Chapter 21

Maggie's question about the Wine Growers' talk made me think. I had sort of shoved it aside because of Chaz and Michiko and baby Rachel. It had been very strange. They had asked me to get to the Wine Education Centre by 11. They showed me into a room with about two dozen chairs and a group of men standing near a table with several bottles – each in an ice bucket – and an array of six or seven dozen glasses. As I came in, I noted one bloke spit into one of two hour-glass shaped metal spittoons that were near the ends of the table. "Our members always taste each other's wines before a meeting," my host murmured. "There are three whites today." I nodded. I was offered one.

I took it, swirled, sniffed, sipped, and then drank. "Interesting," I said. "Pears. But a bit chalky." He stared at me as though I had sprouted a second head.

"It's a Chardonnay from Leeuwin Estate."

"Then it's the limestone. Interesting." I can be a snob when it's called for. A bit later, the meeting was called to order and I was introduced as an "etymologist" (I didn't bother to correct the moron) from the CSIRO.

I thanked the group. I said that I knew many – perhaps all – of them were worried about phylloxera. And I said they were right to be. I told a bit of the history in 19^th century France and the US. I mentioned that for a while people thought Australia was "immune," but that the first blight had been identified near Geelong in 1875, and the recently infestation had been detected in Victoria in 2000 and in NSW and South Australia by last year. I spoke of my brother's fears. "What can we do?" came a voice.

"Be vigilant. Be very vigilant. To get here, those aphids will have to be brought here. Examine every single rootstock before you graft or plant it. Look at the undersides of grape leaves. The current recommendation is that if you discover an infested planting, burn everything within a five kilometre radius." There was an audible gasp.

"That could mean millions of dollars."

"Right. And if you don't do it, it could be the end of the wine industry." They were very quiet. "I've brought some photos – of the leaves, of the rootstock, and of the aphid. I've also got some pamphlets. But, if you really want to understand, there's a book by a bloke named Christy Campbell that came out last year in England. The fastest way to get it is from Amazon in Japan, I found." There was a laugh.

I spoke for nearly an hour. There weren't any real questions. I handed out my new business cards. "If you've any questions, phone. If you get a female voice, talk to her – her dad works for Leeuwin."

"My Shirl," came a voice.

"And a really fine young woman," I said. He looked as though he'd glow in the dark.

"We've a buffet lunch in the next room," my host said.

I stayed another hour and then went to my office. I had thought there'd be more questions. I'd gotten the whole thing wrong. Maybe I wasn't cut out for the public part of this.

I parked at the Resort – which looked busier than it had earlier. I went in to search for Weena. Once I was inside it wasn't much of a chore. The lobby was noisy and the bar was noisier. I don't know how much Weena had had, but it was a lot. She had a bottle of beer in one hand and was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief in the other. She was laughing at something a short stockman – maybe a ringer – had said. I walked over and took away her beer. She wheeled and realized.

"Gordy! This is..." She looked puzzled.

"Arold," said her companion.

"Hey, Harold," I said. "How much has she had?"

"Dunno. Six, mebbe seven."

"I think I'll take her upstairs."

"You her old man?"

"Yep."

"Key's stickin' outta left pocket."

I looked down and saw the tag. I pulled it out and looked at the number. "Come on, sweetheart. We're going to lie down."

"OK. Bye ... bye..."

I led her by the arm, but was carrying nearly all her weight by the time we got to a door I could unlock. I sat her on the bed and pulled off her boots. I unfastened her jeans and unbuttoned most of her shirt. I pulled a sheet over her. She was out light a light. If it was six beers, her bladder would wake her soon.

I looked around and saw that she'd hung her dress and my suit before becoming the belle of the bar. I turned out the light and went back to the party. The half-bottle was still where I had set it. I saw Charlie and went over to him, taking a warm swig and setting the bottle out of the way. I'd get a cold replacement in a while.

I spotted Harold. "Hey, thank you."

"What fer?"

"Taking care of my missus."

"No problem. She's a good 'un. She was goin' strong until she started laughin' like crazy."

"Yep. She is a good one. 'Scuse me, though."

"Gordy! Am I glad to see you!"

"Charlie!"

"I thought I saw Weena a while back..."

"You probably did. She had a half dozen quick beers with Harold, and I took her to our room. She's passed out."

Charlie started to laugh, then he slapped his knee. "That's great! That's so-o-o right! A hung over matron of honour! Maddy'll be tied!" I nodded. "Anyways, I wanted to give you these." He handed me a small, velvet-covered box. I peeked. There were two rings inside.

"One for her finger, one for your nose?"

"Right. Get yourself a drink."

"I will. Is there a rehearsal?"

"Yep. Mornin' at 10. Real thing's at 11. Then food and drink till you drop."

"OK. Dinner tonight?"