Lolas Lurching Life Ch 02

Chapter 7

The time came for Lola to leave her role as Cooper's personal adviser after five months of working at his side. The disposal of his group of companies had occurred faster than expected, being almost completed within five months instead of eight months, and the 22-acre block (Cooper was still not up with hectares) of land had been disposed of, with the city council taking five acres for a lake frontage public reserve and the remainder being purchased by company specialising in property subdivision development.

Details of the sale remained private but Cooper told Lola that Gatehouse Enterprises had been paid $62 million for the 22-acre block.

Cooper had invited Lola to join him and his new friend Meredith that night to celebrate the sale being finalized.

"She's the find of the century," Cooper smiled. "She almost likes banging as much as I do."

"No, you two love birds go out without me. I plan to stay home and knit."

"Knit?" he scoffed, unaware she was lying as she had no wish sitting with two people half the night making eyes at one another and slyly petting.

"Are Meredith and her husband divorced yet?"

"No, they have to complete a statutory time apart first before their uncontested divorce application goes before a judge."

"Well, just be sure you are discreet when dating her."

"I am, or rather she is. She won't allow me to touch her in public and that includes never fucking in public, even in a vehicle, until the divorce becomes absolute. Such pristine behaviour is making me feel like an adulterous clergyman must feel in being restricted like that."

Omigod, Lola sighed gently.

Lola requested that her final day of employment with Gatehouse Enterprises be on the last Thursday of the current month. She wanted to leave without a formal departure. The company now had seven permanent employees with further recruitment interviews in the pipeline.

At 3.00 on Lola's final day with the company, Cooper poured the requested Rosé sparkling wine for Lola and he drank beer.

He watched Lola hold up her glass, lower it and tip it slightly and swirl the contents gently, then sniff the aroma, sip a little and then swirl a larger her amount and swallow, nodding slightly.

"What a fucking waste of time doing that, Lola. I'm aware you have read 13 books on wine and wine-making, and been to two wine-making seminars in the Hawkes Bay and completed with distinction a 10-day school in Blenheim, Marlborough, an annual event for new entrants into more advance roles in the wine industry. And you attend numerous wine-tasting events, but what you have just done is a meaningless ritual."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You won't be able to tell me anything distinctive from that tasting because it's virtually impossible to tell most rosé wines apart and that wine is not from our stock here, I ordered it in especially for you this morning."

"Thanks, much appreciated. And I bet you a dollar I can tell you what wine it is?"

"Why not make it a much bigger bet?"

"No, I know I can identify where it comes from but not the label. It's last season's vintage."

"Bullshit."

"The wine is a Napa Valley, California, brut rosé, made from pinot noir grapes with I suspect some chardonnay blended in to booster the structure to give it that long, silky finish. That said, I suspect it could be a Domaine Carneros label, makers of fine sparkling wines."

"Let me check, even I know it is a rosé wine, and because I selected it, I knew it was from California," Cooper said, going over to the trolley and pulling the bottle from the ice bucket and reading the label.

"O-m-i-g-o-d. You are spot on, even correctly guessing the producer. Obviously, you haven't wasted all that intense reading and some hands-on practical study. Please oh please do something with that newly acquired skill."

"I'll think about it."

"Um, your termination renumeration went into your bank last night. Why don't you check your account where we were instructed to lodge your bonus payments based on monthly performance results?"

Lola checked her bank account on her phone and gasped, "No, you can't do this; it's insane. No way can I accept a golden handshake of $2 million."

"Lola, you will accept it and here's why. Hear me out."

"You worked tirelessly alongside me to finish off from where the experts had got me to, saying only time might do a little more for me but at least I was walking and was managing to keep coherent most of the time."

"I was terrible disappointed by that assessment of the panel of medical experts. I was determined to squeeze out more improvement but felt it needed powerful incentive to make me adhere to my targets. I floundered thinking from whom and where was such a person?"

"Then fate took a hand. On the night of those gunshot I thought, of hell, that chick living in the Gatehouse as the tenant found by my deceased parents' legal firm, will be terrified. I could have lain in bed thinking she'll be okay but instead I had a spurt of passion, threw on some clothes and raced over to check that you were okay."

