Almost the sole topic of conversation in the cafe for the last few days had been the weather—or, more precisely, the rain that was forecast. In the weeks Gemma had been back in Bingorra, chatting with customers and overhearing their conversations, she had begun to pick up on the community’s concerns, and now she always tuned in to the regular weather forecasts on the radio.
The bell tinkled, and Gemma looked up from where she was finishing the cappuccino she’d just made and hoped her smile didn’t give away the surprise she felt as Grace Henderson walked into the cafe. Gemma had only ever seen her around town from a distance but there was no mistaking who she was. She bit back a smile as she remembered Wendy calling her Bingorra royalty as she’d swanned past the store once.
She was a stylish woman in a classical, understated way, and the epitome of less is more, dressed in black pants and a cream-coloured blouse. A thin gold necklace and slimline gold watch was the only jewellery she wore.
Gemma picked up the mug in its saucer and delivered the order, coming back to the counter where Mrs Henderson stood looking around curiously. ‘Can I get you something?’
Mrs Henderson gave Gemma a keen-eyed once-over. ‘I’ve heard so much about your little cafe,’ she said graciously. ‘I thought it was time I came down for a look.’
‘It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs Henderson,’ Gemma said with a polite smile. ‘I’m Gemma.’
‘Yes, I know who you are, dear, and please call me Grace. My son’s a big advocate of your cooking skills, Gemma. He hardly eats at home anymore.’ Grace gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and Gemma wasn’t sure how to reply. Fortunately, just then the back door opened and Bess came to the kitchen door with Finn on her hip.
‘Please excuse me for a moment, Mrs . . . ah, Grace,’ said Gemma, hurrying to the door. She reached out for Finn and buried her face in his sweet-smelling neck. She talked to Bess about how his day had gone before passing him back to her and returning to Grace’s table.
‘Ben mentioned you had a son. He’s adorable,’ Grace said, and Gemma wondered if that had labelled her somehow in the older woman’s eyes, although her comment suggested she wasn’t put off by the fact.
‘I remember when my boys were that little. So precious, and they can break your heart so very easily,’ she added softly, before clearing her throat and returning her gaze to the menu. ‘I actually came in here today to offer you a catering job, if you’re interested.’
‘Oh,’ said Gemma, surprised.
‘It’s my fortieth wedding anniversary in a fortnight and my husband and I are having a small gathering out at Bullowa—just seventy or so close friends and family. Do you think you could handle something like that?’
Gemma did a quick calculation in her head. A job this big would be fantastic for business and the added bonus to her income wouldn’t hurt either. ‘Sure. I can do that. I’ll figure out a menu and a quote and get it out to you tomorrow. How does that sound?’
‘That would be fine, dear,’ Grace said with a nod.
Gemma quickly took down the details of the date and time and a contact number.
‘Lovely. I look forward to working with you,’ Grace said before walking out of the cafe.
After the older woman had gone, Gemma stared at the empty doorway, a million things running through her head. Already she was thinking about recipes and ingredients, working out the logistics of transporting food, and itching to grab her calculator and begin costing out a quote.
Nothing had gone right today. Finn, who was teething, had woken up three times during the night, uncomfortable and grizzling, and by morning Gemma had felt like a zombie. She had a thousand things to do while she finished cooking for the Hendersons’ party later that afternoon. It had been raining almost non-stop for the last three days and the dreary weather wasn’t helping her mood. Thank goodness the Hendersons had organised a large marquee so at least it wouldn’t affect the arrangements for the party.
The cafe had been very busy lately, but she hoped today would be a little slower; she’d hired a friend of Corrine’s as extra help and was confident they could manage most of the orders without her so she could devote herself to preparing the party food. She had also arranged for Bess to come in all day to babysit Finn.
But while Gemma was feeding Finn his breakfast, Bess’s mother called to tell her Bess was sick and wouldn’t be able to babysit after all. After thanking her for calling, and wishing Bess a speedy recovery, Gemma hung up the phone and dropped her head onto the table. Bess had proven herself entirely reliable and Gemma knew she would have to be pretty unwell not to come to work, but of all the days she could have called in sick, today was the worst. It would be so nice to just take Finn and go back to bed, but she knew that was out of the question today. Straightening up, she eyed the phone briefly before picking it up again. It was a long shot, as he was probably already out working, but she dialled Nash’s mobile and waited, listening to it ring.
When, unexpectedly, he answered, Gemma pushed away the irritating little flutter of nerves at the sound of his voice on the other end of the line. It had been almost two weeks since she and Finn had spent the night at Dunoon. Nash hadn’t pressured her about the discussion they’d had, in fact he hadn’t brought it up again, but she knew he was waiting for an answer. Maybe he could see how stressed she was with the upcoming catering job and had given her a reprieve. Everything had to be perfect for this party—her reputation was hinging on it.
‘Hi. Sorry to bother you, you’re probably busy,’ she said in a rush.
‘No worries. What’s up?’
‘I, ah, have a bit of a problem. Bess’s sick and I was counting on her to look after Finn today. I’ve got Grace Henderson’s party to cater for later this afternoon and I have to make the food. And Finn’s teething and irritable and won’t sleep, and I can’t really have him in the shop because all he wants is to be picked up—’
‘Calm down,’ Nash interjected. ‘I’m on my way. I’ll bring him back here.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Gemma. It’s fine.’
‘I have to go out to Bullowa at about two thirty to set up and I’ll be finished around six. I’ll drop by after that and pick him up.’
‘Why don’t you just stay here tonight?’
