“She likes me,” said Angelica, patting her thick neck.
“She’s a good girl,” said Faezel.
“Just the sort of horse I need.”
Jack took her foot and lifted her into the saddle. “How does it feel up there?”
“Oh yes, it’s all coming back to me now.”
“All right?”
“Yes. Lovely view.”
She took the reins and tried to remember what to do with them. Jack swung into the saddle with the artlessness of a man who has spent most of his life on a horse. He thanked the boys, then trotted up to the terrace, where Anxious stood with the picnic basket. He heaved it behind the saddle, then tied it securely in a specially tailored harness. “Thanks, Anxious. We’re all set. See you later.”
“I’m glad your friend is wearing a hat. That skin is like an orchid.”
“Anxious wants to be reassured that you put on sun cream.”
“Of course,” Angelica shouted back.
“Does she know how to ride?”
“If she doesn’t, she will by sunset.” He chuckled as Anxious shook her head disapprovingly, and cantered back to Angelica, who hadn’t yet dared move. “Let’s go.”
Tentatively, she gave the horse a squeeze. She needn’t have bothered. Fennella knew to walk alongside Jack’s horse, Artemis.
“You know Franschhoek was once known as Olifantshoek, Elephant’s Corner, because, being bordered on three sides by mountains, the valley was ideal for elephants to raise their young. They liked the isolation.”
“Are there any elephants here now?”
“No, but we have loads of other wildlife. We might see some steenbok, and of course there are plenty of birds where we’re going.”
They made their way up a dusty track, alongside a thicket of pine trees. The vineyard stretched out lush and luxuriant, and in the distance they could see the grape pickers among the vines like giant bees, the buzz of their chatter rising into the still air.
“All this is yours?”
“All mine,” he replied proudly. “Before me it belonged to my father and before him to my grandfather, who bought it as a young man.”
“Is your father still alive?”
“No, he died when I was a teenager.”
“It can’t be easy growing up without your father.”
“I still miss him. He was a wonderful man.”
“And your mother?”
“She lives in Denmark. She tried to make us all leave with her, but I don’t hold the same fear of the place as she does.”
“She fears it? Why?”
“South Africa is very troubled. You know that. Crime is rife. It’s not a safe country to live in anymore. But we’ve been lucky.”
“Your mother went far.”
“She’s Danish, so she went home. She lives in the countryside, in a crumbling old farmhouse, with my brother and his wife and their children. They come out every year, and I’ve made the detour to see them on the way back from London. Wild horses wouldn’t drag her here. E-mail has reduced the gap between us, and we speak a lot on the telephone.”
“So you have no family here anymore, besides Anna and your daughters.”
“That’s right. It’s just us now.”
“How sad that so beautiful a place is marred by crime.”
“When you see the differences between the haves and the have-nots, it’s really not at all surprising. But it’s the price you have to pay to live in such glory.”
“It’s a hive of activity over there,” she said as they approached.
“We’re two weeks late in starting this year due to the unusually long winter rains.”
At the end of each row was a red or white rosebush, planted to reveal the first signs of disease before it hit the vines. A flurry of butterflies fluttered in the air, dropping onto the flowers to sip the nectar.
“Look, there’s Lucy.”
Lucy looked up over the vine and waved vigorously. Beyond her, Anna was busy picking and chatting to the African women who came from nearby towns to help. The sound of singing drifted down the narrow avenues between the vines with the chuckling of black guinea fowl.
“What happens once the grapes are picked?”
“You’re really interested?”
“Of course. I’ve never thought beyond my glass of Sauvignon.”
“Then I’ll give you a tour before we head off into the hills.”
Angelica was enchanted by everything at Rosenbosch, from the beauty of the countryside to the functional charm of the winery. They tied the horses in the courtyard outside the farm buildings, designed in the same Dutch style as the main house, and Jack took her inside to show her the winemaker, stopping to chat with workers on the way. Finally, down in the dank darkness of the barrel cellar, they were alone.