Valley of Sinners Ch. 07

They went to Neven's residences in the Rover. The three houses of the Bronkovic brothers are adjacent at the end of a cul-del-sac lined with trees, a most attractive avenue. Although Neven's is the larger home, they all were relatively modest though well-presented.

"The boys worked at nights and weekends and built all three homes," Hope said. "They are extremely good with their hands."

"Especially Neven," whispered Nash but Hope missed its significance, not realizing it was a smart crack

"Welcome, welcome," boomed Neven, opening the door.

"Hope, you look beautiful as even. Please come in."

"Neven, this is a researcher, Nash Carson, who is doing some important research for me. He's staying at my home."

"Hullo, Nash. Yes, we've met before down at the winery and you're playing golf in our foursome this Sunday."

"Good evening, Neven. Nice to meet you again."

Hope could see why people feared Neven -- he was much taller than and twice as thick through the chest as Nash and half as wide again across the shoulder. His strength was ever so apparent.

"Welcome, Nash and Hope," Mimi said arriving at the door. She kissed Hope warmly and kissed Nash lightly on the cheek -- just a quick, no-fuss tap. She was dressed very similar to Hope.

"You two know each other?" Neven frowned, causing Hope to catch her breath.

"Yes, I first met her when Mimi showed my through the winery -- you were too busy to see me, remember?" Nash said smoothly. "I picked up the Tait's wine order from the winery yesterday and Mimi served me, and I often chat with her in the coffee shop early mornings when I pop into see my friend Alayna."

"You know Alayna?"

"Yes, I date her from time to time."

Neven smiled. "She's one hot chick, that one."

"Neven!" Mimi chided, and he opened his hands expressively asking, "What?"

In the kitchen Hope handed across the apple crumble and the bottle of cream they'd picked up in the village, and Nash put on the table two bottles of French red Hope had asked him to carry.

"Oh, oh," Neven said. "Very nice, Hope. Look Mimi."

She looked at the label and became quite excited, kissing Hope.

"This wine, Nash, comes barely a dozen kilometers from where my mother was born. It is famous in France but not really know in New Zealand. Hope's father heard me say one day that this was my favorite wine and he imported a case of it. These are the last two bottles, I think."

"Yes, the last two bottles," Hope smiled. "You keep them, Mimi. Nash and I drink almost anything."

"We'll try this, huh? And this one?"

"Oh Neven," Hope said touching his arm. "One is the top wine of the valley, so far, in our opinion Nash -- the 1993 Montgomery Reserve Home Paddock Cab/Sav. The other one is a much acclaimed wine -- at least by the media -- of the Hausman Winery, the 1996 Trevor Reserve. As it says on the label, a memorial wine to the pioneering grape grower in Te Henui Valley, the late Trevor Hopkins."

"But that's not true," Nash spluttered. "Even I know that."

"Our friend Tremain in action, Nash," Hope laughed. "Attempting to change history, but we've got used to his skullduggery and don't take much notice any more. We laid a complaint and Tremain was censured by the Wine Society for bringing the industry in disrepute and he managed to mount a legal challenge strong enough to wriggle out of a mislabeling action by the Commerce Commission."

"That man is an ass," Neven snorted. "Right, Mimi wants us to start on one of her favorites -- a French Chablis. We shall taste the reds against each other over the beef and after dinner, when the other folk arrive, we shall fall back on to quaffing reds."

The consensus on the reds was 4-nil in favor of Montgomery's Reserve with Mimi, demonstrating her competence with New Zealand idiom saying, "Even a bloke who is half a moron and his one-eyed three-legged dog would know the difference between a thoroughbred and a gelded hack."

Nash, noting Mimi delivering that comment in concentrated seriousness cracked up, Hope and Neven join him, leaving Mimi confused and saying, "What did I say? What did I say that was so funny?"

At 9:00 members of the extended family arrived, and Neven introduced Nash to his second brother Drago, wife Ana and son Anton and his younger brother Marko, wife Yela and their children Peter, Theresa and Mary and then introduced is and Mimi's children, Stefan and Frances.

