Rolfe. I…I think you and I are going to be gute freunde.’ Sighing, she leant her head back against the leather seat and closed her eyes.
With her eyes closed he was able to look his fill at her and he did until the tightness in his chest grew to being almost unbearable. Good friends. He knew he wanted more than friendship. His jaws clamped together until the muscle hurt. Yes, much more. Agitated by the progression of his thoughts he ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair. He found her watching him thoughtfully through a veil of half-lowered lashes.
‘I like your hair, Rolfe, the way it curls around your neck and its waviness. It’s not like Kurt’s, his is so straight and short.’
Her words were slow and slurred, then she reached up to finger comb several locks back off Rolfe’s face. He drew back, retreating from her intimate gesture, and cleared the huskiness from his throat. It broke the sense of intimacy between them and, embarrassed, he turned the key and started the engine.
It was pleasant listening to the sound of her laugh as he drove down the darkened, dirt road. Her laughter sounded so free, with an undertone of sexiness to it. ‘Go faster, Rolfe. I love speed. Ilove to feel the wind racing through my hair. It’s so exhilarating.’
He glanced at her, saw her expression, how lovely she looked and though common sense told him not to, the urge to impress, to please, took hold of him. He pushed his foot down harder on the accelerator and the Mercedes leapt forward.
‘Wheee!’ Marta squealed. ‘Wunderbar.’
One of the back wheels hit a depression in the road. The steering wheel spun sideways and for a few seconds he lost control. The car slid off the verge of the road and as he applied his foot to the brakes, hard, the car came to an abrupt stop but not before the front fender made contact with a fallen tree branch. Angry, Rolfe hit the steering wheel hard with his hands. Several seconds later he got out of the car to inspect the damage but even with the headlights on it was difficult to see any scratches or dents. He would need the cold, hard light of day for that. ‘Damn. Kurt will kill me.’
‘I’ll tell him it was my fault, that I made you speed.’
He rolled his eyes at her. ‘I don’t think that will impress him.’ Nor his father! They would both be angry with him.
Marta patted his knee, just once. ‘Nein, it will be all right, you’ll see.’
He didn’t know why but he believed her. His gaze narrowed as he turned his head to stare at her, wondering…was he seeing another dimension in Marta, an ability to manipulate things to her point of view? He was beginning tosee that there was more to her than the surface glamour, the charm. And, agonisingly, he found that made her all the more intriguing to him.
Oh, Dad… Carla looked up from the journal. She had been concentrating so hard on reading that her eyes were sore, then, with a tiny gasp of surprise she realised that she was more than halfway through the journal. It didn’t take much imagination on her part to see where the entries were heading—to a one-sided love affair. Was that why he’d left the Barossa, she wondered, because he grew to being unable to bear the sight of Kurt and Marta together? But she shouldn’t presume…Her gaze dropped to the next page.
In his navy singlet, rolled-up shorts and muchworn workboots he looked no more the owner of Krugerhoff than his workmates, Otto and Ernst. The sweet-sour smell of the continuing fermentation process was enough to take one’s breath away in the confines of the large tin shed jokingly called the winery, as opposed to a distillery where brandy and other fortified alcohol was made. The three had racked the clean juice away from the sediment and were checking and debating how much yeast should be added. He listened intently to Otto and Ernst, and had to trust their collective judgement after years of experience in winemaking.
Marta’s unexpected arrival
With her eyes closed he was able to look his fill at her and he did until the tightness in his chest grew to being almost unbearable. Good friends. He knew he wanted more than friendship. His jaws clamped together until the muscle hurt. Yes, much more. Agitated by the progression of his thoughts he ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair. He found her watching him thoughtfully through a veil of half-lowered lashes.
‘I like your hair, Rolfe, the way it curls around your neck and its waviness. It’s not like Kurt’s, his is so straight and short.’
Her words were slow and slurred, then she reached up to finger comb several locks back off Rolfe’s face. He drew back, retreating from her intimate gesture, and cleared the huskiness from his throat. It broke the sense of intimacy between them and, embarrassed, he turned the key and started the engine.
It was pleasant listening to the sound of her laugh as he drove down the darkened, dirt road. Her laughter sounded so free, with an undertone of sexiness to it. ‘Go faster, Rolfe. I love speed. Ilove to feel the wind racing through my hair. It’s so exhilarating.’
He glanced at her, saw her expression, how lovely she looked and though common sense told him not to, the urge to impress, to please, took hold of him. He pushed his foot down harder on the accelerator and the Mercedes leapt forward.
‘Wheee!’ Marta squealed. ‘Wunderbar.’
One of the back wheels hit a depression in the road. The steering wheel spun sideways and for a few seconds he lost control. The car slid off the verge of the road and as he applied his foot to the brakes, hard, the car came to an abrupt stop but not before the front fender made contact with a fallen tree branch. Angry, Rolfe hit the steering wheel hard with his hands. Several seconds later he got out of the car to inspect the damage but even with the headlights on it was difficult to see any scratches or dents. He would need the cold, hard light of day for that. ‘Damn. Kurt will kill me.’
‘I’ll tell him it was my fault, that I made you speed.’
He rolled his eyes at her. ‘I don’t think that will impress him.’ Nor his father! They would both be angry with him.
Marta patted his knee, just once. ‘Nein, it will be all right, you’ll see.’
He didn’t know why but he believed her. His gaze narrowed as he turned his head to stare at her, wondering…was he seeing another dimension in Marta, an ability to manipulate things to her point of view? He was beginning tosee that there was more to her than the surface glamour, the charm. And, agonisingly, he found that made her all the more intriguing to him.
Oh, Dad… Carla looked up from the journal. She had been concentrating so hard on reading that her eyes were sore, then, with a tiny gasp of surprise she realised that she was more than halfway through the journal. It didn’t take much imagination on her part to see where the entries were heading—to a one-sided love affair. Was that why he’d left the Barossa, she wondered, because he grew to being unable to bear the sight of Kurt and Marta together? But she shouldn’t presume…Her gaze dropped to the next page.
In his navy singlet, rolled-up shorts and muchworn workboots he looked no more the owner of Krugerhoff than his workmates, Otto and Ernst. The sweet-sour smell of the continuing fermentation process was enough to take one’s breath away in the confines of the large tin shed jokingly called the winery, as opposed to a distillery where brandy and other fortified alcohol was made. The three had racked the clean juice away from the sediment and were checking and debating how much yeast should be added. He listened intently to Otto and Ernst, and had to trust their collective judgement after years of experience in winemaking.
Marta’s unexpected arrival
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