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Unlike yesterday, Jasper also looks well-rested this morning as he tucks into his steak and eggs. You’d think the massive piece of beef he put away at dinner last night might have been enough, but turns out he’s blown away by Australian steak. And why wouldn’t he be?

I have to admit I was a little apprehensive about these visits to the wineries. Not because I don’t believe in the absolute brilliance of the wines and winemakers, but because I wasn’t sure how the guys would take to him.

I needn’t have worried. Whilst I don’t think anyone could accuse him of being friendly, he’s engaged, knowledgeable and curious about Australian methods. He knows a lot about wine and the winemaking process, as well as the business of marketing and selling it. He asks a lot of questions and listens intently to what the winemakers and farmers have to say. All of which gives me hope that he’ll approve my programme.

Which might cause problems for me with John Mackelden, who has been the major roadblock since I first floated the idea six months ago. He’s one of the reasons I spent so much time and energy on putting my proposal together. It had to be watertight. He’s why I focused so much on the bottom line. Because that’s where his eyes go every time. He’s got no interest in how we get there, or even, as far as I can see, what our profile and reputation are. As long as the bottom line is healthy. My guess is, there’s a hefty performance bonus in it for him, linked to profitability.

The irony is, whilst profitability is holding, due to John’s slash-and-burn style of management, revenue has been on a slow and steady downward trajectory for the past couple of years. Not a steep decline, but a consistent one. Which doesn’t bode well for the future. Unless Jasper has the imagination—and the will—to do something about it. I’m hoping that includes my pairing programme.

“Did Lucy and Sam really just ask you to be their baby’s godmother?” Jasper asks as we drive away from our last winery on the third day of our trip and turn onto the Newell Highway for the three-hour drive to the Murray River.

“Yes.” I sigh with happiness at the idea their baby will be born in a couple of months. They’ve been trying to get pregnant for years, and it finally happened for them. Then I realise Jasper might see my closeness to the family as a conflict of interest. Or, at the very least, an unprofessional level of familiarity.

I sit up a little straighter in my seat, ready to defend my position. “Things might be different in Australia from the way they are in Europe. We’re a big country, but it’s a relatively small industry. Everyone knows everyone. And yes, I’ve become friends with—”

Jasper holds up his hand. “I don’t have a problem with it. I was just going to say how nice it was. And that I can see you take your role as relationship manager very seriously. You’re doing a great job, Louise. Don’t doubt yourself.”

My jaw drops. He might have loosened up a little since we left Sydney, but he’s definitely been hot and cold, and until now he’s given me no indication what he thinks of my performance. Other than to agree to come on the road trip with me, I guess.

It wasn’t gushing praise, but coming from Jasper, I know it’s considered and genuine.

Excitement fizzes in my belly. When I gave my presentation on that fateful third of the third, I figured I had a maybe thirty to forty percent chance of getting it across the line. With what Jasper has just said, maybe the odds are now closer to seventy.

And once he’s been to our next winery, I’m hoping it will inch up a little higher.

Unless he doesn’t like fishing. In that case, I could be screwed.

At dawn the following morning, Jasper and I are in a little wooden fishing boat, floating amongst the silence and mist on the mighty Murray River.

I more or less arranged this trip around us being here over the weekend because there are cabins on site that take advantage of the spectacular location. And because Grahame, the owner, puts on a full experience for his guests.

Usually, I have a little studio cabin not far from the main house. For this trip I requested two cabins, but knowing I was bringing the regional director, Grahame thought the best cabin on the property—a lovely two-bedroom with uninterrupted views of the river and a hot tub on the verandah—would be more impressive. So we’re sharing. Again.

Which, given how weird things got in Cowra, probably isn’t the best idea. But Grahame rearranged other bookings to fit us in, so I don’t want to ask him to change it.

I eyed the hot tub with a lustful gaze when we arrived last night. It would have been the perfect wind-down after the long drive. But stripping down to my swimmers in front of Jasper struck me as a bad idea, so I acted out of character and resisted.

I wasn’t shocked to discover that Jasper has never been fishing in his life. He wasn’t keen when he found out about it last night, until Grahame told him that if there were no fish, there’d be no breakfast. A small white lie that I’m sure Jasper saw through, but he relented with good grace.

If there was ever a man who needed to stick his hand in a bucket of live baitworms and sit in silence on one of the prettiest and most peaceful stretches of river in the world, it’s Jasper Spencer-Jones.

We’ve been floating in companionable silence for about half an hour before Jasper speaks in a soft whisper, as though he might disturb the fish, or the river birds, or the mist that’s quickly burning off.

“So, what gave you the inspiration for this pairing programme you want to implement?”

I get a tug on my line and start to reel it in while I think about my answer. The fish I’ve caught is a tiny golden perch, too small to keep, so I give it a kiss and slip it back into the water. The expression on Jasper’s face is priceless, but he doesn’t comment.

“It was a book box club that gave me the idea.” I thread another worm onto my hook and cast my line again.

“A book box?”

“There are these companies that do book boxes. You choose a genre, and they send you a box with books, bookish merch and related goodies. I’m a member of one and get a box every month. I love it. So, I thought, why not do something similar for wines? Something that promotes the more boutique wineries and producers. I approached the ones we’re visiting on this trip with the idea, and they were enthusiastic. Anything that helps stabilise their cash flow is welcome.”

“It’s certainly—” He breaks off. “Whoa. What was that?”

His rod is bending, the tip almost touching the river surface.

“I think you’ve caught a fish there, city boy. Reel it in.” I mime what he should do, and he gets to it, pulling back on the rod while steadily winding the line in. The smooth water jumps and bounces. I grab the net and move next to Jasper, ready to scoop up the fish as soon as it breaks the surface. By the size of the disturbance, I can tell it’s a big one.