“So, any trysts since the château?” I asked, turning the spotlight back on Craig. He blushed again, so utterly adorable I wanted to pinch his cheeks. “So, that’s a yes, then?”
“One of the reps. Isla. She’s Scottish.”
“From Lauterbrunnen?” He nodded. “Hmm. Well, good for you.” He dropped his head and stared at his lap. “Want me to change the subject?”
“More than anything.”
“Right. Oh, I meant to ask you—sorry—how’s your mum?” The extent of my self-absorption was becoming more evident every day. I squirmed under my own scrutiny.
“Oh, yeah, actually, she’s great. Well, hang on, she’s kinda upset right now, but it’s because she and her boyfriend broke up.”
“You mean the horrid boyfriend?”
“That’s the one.”
“So, ultimately a good thing, but her heart is currently broken.”
“Exactly.” He ran a hand through his hair and the gesture nearly undid me. I hadn’t seen him do that before and it was so Jean-Luc. “I’m mostly relieved, you know. And when I get home, I can be there to support her, but she’s better off without him. He was really bad for her.”
“So, good news then?”
“Yep.”
“She’s lucky to have you.”
He smiled. “Thanks. I just want her to be happy, you know. It’ll make it easier when I do go away to school. Hey, I’m gonna let Louise come back now, ’kay?”
“Sure. Thanks for the chat,” I added lightly. He smiled again and he and Lou swapped places.
“He’s such a sweetheart,” she said as she sat down.
“He is.”
***
“Hey, Sez,” I said quietly. I wanted to talk to my sister and I’d decided to call from the coach instead of waiting for the next rest stop.
“Hi, Cat! How’s it all going? How’s Jean-Luc?” I winced at his name.
“Um, actually, that’s why I’m calling.”
“Oh, sounds ominous. What happened?”
“I think he has feelings for me, major ones.”
“Oh, wow!” I was silent for a beat and she leapt back in with, “Hang on, what’s wrong with that?”
“Well, you know. I don’t want anything serious. That hasn’t changed.”
“But, isn’t it different with Jean-Luc?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
I was quiet again, wishing I’d texted instead of called. “Look,” she said, “I’m a little confused about what you want me to say.”
“That makes two of us.” It was her turn to go quiet. Maybe I’d lost the connection. “Sez?”
“I’m here.”
“I—look, sorry, I probably shouldn’t have called. It’s just—I feel like an utter cow, Sez.”
“I’m sorry, Cat. That sounds awful.”
“Yes.”
“Look, when you get home, FaceTime me and we’ll have a proper chat, okay?”
“Yep. Will do. Bye.”
“Hey. I love you.”
“I love you too.” I tapped the big red button on my phone. Well, that went well. I snuck a glance at Lou and she was clearly pretending she hadn’t heard the whole exchange. “What?” I snapped, instantly regretting it. “Sorry, Lou.”
“It’s okay.”
Why was I treating the people I cared about like rubbish? I gave myself a mental slap about the face.
“We should do the wine tasting,” I said.
“In St Goar? I thought you wanted to avoid the excursions.”
“Yes, I know, but I’d like to go. Basically, I want to get drunk.” At that moment, getting drunk and not feeling anything was preferable to wallowing.
“At a wine tasting?”
“Yes. Don’t judge me.”
“No judgement. How much is it?”
“I think it’s only ten euros. Doesn’t matter, though. My treat.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I’d like to.”
“Sure, okay, thank you. Want me to check with the girls, see if they want to go?”
“I can.”
“Eh, I’m on the aisle. I’ll go.”
She returned a few minutes later. “They were already going. I asked Georgina if it was too late to add us, but it’s fine.”
“Oh, good. Thanks for taking care of that.”
“She looks terrible, like she hasn’t had any sleep.”
“Georgina? What’s going on there, do you think?” She started to stand up. “Lou?” I grabbed her arm and she sat back down. “You can’t go talk to her.”
“She may need a friendly ear. The whole time we were talking, she looked like she was about to cry.”
“It’s nice you want to help, but you’d have an audience.” A frown skimmed across her face.
“I feel bad I left her there like that.”
“If it was me, I wouldn’t want to have a heart-to-heart up there in front of the whole group.”
“Yeah, okay, you’re probably right. I’ll see if I can get a moment with her later. The poor thing.” Lou was right. I couldn’t find a shred of the annoyance I’d felt when she’d been “Georg-bloody-ina”. In its place was curiosity and a smidgeon of pity. Well, maybe more than a smidgeon.
***
I grew up in a family of wine lovers, and whenever I flew home to visit Australia, we’d invariably drive out to the Hunter Valley, the closest wine region to Sydney, and spend the day going from winery to winery doing tastings. My dad would drive, and if one of us said a particular wine was worth trying, he’d taste it and spit. He took his role as skipper—or designated driver—seriously.
The Hunter’s tasting rooms typically had high ceilings and glass for days, many of them overlooking neat rows of vines that tumbled over gently rolling hills. Timber abounded, as did polished concrete floors and furniture made from old wine barrels. More often than not, the winery had a dog, usually friendly, often old, and always named something quintessentially Australian, like Mac, or Bluey, or Sally.
Our late-afternoon wine tasting in St Goar, a quaint and welcoming town nestled in the Rhine Valley, was quite different from my experiences in the Hunter Valley. It was held in a giant cellar, for a start—not a pane of glass in sight. The walls were made of brick and the low ceiling was raw wooden beams which had been smoothed by time. It was cool, as you’d expect from a cellar, but not dank or musty. We sat at long tables of polished blonde wood, and there were candles interspersed every few feet which, along with the soft electric lighting overhead, gave off a warm glow.
A handful of young women and men scurried about, pouring generous splashes of wine into the four glasses set before each of us—three white and one red—and placing large platters of soft cheese and pumpernickel-style bread along the table. It had been quite a good turn-out with about twenty people from the tour taking part.
Once everything was on the tables, our host called for our attention and told us his name was Gunther. He was long and lean, with angular cheekbones that would have made Johnny Depp envious. His English was slightly accented but fluent, and when he smiled at us, I found myself smiling back.