"You had no idea I was a person in need of a personal saviour, perhaps being a person making a fake inquiry about your welfare as a pretext to checking out your tits in nightwear, only to hear you say from behind the door that you were nude."

"In other words, neither of us had any idea of the enormous role you were about to play in inching me into more complete mental recovery and into a new direction in life."

Lola said, "That's a romanticised version of reality, though I did assist you a bit."

"Admit the truth, Lola. You will have thought about this privately. You virtually rebuilt my life for me. Without your huge input, I would have ended up living only a little better than being a mental vegetable."

"All right, with your mostly appreciative cooperation, I did work on you effectively but it does not warrant you paying me $2 million dollars."

"That's only a gesture. In what you achieved for me in virtually guiding me to getting my full life back, I probably should be giving you $20 or even $50 million."

"Okay, okay, let's stop this crap. You are a wealthy guy, probably soon to become a billionaire and so you are entitled to toss me two mil as a gesture of appreciation. I accept and please understand I'll always consider my reward was seeing you regaining your life fully. In those initial days with me, you still relapsed into dribbling and I would say blow your nose and occasionally you wouldn't appear to know what I was talking about. I had to hold your handkerchief over your nose and tell you to close your mouth and to puff through your nose."

"Oh Christ, I faintly remember that, having no idea why you were telling me to puff through my nose."

"Fortunately, those relapses were few, and subtlety urging you to impress me seemed to bring improvement in your behaviour. God, I gained some idea what you had been through and I would cry at night, for you, not for me. Somehow a nursing instinct seemed to come through for me early in the piece and I'll probably benefit from that for the rest of my life when I remarry and hopefully have a couple of kids."

"So, you think you will remarry?"

"Quite sure, err, I think. For a while I had thought it might be you but soon realized we operated with different agendas and as a result, my emphasis changed to setting you free. That's why I more or less guided you into Meredith's arms, not being too obvious I hope as I believed she might be the right fit for you. In my judgement, she needs someone to share her affection with and that's the complete opposite to me. Now let's drop that subject."

"Okay, but just one little comment. Thanks, steering me into Meredith's arms is, I believe, a second incredible gift from you though of course, it's still early days for her with me."

The day after Lola left the employment of Gatehouse Enterprises, she booked into a hotel in downtown Auckland City for four nights to wind down and intended to drive somewhere each day exploring metropolitan Auckland, hoping to be impressed and entertained.

She spent much of that day in the hotel space, receiving facial treatment, an extensive body massage (and was almost disappointed the female masseur didn't offer sex that Lola would have turned down anyway) and had her nails done and, in the afternoon, had soaked in all three scented spa pools.

After all that time, she felt fine, but not a million dollars, and thought what a fucking waste of money but at least she'd often wondered what a pamper time for much of the day would be like and now she knew. She decided there was no need to ever bother doing it again.

Lola had a wonderful dinner in the hotel's top restaurant, drinking half a bottle of champagne and growled at herself not to order another half bottle. In the house bar after dinner, three different potential adulterers failed in their attempt to buy her a drink and she found dealing with each guy rather entertaining, with each of them moving on as soon as she said, "Ah, I think my mother is arriving."

The next day she drove out to Piha, on the west coast, a renowned surfing beach, hired a board and after being wiped out a few times, her balance and confidence improved and she was soon riding waves effortlessly almost as well as she did in her younger days when at university.

Next morning, Lola went shopping and although purchasing little, she enjoyed herself and then returned to Piha, surfed, had a burger and coke for late lunch just as she did in university days and surfed some more, gaining a real sense of freedom as well as aching muscles.

She felt so good, and why not? She was wealthy, in good health and above all, free to do whatever she wished. That made her think she would never had been a good performer in a tight-knit circus, or under the tight constraints of a military life or working in a word-processing pool. Or for that matter, being a patrolling officer and inmate safety supervisor at a large prison.

Wow. She was clear about that.

During the last day of her hotel stay, thinking about visiting her parents in the Hawkes Bay and going on two wine tours a day of wineries, Lola saw a woman come out of doctor's 'rooms' ahead of her and collapse on the pavement.