The door opened to a knock and in came a dark-hair, white-faced woman wearing very bright red lipstick and obviously rouged cheeks. She and Mimi hugged and she and Neven kissed.

"This is..."

"Hullo, Nash," she said, hugging him fondly, much to the surprise of Neven and Hope. Both were unaware that Mimi's cousin Brigitte, whose husband is winemaker at the Hausman's Winery, had previously met this male stranger to the valley. Neven was still looking thoughtfully at Nash when Brigitte completed her round of greetings.

Neven asked Brigitte and Ant to entertain the children outside. "Just for fifteen minutes while we have a business meeting."

A business meeting? Nash looked puzzled why he hasn't been asked to leave the room and Hope looked surprised that a business meeting is being held during a family gathering. After all, there's a time and place for everything.

Once everyone had a glass of 'easy drinking' red in front of them, Neven spoke. "This was an uninhabited valley when the first Hopkins came and began clearing the bush and commenced cattle farming and later sheep were introduced. As initial pioneers they had the valley to themselves until a Mr Ralph Curnow persuaded Trevor Hopkins, grandson of the pioneering couple, to peel off 800 acres of his estate. Trevor wanted to deplete his holdings even further so began subdividing his hill country and the council agreed to put a proper road through the valley to replace the original horse and cart track that had been called boundary road. The first of the new wave of arrivals was my father Josip who with our mother Natasa, erected a little tin cottage of their one hundred and fifty acres of gentle rolling hills. My two brothers and I were born and raised in that cottage. We all feel strongly that we belong to this valley."

"Hear, hear," said his brothers.

"Then in 1969 Cedric Honeybun arrived and persuaded Trevor to sell him 200 acres of prime valley land, and as they say, the rest is history. Cedric saw what none of us others visualized, and that was the apparent potential of this valley to be turned into viticulture."

Neven stopped, and tops up glasses with more wine. That gave Nash the opportunity to look at the rimu paneled walls of the spacious dining room lined with family photos, many of them very old family photos. He looked at a map of Croatia and noticed an area of Plesivica circled in green and a red dot was evident inside that circle.

"That red mark indicates Brdovec, where my father left the vineyard of his parents to come to New Zealand," Neven said proudly, filling Nash's glass. "Until the end of the First World War Croatia was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire when it then became part of the formation of Yugoslavia. It sought independence form Yugoslavia in 1991 with some very heart-wrenching results. But today things there are much improved."

Nash asks what the population of Croatia was and is told about the same of New Zealand with approximate 4.5 million people.

The informal meeting resumed with Drago speaking.

"Neven has put a proposition to Marko and me, and we now present this to you for your consideration, Hope. We are aware that you have commissioned Nash to write a book about your and your father and your life in this valley. We accept that such an enterprise is your business. But we find that our family is becoming meshed into this enterprises, that your writer Nash is talking more and more to members of our family and already has knowledge of things private to our family and even in the associations, Hope, between you and me and my brothers and is even aware, Hope, of the latest transaction between you and Neven. It is our view that your book must also contain a full account of the history of the Bronkovic family and its involvement in this valley."

Drago sat down. An uneasy silence followed.

Finally it was broken.

"Hope?" Neven called. She rose and smiled, looking at every face and nodding. "When I'm here, I feel that I am family," Hope said. "But the suggestion just raised seems to exceed the bounds of normal family matters. I had the idea of attempting to immortalize my father, at least in print, because he was such a many facet character -- a personality who to me was larger than life, or seemed that way until I perceived that many other close acquaintances saw him in similar fashion. Nash's book as he and I have discussed over many hours, is a story about me in which the significant influence of my father comes shining through. It seemed to me the best way to present his story -- beginning in today's time and going back and forth and to indicate throughout his lasting presence. I think, dear friends you can understand that to some extent. The red from the Bronkovic Winery some of us tasted tonight -- the 1993 Montgomery's Reserve Home Paddock Cab/Sav. Significantly, that was my father's last vintage before his death, the wine resting in oak just days before he expired. Some of those vines in Montgomery Block were the 200 vines he planted in his initial trial -- a trial that led to the establishment of the industry of this valley as we know it today. Forgive me, but I am unable to visualize how inclusion of the worthy Bronkovic family is going to enhance my literary memorial to my father."

