulturist called Professor Black. They were the first variety to withstand the southeaster. After the professor’s peaches were removed they planted the first Sauvignon Blanc. You can definitely taste peach in it. It has a unique bouquet.”
“Oh, and they have that gold cup that two people can drink out of at the same time.”
“Tell her the story,” Dan encouraged his wife.
Kat took Dan’s hand and smiled at him fondly, stirred by a happy memory they shared. “It’s a lovely story. Once there was a beautiful maiden called Kunigunde, who fell in love with a young, ambitious goldsmith. She refused the hand of many rich suitors and finally confessed her secret love to her father, a powerful nobleman. He was so angry that he threw the young goldsmith into the dungeon. Kunigunde’s heart was broken. She pined for him and began to fade away with grief. Finally, her father relented and told the goldsmith that if he could make a chalice from which two people could drink at the same time without spilling a single drop, he would be free to marry his daughter. Of course, he never believed such an invention was possible. But the goldsmith was inspired by love, and with love anything is possible. So he set about making this special cup. His fingers formed an exquisite skirt-shaped chalice, the like of which no one had ever seen before. At the top stood a model of his virtuous and beautiful Kunigunde, who, with upraised arms, held a small, movable cup. It was simple, yet ingenious. Two people could easily drink from it at the same time without spilling a single drop. The king was astonished but stood by his promise. No one was happier than the young couple, who earned his blessing to marry and lived happily ever after.” She gazed languidly at Dan. “We’ve drunk from it, haven’t we, Danny?”