I groaned. ‘This is my worst nightmare. Now what am I going to do?’

‘Hey, don’t panic, you’re not on your own, you know.’ Matt put an arm roughly around my shoulders and squeezed me to him.

‘Thank you,’ I mumbled, peeling my face from his stubbly jaw.

Sidney moved closer to his computer so that his face filled the screen. ‘Well, that’s taken the decision out of your hands. You’ve got Saturday, Sunday and Monday to get the grapes in. Whatever’s left on the vines after then will probably be destroyed.’

It looked as if my scan would have to be delayed; I’d been so looking forward to seeing the baby again, but it couldn’t be helped.

I nodded numbly. ‘Three days.’

‘Lottie, listen to me,’ Sidney’s voice had taken on an urgent tone, ‘the priority is the grapes. Pick them in as soon as possible, get everything in place today and start tomorrow.’

‘Understood. I’ll organize as many pickers as I can lay my hands on,’ I said. ‘The quadbike has just come back from being serviced and we’ve had a delivery of new plastic crates. I’ll have to buy up Fernfield’s entire stock of secateurs, but that’s easily arranged.’

‘Good stuff.’ Sidney gave me an encouraging smile. ‘Matt?’

‘Yes, mate?’ Matt leaned closer.

‘I was hoping to come and oversee the pressing for you, but it’s unlikely I’ll make it on time now. Do you think you can handle it alone?’

He puffed out his chest. ‘I can run that press blindfolded. So can Clare. We’ll manage just fine.’

‘Just one last thing, Lottie: has Betsy mentioned anything about—’

The screen went black. He’d gone. Mentioned what? I wondered. But the internet had gone down again and I had no time to waste fiddling with the connection now. It was Butterworth Wines versus Storm Sandra and this was a battle I had no intention of losing.

It was harvest time.

Chapter 32

The next morning dawned bright and clear, if a little chilly. The moon had been muffled behind a thick layer of cloud last night, which had kept the temperatures mild and the dew to a minimum. I was just grateful that Storm Sandra hadn’t gathered any extra speed overnight.

‘Welcome to Butterworth Wines, everyone, and thank you so much for coming.’ I stood at the top of the south-facing slope with the gate behind me where the assembled crowd could all see me. Starsky was wandering amongst them hopefully, trying to sniff out any dog owners on the off chance they might harbour treats in their pockets. He was having reasonable success and looked like he was having a far more relaxing time than me. ‘It’s lovely to have so many victims – I mean volunteers – here to help us today.’