A deep silence followed. The Bronkovic brothers looked decidedly nervous and after a brief whispered discussion, Drago and Marko jump up and filled near empty glasses.

Neven rose to speak.

"Neven, allow me." Mimi said the family had seized the opportunity to present their feelings to Hope, and that Hope should not feel offended. The family was merely making its representations and it was for Hope alone to decide the outcome. Her decision would be accepted as she was, in effect, the matriarch of the family.

Hope appeared overwhelmed to hear her status expressed as it never had been stated before; she'd simply assumed that was the role she'd slipped into from being called to serve in it on numerous occasions.

"This is the family's decision, not necessarily mine, Hope," said Mimi. "The family will not agree to any controversial or private matters affecting them to be published in the book unless the Bronkovic family history in this valley receives similar treatment to the Honeybun family history so everything is in context. Such a demand is unfortunate because it would deny readers of really interesting passages in the history of the valley, the scandals and whatever. This family suggests this: the book should include all the families in the valley -- past and present -- if they have contributed significantly to the valley history. In fact the feeling is the book should be the history of Te Henui Valley. I feel the significant contribution of your father will shine though and suggest that the book be dedicated to him."

Murmurs of approval sounded as Mimi finished, and Neven complimented her on behalf of the family, saying she'd expressed their feelings very accurately.

"Hope?" he invited.

"My mind is in turmoil, so may we hear from Nash?"

"Of course," Neven said. "You have our attention, Nash."

Nash was surprised to be asked to speak. But his head was clear and his mind set on his publishing mission. He did not want to see the project founder.

"Hope is my employer, so what she says, goes. But what you have stated here this evening has come with unbelievable timing, as I had been thinking for some days now about broaching the identical concept with Hope. I've gathered an enormous amount of material already and feel that I really know her father, yet never met him. At the same time much of the material interweaves what I call the founding families of the valley. I have no need to say more except that I must confess that I am a two-bit writer, not an author, nor a researcher nor trained as an interviewer. But my strength is that I am addicted to films -- that I can visualize the screen writing in thinking about a film after I have seen it, and if the film appeals I return to see it twice more, perhaps several times time and after that can fluently describe scenes, who said what and quote strings of dialogue. That's how my mind works and I believe this is beginning to influence my writing. I won't beat around the bush. Hope mischievously uses me as her business adviser. Well then, my recommendation Hope is to negotiate a satisfactory outcome that will allow us to produce a damn fine book -- whether or not I am the one who actually writes it -- that will do Te Henui Valley and its people proud."

Mimi led the applause as Nash finished and Hope smiled at him as she joined in the clapping.

As the applause died, Hope said she would keep it short -- if the Bronkovic's wanted equal status to the Honeybuns they would have to share the costs which to post-editing stage could amount to $30,000. That figure was low as Nash was receiving free board and keep and a modest weekly payment, He was working to a sixteen month schedule but with extra work that would perhaps extend to around twenty months.

Neven looked at his brothers, both nodding consent. "The family is good for $15,000," he declared smiling. But that smile disappeared when Nash said he would approach Catherine Hausman to see if she would underwrite the cost of taking the publication to print if he and Hope fail to interest a commercial publishing house.

Neven threatened that family support would not be forthcoming if the Hausman Winery and Tremain Hausman were mentioned in the book.

"Then we revert to a book just about the Honeybun family and its influence on this valley," Nash said calmly. "We can't have a history which includes only aspects accepted to those involved in the publication."

Neven stared at him belligerently.

"It's what he calls warts and all, Neven," Hope explained.

Neven still looked menacing.

"It's how it is done to achieve credibility, said Nash. "There will be things in the book that will displease you, perhaps immensely."

"Neven, you make wine -- you don't write books," Mini said diplomatically while trying to pull him back on to his chair. "You can always shoot him if you are still unhappy after reading everything in context."

A grin spread from the corners of Neven's mouth. "Now you're talking sense, woman."

