Waxing and Waning
Nina was tempted to let the car’s wheels spit out small stones as her final sentiments, but she knew that would be wrong. The guy was cross, and rightly so, although he might have been a little less belligerent.
Too angry and too late in the day to attempt a drive home to Noosa, she headed into Candlebark Creek. She would check into the pub and shout herself a country meal, maybe chicken schnitzel – it had been ages since she’d had one and this was definitely not the night for steak or oysters.
*
The hotel was kind of funky – retro furniture with an art-deco finish in rich colours and bold geometric shapes. Marquetry wall panelling featured throughout and decadent details in the fittings and features took the old country pub back to the glamour and lushness of the early 1900s. Nina wanted to ask the barman for the biggest glass of the strongest liquor on the shelf. She settled for a nice Sémillon and sat in one of the comfortable, high-backed booths on the far side of the lounge. One drink and she would be ready for bed.
She must have nodded off because the chill had gone from her glass and the white wine warmed. A voice in the next booth had woken her – a laugh she recognised from earlier in the day.
‘Mate, you’ve never seen anything like it. I’m counting my blessings she didn’t get hurt. You know how those insurance premiums kill us. What if I’d had to make a claim?’
‘I’d say your excess goes down the gurgler, buddy.’
‘I wish that was the extent of my troubles. I can’t seem to catch a break, so if you can ask your man in the kitchen if he knows anyone looking for some temporary work, I’d be grateful. My cook’s had to take a couple of nights off.’
‘Sit tight, Blair. I’ll go check with Robbo now. See if he can make a few calls.’
‘Thanks, mate, because I really need to make a move.’
Any minute now the man was going to stand up and see Nina sitting there with her back to his booth. She cowered into the corner, wishing for once she was Invisible Nina, Tony’s sister. Although as a child she’d lacked her brother’s drive and his larger-than-life personality, their mum had made sure she never missed out, gently drawing Nina out from her brother’s shadow. The attention had only served to add a generous sprinkle of self-recrimination that her lack of ambition was letting Team Marchette down.
Nina had never wanted to disappear as much as she did right now, with the image in her head of those poor bulls in the run, trapped until the deed was done and someone released them from the crush. Had someone offered her a secret route out of the booth she’d have taken it without question. Better she did that than face another Blair Tate swipe at her. Then again, it sounded like he needed a cook. Ava had taught her children to look for opportunities in life and to go for what they wanted, not wait for others to make the choices for them. Given these few days away were all about Ava, and Nina hadn’t yet done what she needed to do, what better time to practise her mother’s preaching? She took a deep breath, let it out, then gulped what was left of her wine. She slid out of the bench seat and onto her feet.
‘Hello,’ she chirped.
‘It’s you!’ Blair rose so quickly his head knocked the pendant light shade over the booth and set it swinging.
‘Yep, me again, must be your lucky day.’
He gave a small laugh. ‘Luck is definitely not on my side, I can assure you.’
‘Do you mind if I sit for bit?’ She didn’t wait, just perched on the end of the seat, fingers clawed in her lap. ‘I want to apologise again. I know I should’ve said straight up except, well, when a man questions my capabilities I—’
‘You’ve got to prove otherwise.’ The confession seemed to amuse him.
‘Proving myself comes from growing up with a competitive brother,’ Nina admitted, the pace of her nervous prattle building. ‘A twin, to be precise, who liked – likes to make me feel invisible and useless. Only now I can add idiot. When I heard the word agency today I immediately assumed a hospitality job with the B-and-B. I’ve done agency work before.’
‘You work in hospitality?’
‘Yes. I trained as a pastry chef. Not that I am one. I mean, I cook lots of different things… I can do most things food and function-related without throwing up, passing out or making a fool of myself.’
‘The next time I need a non-throwing up, non-passing-out cook you’ll be the first person I call.’
The need to bolster her waning confidence kicked in. ‘Food is in my family.’ She plucked her mobile phone out of her pants’ pocket, tapped out the website for the Bark Hut Bakery, then handed it to Blair.
‘You work there?’
‘Mum started the business and my brother is CEO. I manage the franchisee side from our headquarters in Maroochydore, south of Noosa.’
Without lifting his head he peered up at her. ‘I do know where to find Maroochydore.’
‘Well, I’m in project management, training and support, that kind of thing. We’re not huge. The chain remains a manageable number of retail huts across the country. My role involves keeping up with the government red tape and insurances that constrain small retail businesses. We’ve won awards!’ Her perkiness made her cringe.
Blair seemed nonplussed as he handed the phone back, preparing to leave. ‘Looks great, Nina. Not sure I’ve had the pleasure, though. If I do see a store on my travels I’ll be sure to try something.’ He stood, this time avoiding the light fitting, but his brush-off annoyed Nina.
‘Hold your horses, cowboy!’ The words slipped out. The man had scoffed at her for the last time. ‘You’ve walked away I’m not sure how many times today and left me talking to your back – or, worse, myself – and the fact is, had you stood still long enough when I arrived at your place earlier we might have avoided the afternoon’s calamity.’
