Sage Advice
The afternoon tea Nina had helped prepare for the CWA bus group went down well, almost every morsel eaten as the ladies nattered.
After waving the group away, Nina and Blair walked the venue with bags, collecting food scraps and napkins off the tables.
‘You want to tell me your secret, Nina?’
Blair’s question startled her to a standstill. ‘My, ah, secret?’
He was holding up an empty plate. ‘Those lavender shortbread were to die for.’
‘Oh, right, yes. My shortbread secret. Simple, really. It’s singing.’
Blair chuckled. ‘Singing is the secret to your baking success?’
Even Nina thought it sounded crazy, but she felt crazy being so close to Blair all afternoon. The attraction wasn’t his looks as much as his laidback approach to everything he did: no frills, no fakery. What you see is what you get.
‘One song in particular,’ she said. ‘Mum told us as kids that if we ate too many of her lavender shortbreads we’d turn purple and get a visit from the Purple People Eater.’ She delivered a few lines of the song. ‘If you want I can Google all the words for you.’
‘Thanks, but that’s probably not necessary.’
They both laughed, relaxing into easy banter.
‘I’m glad you liked the biscuits,’ Nina said. They’d cleared the deck. Only the kitchen to go before beer o’clock.
Nina had too easily slipped back into cooking mode, with today’s afternoon tea highlighting what she’d been missing. Homemade food. How she wished she’d been a cook in her mum’s day when there was no social-media scrutiny that allowed one mean person to ruin a reputation with a review, warranted or not. These days, everyone considered themselves a critic, so-called experts who were no longer satisfied unless their meat was sous vide, their side orders foamed, or desserts served flambé style or lost in a liquid nitrogen fog. The need for every commercial cook to be a master chef in every sense was so great because no restaurant was interested in hiring a mediocre one. For that reason alone, Nina had steered herself away from the restaurant business. Like Ava, Nina loved simple food made with love.
‘Those CWA ladies sure know how to have a good time,’ she said. ‘And, boy, can they eat. There’s hardly anything left.’
‘All credit to your baking skills. And I confess I saved this for myself. Yum!’ Blair had the last lavender shortbread between his thumb and index finger. ‘I might love to cook and I’m not bad, even if I do say so myself, but never in a million years could I pull a feast like that together at such short notice.’
‘My mum says good bakers always rise to the occasion. It’s the yeast we can do.’
Blair almost spluttered his mouthful of shortbread into his hand. ‘You’re not too bad at the gags yourself. Wait until I tell Dad he’s met his match.’
‘Mum told the same jokes all the time. It was kind of embarrassing.’
‘I met a lady not long ago who…’ Blair’s eyes widened, sparked, like he’d tripped a circuit breaker. His head tipped to one side, his gaze darting between Nina and the remaining piece of biscuit. ‘Come to think of it, these biscuits… ’
‘Are you going to compliment me on them again?’
Nina had expected him to come back with a cheeky pun. Instead he said seriously, ‘Your cooking and these… They remind me of her.’
‘Ooh, I hope you’re thinking Nigella Lawson. I’d cope with that comparison.’ Nina’s laugh hung in the air.
Blair’s eyes narrowed. ‘A woman I met a few weeks back by the name of Ava Marchette.’
‘You met Mum?’ Nina would’ve remembered if Ava had mentioned John Tate had a son. Wouldn’t she?
‘Yes, she stayed here last month while Dad was painting her portrait. Why didn’t you tell me your mother was Ava Marchette?’
Flabbergasted, Nina bristled. ‘Because I had no idea it was a requirement. Should I have presented a résumé before offering to get you out of a tight spot? And, for your information, I didn’t know my mother had come out to Ivy-May until a couple of days ago. As far as I knew she stayed in the motel, the one in town with the ridiculous name.’
The sharpest meat cleaver in the world would not have cut the atmosphere between the pair.
Blair spoke: ‘She was at the Moo-tel only for one night. The rest of the time she had a room in the lodge and she told me she ran a bakery. “Just a bakery,” she said, all very casual.’ Blair’s lips thinned into a smirk. ‘Seems omitting details is a Marchette family trait and that makes my mum right. We only learn what someone actually wants us to know about them.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Nina might have prickled at the slight, but she had to restrain herself. How could she go on the defensive when she’d misrepresented herself the day she’d arrived? ‘I most definitely was not deliberately hiding anything from you, Blair. Let me explain.’
He leaned back against the stainless-steel workbench and crossed his ankles. ‘Go on, I’m listening.’
‘Mum and I did talk. She told me about the time she spent at Candlebark Creek thirty years ago, and about sitting for your dad at Ivy-May last month. By her account they got on quite well.’