Hope walked to an empty chair at the far end of the long table. Taking that seat as matriarch, she said that the decision of the family is to enjoin in the publication of a book describing the history of the valley and its people in a modern, racy form and the family will pay half of the production of project, estimated at $30,000, to final draft form on presentation of invoices. "Is anyone in agreement with that?"

The three brothers and their wives each signify agreement.

Anton's mother Ana asked, "Will it include details of Ant?"

Hope looked at Nash, who said it would, as well as details about Eloise.

The Bronkovic women and Brigitte sigh.

"Finally," Hope said firmly, "there is to be no interference by the family except to seek corrections in the case of errors or misrepresentation. Is that agreed?

Agreement confirmed and the brothers and their wives promised to fully cooperate with Nash in his search for information. Everyone looked pleased.

The young adults and children were called in and supper was served. Then the singing started, with some group sessions and individual performances on piano, violin, accordion and guitar.

Well into the night Mimi called, "Nash, you told me that your mother used to be quite a famous country and western singer. Surely some of that passed on to you?"

"Yes, strut you stuff," calls Marko.

Nash picked up the guitar which he strummed gently and sang two ballads very nicely.

It was midnight, on the way home, when Hope sighed and said it had not been the evening she'd anticipated. "Usually the gatherings are so hospitable, a night of story-telling and laughter where I seem to become one of them. Tonight it was so different that I felt as if I was an outsider, going against the family."

Nash stretched under his seatbelt in the passenger's seat and said, "Business was on their mind. I guess their thinking was it would be just a quick meeting. Anyway, you cannot win them all."

"Win? I don't see a winner emerging. It was a compromise. In that room my heart told me to say yes, but my head said no. It was not until hearing your comments that I decided to back down."

"Good for you, Hope. I feel it's a decision that you won't regret. It won't water down your intention, I am sure. Your father will now be painted in perspective, rather than being the main act. Actually had full focus been I him I now argue that could have led some people concluding that it was rather an excessive way of paying tribute to one's father. Your modified project will expand interest and credibility and as a result gain far greater readership, at least that how I see it."

"Well, put like that it that sounds plausible and I accept it. I'll ask you to not write excessively on the background of individuals and their families' pre-1969. That eliminates the risk of shifting focus from the viticulture heritage of the valley. Restrict earlier back grounding to hundreds of words, rather than thousands if you would, please -- I mean if you can manage to do that."

"What is the real reason behind that request?" Nash asked, looking at Hope's face outlined in relief on the dark night by lighting from the Rover's instrument panel.

"I'll give you the diaries of Cedric's father to read. He was a vet in the British Army in the First World War, and his descriptions of injuries and death to people and animals are horrific, as are the descriptions of injuries to him. The descriptions of hardship and tyranny affecting generations of the Bronkovic family which I have been told and read about are also a story in itself. Neither of those backgrounds are relevant to valley history other than explaining how new generations of both families came to our valley and found peace and security."

"That's fair enough," says Nash. "As ye more layers are to be revealed. I must say that I agree with you."

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

"Include the Tait family in full," Hope sighed. "They have even more right that the Bronkovic's to be included. Their farm curves around the ridge beyond the winery to enter the valley and that's where their woolshed was when the property ran sheep. You won't know this otherwise you would have told me -- Basil Tait's father was the illegitimate son of Trevor Hopkins."

"Jesus!" Nash said softly. "Another sin; any more surprises?"

"Not that I know about, although you may managed to scrape up a few more. For instance, I've often wondered why the soft and artistic Catherine Hopkins would leave the valley for a few years and returned married to such a beast like Tremain. And here's another one; the first time I visited the home of the manager of our golf club, Cyril Wells, I immediately noticed three painting as I knew the style of the artist -- Natasa Bronkovic. I said nothing but have wondered about the connection between Natasa and Cyril, if indeed there was one. Many of the affairs between people in this valley and adjacent areas commenced with a clubhouse drink, a drawn pairing to play golf or a golfing lesson at our golf club."

Hope dropped into silence again, thinking of something Alayna had told her -- that her mother Maggie had conducted a hot affair with the golf club professional. The valley was quite a sex pit, she mused. I trust that Nash won't over-emphasis that part of valley history.