She rushed to the woman's aid, helped her to her feet and assisted her to the seat at an adjacent bus stop.

"I'll call an ambulance," Lola said, pulling out her phone.

"No, please don't," the woman said. "I'm hugely embarrassed. I've just received a flu shot and the nurse recommended that I sit quietly in the waiting room in case I suffered immediate after-affects. Being a tough sod, I stupidly thought that would not apply to me and walked out, knowing that I also have had a flu shots annually for years without any ill-effects and practically skipped down the stairs only to take a tumble as I hit the street pavement and I managed to break my fall."

"Well I don't know," Lola said cautiously.

"Darling, I'm okay and believe me when I say my family generationally die of old age, not from diseases or accidents."

Lola laughed and the older woman chuckled and said, "There you go, I've returned your confidence. Oh god, look at all those people gawking around us."

Wondering about the woman being over-confident about her apparent recovery, Lola stood and waved down a passing taxi and said to the woman, "Come on, I'm escorting you home to finish my job supporting you in your predicament."

That seemed to confuse the woman and she was practically pushed into the back seat of the taxi. Shutting the door, Lola hurried around the vehicle and slid in beside the reluctant passenger.

"Where too, ladies?" asked the obviously foreign driver in excellent English.

The volunteer minder looked at the fall victim who said, "Waiheke Island please."

"This cab is not suitable to drive twenty-six miles across water," said the taxi-driver straight-faced and now using a cultured accent. "Probably you wish to go to the ferry terminal."

"Yes please."

"No driver, this lady has just had a nasty fall. Take us to the city heliport please."

"What!" exclaimed the other woman; I don't have the money on me to pay for helicopter travel."

"It's your lucky day; I do."

The woman sighed and said why not have a lucky day for once.

During the ride the two women introduced themselves to each other.

At the heliport, Lola sat Helena down and went across to the sales desk.

"Hi Charles."

The young guy said stiffly his name was Steve.

"I'm Lola. Gosh, Steve, didn't we get onto familiar terms quickly."

He eyed her suspiciously and nodded.

"The woman sitting near the door is Mrs Wallace, from near the west-southern end of Waiheke Island."

"Ah, she's from Wallace Wineries where they stupidly carry on with their failed winery through having intelligently invested into establishing an increasing quality flock of 5500 of Scottish Black Face sheep to provide real income. My mother, who lives on the island, says their sheep-meat in available in every restaurant on the island. Home knitters buy Wallace's wool and weavers on the island sell their products made from the Wallace Scottish Black Face Sheep Stud wool throughout New Zealand."

"Also, very lucrative numbers of Wallace's wool garments and novelties are sold to tourists and exported to many markets, so much so that a number of local weavers now operate a small commercial woollen mill."

"Christ, Mrs Wallace didn't tell me that."

"Really? My mother says she'd widely known, as her retired mother was, as he's the island's best midwife. She is one of my mother's best friends."

"Well that's interesting to know. How much would it cost me to have her flown home. Mrs Wallace had a fall in Queen Street a few hours ago."

"Three-sixty."

Lola said slyly, "What only $30.60?"

"What, no! Three hundred and sixty dollars as you also pay for the return flight."

"Are you prepared to deal?"

"No."

"I thought you would agree since she's one of your mother's best friends. I don't need to accompany her which means a larger and expensive chopper is not necessary. Put her on to a smaller one. She just had a fall from the side-effects of just having a flu shot, and is quite okay now. Imagine how pleased your mother will be when you tell her what you did for her friend."

Steve grinned.

"My god, you must be a corporate high-powered negotiator."

"And you are such a good lad. Here's my card, I think $200 sounds about right."

"What about $260?"

"Very well. You are not bad at wheeling and dealing yourself."

Flushing, Steve said it would be a fast turnaround.

"Let's make it $200. I'll give the job to Patricia as she needs to get her flying hours up a bit. She recently had her second child and so will be interested in talking to your client. Grab a coffee while I complete preliminaries."

"Coffee with milk, Helena?"

"Oh yes please, Lola, how much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, the coffee is complimentary."

"I mean for the return flight of the chopper?"