Blair remained rigid. ‘So you’re here to check out my father after all?’
How did she answer that truthfully? She couldn’t, of course.
‘I admit, after talking to Mum, I was curious about him.’ Not a lie, she told herself. ‘I didn’t know you’d met her. She never mentioned your name.’ Also not a lie. ‘She came to visit the place and had your dad paint her portrait.’ No lie there either. Still, Nina was treading on dangerous ground. Keeping a secret was hard enough. Keeping someone else’s added a degree or two of difficulty. She could hardly tell Blair who Ava had been to his father. She’d also have to watch what she said to him in future, and the prospect of lying didn’t sit well with her. ‘Obviously my coming here was a bad idea, Blair. The first hour in the yards should’ve told me that much. I’ll leave.’ She gathered her handbag from the hook by the door, stopping briefly to look back. ‘I’m sorry. I never meant to cause any harm to anyone.’
*
Blair let her go, maybe because he was still raw from Veronica’s betrayal, which his mother had reminded him about only a few hours ago. Most likely he had too many other important things to think about, like his business, the one under Katie’s constant scrutiny. Hadn’t he also told his mother that not all women were the same? Then again, Nina had sounded genuinely sorry just now. But so had Veronica, who’d lied about the until-death-us-do-part bit, who’d used their son as a pawn, who’d insisted on a bloody kitchen renovation they couldn’t afford. But, wow, hadn’t Nina looked amazing in it earlier, shimmying at the sink, her hands up to her elbows in suds while humming and singing, throwing in a la-la-la to replace forgotten words. Veronica had only ever worried about her skin getting too much sun, or the dishwater ruining her nail polish. Nina’s unpretentious and joyful approach to cooking and plating food had outshone the shiniest appliance and nothing, not even the several soggy tea-towels he’d tossed at her as they’d tidied, had stopped her singing and smiling.
She’d returned fire, ambushing Blair with a tea-towel when he came back to the kitchen carrying a handful of plates, and soon they were engaged in a duel, their giggles drowned by Country Women’s Association chatter in the next room.
Blair was panting and laughing. ‘Okay, okay, you win. You’re way too quick for me.’
‘Yesssss!’ She’d done a mock victory lap in slow motion around the kitchen, stopping only when Blair tugged her to him, his hands cupping her elbows. He’d wanted to kiss her, but Nina had muttered something about the dishes and pushed herself away from him.
Then you had to go and ruin it all, didn’t you, dickhead?
*
In her haste to get packed and into town before dark, Nina had knocked her make-up bag onto the bathroom tiles. Compacts, tubes and bottles spread themselves into every corner of the floor. After collecting what she could, mopping up the spilled moisturiser, and jettisoning anything broken into a plastic shopping bag, she double-checked the small zippered compartment for Conrad’s ring. The sooner she could offload the expensive bit of bling the better.
After a final check, she hauled her overnight bag’s strap over her shoulder and yanked open the door to the cottage.
‘Blair!’
‘Hi there, Nina.’
Seconds ticked by with Nina struggling for words. Maybe another apology was in order.
Blair beat her to it. ‘I’m sorry, Nina. I’m hoping you might give me both thyme and some sage advice. It mint a lot to have your help. You were so grate and I didn’t mean to grill you. Can I come in? I have a peace offering.’ He brought his hand from behind his back. He was holding a bottle of red wine. ‘Please?’ With his other hand he reached out and slowly slipped the bag strap from her shoulder.
Nina didn’t resist, stepping back to allow him inside. ‘What’s the advice you need, Blair?’
‘How not to be such a jerk,’ he replied. ‘It never clicked with me, even though I can see you in her.’ He was in the small kitchen, taking glasses from the cupboard and pouring wine. ‘That shortbread was the clincher. Never had ground lavender and sugar in food before Ava came. She made some and they were yum.’ Blair was trying to recover. He wanted her to stay. ‘The surprise connection kind of threw me and Mum had upset me on the telephone earlier. I really liked Ava and so did Dad. In fact…’
‘In fact what?’
Blair’s Adam’s apple danced and a creeping red flush made its way to his cheeks. ‘Shame she had to cut her stay short,’ he said. ‘How’s your sister-in-law’s baby?’
‘My…?’ It was Nina’s turn to be surprised. Such familiarity not only added a new level of weird, it set off warning bells. ‘Ris and the baby are fine. Thanks for asking.’
‘Good-oh.’ Blair clinked her glass. ‘So, Ava is the Bark Hut Bakery?’
