In early October, in the southern reaches of the Temecula Valley, venturing outside at first light is like stepping into a magical realm. The sky is liquid sapphire. The air, cold and dry, carries notes of sour grape and damp earth. In the distance, to the west, the Santa Ana Mountains loom like a row of collapsed tents, their silence massive. But nearer, much nearer, in the gentle swirl above and down low among the vines, are sounds of abundant life: of owl wings and coyote paws, the skitter of scrub jays and, more often than anyone liked, the rattle of the snake’s tail.

Tina loved the dawn. When she and Bette first left LA four years ago, they’d wrap themselves in robes and stand on the balcony in Helena’s guest room to sip coffee and watch mist rise off the vines like breath exhaled by the sleeping land. 

Every day had felt like rebirth. Plans, hopes, visions. Whether they were idiotic (growing pumpkins between rows of vines) or inspired (a dining pavilion built around a living olive tree), ideas poured from the air. Vivid memories of loud and long dinners during which the board – Helena, Bette, Tina, Dylan, Concetta and  Paul – talked about their dreams, and how they would draw them down to earth.

Today, Tina was alone, standing in an open gap in the bifolds, chilly 1960s tiles replaced by underfloor heating. She sipped her coffee. Shivered a little, but it was nice. Behind her, a line drifted from the Sonos. Linda Ronstadt singing ‘Blue Bayou’. 

That familiar sunrise, though sleepy eyes . . .

Presently, she turned back towards the room and immediately her eye went to Bette’s sheepskin coat slung over a stool at the kitchen island. Clearing up after the big cookout had gone on till midnight and there she was, gone again. A master of stealth! Tina hadn’t felt her get out of bed, or heard the coffee being made.

She picked up the coat, which gave off a whiff of woodsmoke, stripped off her nightwear and put it on. Then she went to the boot room and shoved her feet into a pair of ancient Uggs before stopping by the machine for a refill.

The front deck comprised four wide steps leading down to a gravel drive, beyond which was a wooden fence marking the beginning of the youngest vines. Tina stopped there and breathed deep and steady, savouring the latest in many moments of arrival at a place they’d fought hard for.