"Nothing. It's my good deed for the week, and it's not negotiable. Oh, that chap at the desk is Steven. I asked for a smaller chopper and then pushed for a big discount and he asked me your name and I told him and he said you were a friend of his mother's."

"Is his mum's name Lauren Watts; she has a son named Steven?"

"I have no idea, Helena. He said he was Steven. The pilot will be a lady who has recently had a baby. Steven said you'd be interested in that."

"Oh, did he know," Helena said, making no further comment and took the coffee in a paper cup from Lola who received a beautiful and grateful smile.

"May I ask how old are you, Lola? You appear to be a real fireball. I mean you mentioned in the taxi you are between moves and you had been working for a wealthy guy reorganizing his business holdings. I saw the ease with which you manipulated that flight operations manager Steven, who must be experience in dealing with wealthy Americans from Chicago and the American coasts as well as the penny-pinching and once in as life-time travellers from the Midwest as well as wealthy and well-seasoned travellers from Japan, South Korea, the UK and many other parts of the world."

Lola chose to answer the last bit of that question.

"I turn 34 later this year. And you?"

"I'm married to Dougal, whom you being a bright spark may already have guessed being named Dougal Wallace is probably a Scottish immigrant or descended from Scottish immigrants. We have one son, who is named Callum who married last year and he and his wife Iona..."

"Who also is of Scottish descent?"

"Aye," chuckled Helena. "I turn 40 next March. I lost a daughter in a miscarriage and that was meant to be, as she would have died anyway as the autopsy showed she had a major deformity of the heart."

"Oh, Helena. I am so sorry that you and your family suffered that tragedy but I guess you all accepted that the body sometimes rejects a foetus that is far from being perfect."

Helena looked at Lola a little strangely who answered the unasked question by saying, "Oh, I'm aware of that as I'm an avid reader."

The pilot in her late twenties came to the door and said, "Hi, Mrs Wallace, please call me Pat. I'm off to warm up my machine, the smaller of the two out here. Come over in three or four minutes."

"Thank you, Pat."

Helena said, "Lola, why don't you come over and stay with me for a day or two. When can you come?"

"Any time from tomorrow, I guess. I'm between jobs, having just left one."

"Well, catch the ferry to Waiheke at 10.00 tomorrow morning and I'll meet you at the Matiatia Bay ferry terminal. What do you think of that suggestion?"

"Yes, I accept and many thanks. I need to be back at the weekend to begin packing my things in my rented cottage to put into storage while I take a break before beginning to work on my next move."

"Well, then after packing for storage, return to us for a longer period. You could do a bit of work for your keep such as assisting with the dagging (removal of dung- covered wool from the hindquarters of sheep) and pruning and cleaning up in what we continue to call a vineyard on false pretences as our yield has over annual vintages been rather pitiful. Dougal and his late father initially planted 1200 vines over two winters around twenty years ago, and many more plantings followed and we now have about 7000 vines. Unfortunately, all in rows were 8ft apart and the vines 6ft apart whereas modern science has shown that the optimum spacings should be less than that."

"The yield has been poor, producing about two tons of fruit per acre, and we've been told by various people that our soil types are wrong for successful grape growing, it's too cold in our location, or its too hot in summers, and even our prevailing weather means our location is both too hot and too cold during the season whereas we know that talk is mostly rubbish."

"We are aware our vineyard experiences a mainly micro climate and it becomes beautifully calm and hot at the time our grapes are ripening. Our vines are sheltered from stormy weather as they grow in natural depression in the landscape of around 30 acres, or 12 hectares in the measurement used for grape-growing, meaning less than three-quarters of the depression is used for grape-growing."

"However, I believe perhaps the soil is inadequate to promote robust growth as vines appear to get off to a slow start at the beginning of the new season and thereafter appear to lag as if they lack adequate nutrients. In contrast, our sheep thrive on our land but they mainly avoid free-range grazing the top end of the depression above where the fencing around the vineyard ends. Dougal and I consider that's something of a pointer but we are invariably ploughing our spare cash back into caring for the sheep that are our best money-earner and so we avoid the expense of getting in various experts to identify our lack-lustre production problems."