‘It’s a family business,’ Nina said. ‘I should fit in, but I don’t. To Tony I’m still his annoying sister and we have a franchise system so regimented that tweaking the shape, the size or the ingredients of a Bark Hut biscuit requires several memos, a directors’ meeting and a Morgan Gallup poll.’
Blair’s brow creased. ‘Do you like anything about the work?’
‘When I can get out from behind the desk and visit a shop. Driving is therapeutic. Getting here, I had the windows down, the music loud. Maybe fewer boardroom meetings and more field trips are in order. After today, I know I need to laugh more. I really did enjoy myself.’ Today’s clamorous afternoon, with a bunch of ladies from the largest women’s organisation in the country, had been a wake-up call for her.
‘Have you ever thought about setting up a Bark Hut franchise in Candlebark Creek?’ he asked. ‘You could insist on those field trips.’
‘You’d like that, Blair?’
‘Well, I am a meat-pie man from way back,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘Another bakery in town would be great. If that’s what you meant.’
‘Ha!’ The wine was the perfect icebreaker.
‘Nina,’ Blair sounded serious again, ‘you’ve been terrific and I had to go and ruin everything by being a jerk. I was over-the-top before, but you have to understand that I’ve grown up protecting Dad from nosy people.’
‘I understand and it’s fine. You don’t need to apologise. I also over-reacted.’
‘Let’s drink to starting over.’ He topped up her wine and raised his glass to hers.
‘If I drink this I won’t be able to drive home.’
‘Bummer.’ He winked. ‘Then you’ll have to leave tomorrow, after I’ve shouted you dinner. Charlie’s back on duty tonight and he does a mean steak.’
‘Okay then. To Charlie and his steak.’ Nina clinked her glass with his.
‘And to getting to know Nina Marchette.’
‘There’s not much to know,’ she said. ‘My full name is Angelina Marchette, daughter to Ava. As a baby, my twin brother couldn’t get his mouth around Angelina, so I became Nina. I share a flat in Noosa with my best friend and work colleague, Miriam. Without her I’d go crazy. I’m also seriously happy to have been useful here, like genuinely useful, and as going back to my routine in a stuffy office environment is not appealing, I want to thank you for stopping me. You’re the one with the interesting life. You’re lucky to have this place as your office. Every day must be so different.’
‘If we’re being honest, the grass isn’t always greener,’ Blair said. ‘Working a property of this type has its routine and boring bits, as well as the unexpected. The nice kind of unexpected, like random farmhands, as well as the not so nice. We’ve had our share of natural and man-made disasters.’
‘Like drought?’
‘Or the cyclones, the fires, the dingoes attacking the calves. Worst of all, every time we host a wedding I run the risk of coming face to face with the most fearsome threat of all. Ten times worse than wild dogs and bad weather is… the bridezilla!’
‘Ha!’
‘Speaking of jobs that have to be done,’ Blair glanced at his watch, ‘it’s late in the day, but I can’t put this off. I have to get going. See you on the deck for dinner at seven?’
‘Can’t I help with whatever the job is?’ Nina’s offer slipped out when it might have been more prudent first to check the nature of the task. It couldn’t be any worse than castrating bulls. Could it? Blair’s grin made her wonder.
‘An extra pair of hands comes in handy with just about every facet of this place, but you didn’t come here to work, remember? You’re here to see where your mother stayed.’
‘But you just said everyone pulls their weight on a property like this and I’m guessing that rule would have applied in Mum’s day. Wouldn’t she have done more than cook?’
‘If you insist, I won’t say no, Nina, but I’ll be paying you. And although not a lot of dough, I can manage a floury rate. It’s the yeast I can do.’
‘Okay, funny guy, what’s the job?’
‘I need to bring in a mob of heifers and their calves before dark.’
While the idea of spending more time in Blair’s company, along with a mob of heifers, appealed, she had to remind herself of why she’d driven for six hours to get there. She wouldn’t bump into John Tate and get to know him if she was busy getting to know his son. Then again, maybe she’d pushed the boundaries too far already, and maybe Blair was turning out to be more interesting than his father.
‘On second thoughts, I might stretch my legs with a walk around the property,’ she told him.
‘Probably safer. See you on the deck for dinner tonight. But if you do change your mind and want the full farmstay experience, I’ll be in the stables where you parked your car that first day.’
As Blair strode away, an echo of something Miriam had once said about Nina always choosing the safe option sounded in her head. Of course she’d denied the accusation vehemently at the time, telling her friend her choices were more to do with not wanting to over-complicate her life. But Miriam had been right about some things: Nina hadn’t formed any serious attachments and she did work for her brother rather than striking out herself. Now she was interested in solving her mother’s love life rather than her own.