‘A calamity, was it?’
There was that smirk again. ‘Are you laughing over my word choices now?’
‘No, Nina, I’m not laughing at you. I wasn’t laughing at all. I admit I was probably a bit rude in the yards, sorry. I’ve also got a bit on my mind at the moment. But I like the word “calamity”, although I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone use it before.’
‘I suppose the incident wasn’t all bad. After today I can definitely say I’ve found a worse job than my own.’ She grinned and Blair eased back into his seat.
‘I tried the white-collar world for a while, but I missed the land too much. What would you rather be doing for a crust if not working for a bakery, Nina? What’s your passion?’
She ignored the pun. ‘I love food.’
‘You hide it well.’
She matched his grin and probably blushed. Damn it! ‘Cooking food, not eating it. I left school early and went straight into hospitality. Mum wanted me to stay on, and Tony likes to make me think I’m a lesser person because I didn’t go to university like him, but study wasn’t for me. I’m a hands-on person.’
‘I saw that for myself today.’
‘Oh, you like to make jokes.’
He shrugged. ‘Sometimes it helps to see the funny side.’
‘When there is one,’ she said. ‘The thing with commercial kitchens is they can be tough environments. I’d go home crying more than smiling. When a job in the company came up a couple of years back I took it. Nepotism at its finest.’
Blair might not have been the right J. B. Tate, and the day might not have started as she’d envisaged, but when he wasn’t being rude or grumpy, he was a delightfully unexpected addition to Project Portrait.
‘But you do miss cooking,’ Blair said. ‘I saw that from the way your face fell just now.’
Nina huffed a sigh. ‘Teamwork is what I miss the most, the kind you get when the kitchen is pumping. It’s like a tonic. Then, whatever the time, with the last bench wiped, the last pot put away, it’s always beer o’clock.’
‘Or the last prairie oyster popped?’ he quipped.
‘Oh, don’t, please!’ She gripped her stomach as the urge to vomit returned.
‘If we had a beer we could toast to teamwork. Can I buy you a drink? I need one.’
‘Not sure my contribution today has earned me any such reward, so no, thanks.’
With Blair at the bar, Nina gave her neck a squirt of perfume in case the smell of cow hadn’t washed away in the shower. When he returned, she noticed his mobile phone had the Bakery’s website open.
‘Nothing wrong with a bit of nepotism, by the way.’ Blair explained how he’d benefited from his family’s hard work, and told her that his father was his greatest supporter when it came to all the things he wanted to do with the property.
‘You mentioned journalists are always after your dad. What exactly do they want?’
‘A headline and a story.’ Blair brought up some articles on his phone. ‘Doesn’t happen too much, these days. Here’s an example from a while back.’
Nina read out the heading: ‘“An accidental artist”?’
‘By the time I was old enough to understand what made my old man special, interest in his condition had died down. Although I suspect Grandma Marjorie’s reputation may have eventually frightened all but the bravest journos away from Ivy-May. Every so often someone still calls or emails looking for a story. There aren’t many people like my dad, not in this country.’ He looked at Nina, his eyes penetrating. ‘Can I ask you something now?’
‘Sure,’ she said, skimming the article and taking note of the website for future reference.
‘What was today all about? Why are you really here and why the interest in my father, if not for a story?’
‘I’m curious about your place. My mother told me she worked at Ivy-May around the mid-eighties,’ she said, as rehearsed. ‘She was a cook.’
‘Ivy-May is my family’s original property. The part we were on today belonged to Mum’s side of the family, before she and Dad married.’
‘Ivy-May is such a pretty name.’
‘Not a bad place to grow up, either, but I’m biased. Dad sure likes the peace and his privacy, and there’s loads of space for him to do his thing. You helped me carry some of his work from the car. I’m changing over some pictures in the lodge common room.’
‘They looked amazing.’
‘Both Dad and his art have mellowed over the years, nowhere near as manic, and the old farmhouse will be Dad’s until he no longer needs or wants to live there alone. Not that I’m in a hurry for him to go. I like having him around.’
‘Being close must be nice,’ Nina said. ‘My dad lives overseas. I didn’t know him at all.’
‘I could almost say that about my mum,’ Blair huffed, ‘and she lived in the same house.’ He fell silent, as if he knew he’d said too much. ‘Listen, Nina, if I was a bit brusque today, I’m sorry. Can I make it up to you by offering to show you around the property? We do quad-bike tours for guests, or there’s the ute if you prefer. Maybe we can forget today happened.’
‘That sounds good.’ And she did need to consider the reason for her visit. Blair consulted his watch. Time to strike. ‘I, um, couldn’t help but overhear you’re a cook down.’
‘My one and only cook. Charlie is usually reliable, but Cindy’s waxing up so he needs to stay close.’
Nina felt her blink rate increase. His cook’s called in sick because his wife is getting something waxed? ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Cindy’s a horse.’ His smile could not have got any wider. It was then she noticed the dent in his chin disappear as the muscle in his square jawline bunched. ‘Waxing up is a sign that foaling is imminent, although individual mares vary enormously in their timing.’ Blair looked from his watch to Nina. ‘Could be tonight, or anytime over the next forty-eight hours. It’ll be all hands on deck when that happens and I need to be prepared.’
‘Don’t look at me.’ She flashed both palms in Blair’s direction. ‘I’d be as productive helping with a foal’s birth as I am castrating a cow.’
‘Bull.’
‘No, Blair, I’m serious.’
Blair’s hearty laugh startled Nina and obliterated the obnoxious shell he’d worn that afternoon. ‘By bull I meant we were castrating bulls, not cows.’
‘Of course, you told me that already. See what I mean? Totally useless.’
*
When the publican, Gus, returned to the table shaking his head, Blair knew without asking the question.
‘No luck, mate, sorry. Robbo reckons there aren’t many cooks hanging around this town waiting for the odd job. What’ve you got on?’
‘Twenty head for two courses tomorrow night, with birthday cake for dessert.’
‘Old Tess?’ asked Gus.
‘Yep. I’d hate to let her down. I’d shift her booking to the pub, but you know Tess Maloney has never, and will never, set foot inside the devil’s lair.’ Blair laughed when Gus fashioned horns over his head. ‘Not that she’s asking for anything fancy, but twenty covers is way beyond this kitchen-hand’s ability. Hmm, hang on a minute.’ Blair put a finger to his chin, serious again. ‘Well, Gus, mate, it looks like I need to track someone down who can manage an alternating menu of steak or fish, served with chips and salad. I don’t mind what sort: Thai, Greek, green.’
Gus looked confused, despite the wink Blair sent his way. The publican could be a bit slow sometimes. Nina, on the other hand, was eyeing Blair, her sunrise-red curls, previously tamed by a bun, had been freed and were falling like a shawl around her shoulders.
‘I’d ask Nina here, but I’m not sure she can handle service for twenty… ’
‘Ha, ha, you’re hilarious, Blair, and you can be thankful my cooking skills ace your acting ability. Yes, I can manage two courses for twenty tomorrow night – without the vomiting.’
Gus looked even more befuddled. ‘Do you two need me for this conversation?’
‘No, mate, we’re good. Today’s been a bit of a calamity.’
‘If you say so,’ the publican muttered, and headed back to the safety of his bar.
Blair had no idea why he was finding this situation so amusing. He’d had a shocker of a day. He’d allowed his mother’s latest meddling to make him a grouch in the yards, and with Charlie out of action he might have turned into Mr Grumpy, but that wasn’t who he was and, for reasons unknown, what this woman thought of him mattered. Why she hadn’t run a mile earlier, he didn’t know. He certainly needed to accept her offer to cook before she changed her mind.
‘Thank you, Nina. I appreciate you helping me out tomorrow night. You might want to bring your bag when you come. Not much sense driving back to town afterwards when I have the perfect accommodation to offer. I mean, you want to see where your mum stayed, and if she worked as a cook for Grandma Marjorie back in the eighties she would’ve lived in the cottage over on Ivy-May. That was where all the help stayed.’
*
The help? Nina wanted to question the word. Such arrogance.
‘The place has been scrubbed in preparation for a bit of a spruce-up and, well, it’s not flash, but if you wanted to stay there for sentimental reasons…’
‘Wow, seriously, I can stay in the same cabin as Mum?’
‘If you cook for me tomorrow, the accommodation is yours.’ Blair was smiling again. ‘Dad used it briefly as a studio, and later as storage. Now we only ever use it on rare overflow occasions. The place is clean and fully self-contained but a bit of a hike from my place.’
‘No problem. I love to keep in shape.’
‘Yeah, I noticed that earlier today, too.’ This time Blair winked.
Damn! The guy was gorgeous, but full of himself. Not too dissimilar to Conrad, only with a layer of dusty sweat. He’d mentioned working at the big end of town, but looking at the open-necked shirt, denim jeans, and scuffed boots, Nina had trouble imagining him any other way.
‘Did you say something?’ Blair asked.
‘Ah, me? Um, no.’ Jeez, I hope not!
‘About the cook’s cottage. It’s close to Ivy-May where Dad lives, Nina, so I sure hope you’re not a crazed stalker.’
‘Sounds perfect and, I promise, no stalking.’ She laughed. ‘Seriously, Blair, thank you. I’ll take a look around town tomorrow and head out to your place mid-afternoon.’
*
The day couldn’t have turned out any better if she’d planned it. Castrating bulls had not been part of Project Portrait, but Blair was a bonus. Despite her initial impression of him, she was genuinely happy to help because tomorrow he would give her the guided tour and she could find a way to meet John Tate Senior. While she didn’t plan to quiz the artist, one thing was for sure: Nina would have loved being a fly on the wall during her mother’s sitting.