‘Ah, I’m not sure . . .’
‘You’ll be exhausted by then and you probably won’t feel like driving back into town,’ Nash pointed out.
She knew he was right; by the evening she’d be dead on her feet. But after the last time she’d stayed at Dunoon she knew she had next to no willpower when it came to being alone with him, and there was still the matter of finishing their ‘talk’. He’d be expecting some kind of answer and the truth was, she was no closer to knowing what to do than she had been a fortnight ago. Yet even as her brain was listing all the excellent reasons why she should decline, she heard herself saying, ‘Thanks. That sounds like a good idea.’
‘Great,’ Nash said warmly.
After she’d hung up, Gemma let out a shaky breath and looked down at Finn, who chewed furiously on a cold teething ring on her lap. ‘Well, kiddo, looks like we’re having another sleepover at Daddy’s house tonight.’ She stroked her son’s soft dark hair, so much like his father’s, and felt nervous excitement begin to build inside her.
Forty minutes later, in the cafe kitchen, Gemma gently rocked a sobbing Finn against her shoulder and looked around in despair. She’d burned the first lot of hors d’oeuvre cases she’d baked and there was no point starting again while Finn remained so clingy. Every time she put him down he cried, and while she was pretty sure all the parenting books would frown at giving in to his demands, today she had no other option.
She was on the verge of bursting into tears herself when there was a knock at the kitchen door, followed immediately by Ben’s head poking into the room. Gemma swallowed down her mini breakdown and summoned a weak smile.
‘Whoa, what’s going on in here?’ Stepping inside, Ben gazed around the usually clean kitchen, now a chaotic mess with flour spilled on the floor and dirty bakeware stacked in the sink. On the bench were the still-smoking burnt offerings she’d just pulled from the oven.
‘I’m having a bad day.’
‘So I see,’ Ben said. ‘I came over to let you know Mum’s invited a few extras to the party, so the numbers have gone up by another ten . . .’ He paused at the sight of her face. ‘I’m guessing that’s the last thing you want to hear right now?’
‘Ten more guests?’ said Gemma in disbelief. The original seventy friends and family had grown to seventy-seven only the day before, and now another ten? Where the hell were these people coming from? That mini breakdown was threatening to turn into a major event.
Picking up on her stress, Finn began to cry again. Gemma jiggled him absently on one hip as she tried to calculate how many more batches she’d need to make.
‘Here, why don’t I take this guy for a bit and give you some space.’ Without waiting for an answer, Ben reached over to take Finn from her arms and sat down on the chair Gemma had dragged from the front of the shop earlier.
‘Oh, thanks. Actually, Nash will be here soon to take him, but if I can just tidy up some of this mess so I can see what I’m doing, that would be great.’
It helped that Finn seemed happy to sit calmly on Ben’s lap and play with Ben’s hat while Gemma cleaned up and then gathered what she needed to start a new batch of pastry.
‘Are you looking forward to the party?’ she asked as she mixed the ingredients.
‘Forty years is a pretty impressive milestone.’ Ben looked away. ‘Can’t say I’m thrilled about mingling with the guests, though. Most of them think I should still be rotting away in prison.’
Gemma glanced up at him, frowning. His expression was neutral but when he met her eye she saw a brief flash of pain. ‘Surely no one thinks that,’ she said gently. ‘Not after all this time?’
‘You still don’t get the people out here, do you?’ he said. ‘It’s black or white. There’s no in between.’
‘So why stay here? Why not move to some other place where no one knows you?’
‘And do what? I don’t have a diploma, I dropped out of high school after year eleven and I don’t have a trade. I don’t have any work or credit history . . . As soon as I apply for a job they want to know what I’ve been doing since high school. At least here I can work on the farm and earn some money.’
‘Maybe in time people will think differently,’ she said.
‘I doubt it. This place has a long memory.’ He fell silent for a moment, then went on in a brighter tone, ‘I need to do a few errands up the street. Do you want me to take this little guy for a walk?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
At the deep growl from the kitchen doorway, Gemma dropped the tray she’d just picked up. The clatter startled Finn and set him crying again, and Gemma quickly bent down to retrieve the fallen tray. Nash’s sudden appearance had left her feeling unaccountably flustered and somehow guilty.
As Nash took Finn from Ben’s arms, Gemma saw the glare the men exchanged, and hoped it wouldn’t escalate into anything here in her tiny kitchen.
‘Is he ready to go?’ Nash asked grimly.
Gemma fumed, too angry to speak as she went through the back door of the kitchen and picked up the nappy bag, then handed it to Nash. He swung it up on his shoulder and turned away. ‘I’ll see you tonight,’ was all he said, before shoving open the front door, leaving the usually serene bell jingling like a crowd of irritated pixies.
‘I see why you like him so much,’ Ben mused. ‘It’s his pleasant personality, isn’t it?’
Gemma sighed and shook her head. ‘You two wear me out.’ ‘Hey, I wasn’t the one who stormed in here like a bear with a sore head.’
‘Don’t act like the innocent party in all this, Ben,’ she snapped. ‘You know damn well you provoke him whenever you get the chance. I wish you’d both just knock it off.’
Unfortunately, it seemed that the fight at the pub hadn’t been a miracle turning point in their relationship. Well, Gemma was sick of being in the middle of their drama. ‘I have to get all this finished,’ she said, going back to her pastry. Ben left with a promise to drop in later and pick up most of the food, then finally she was left in relative peace and quiet to tackle the troublesome hors d’oeuvres.
It was only when she was making her second sweep of the party guests with her tray of salmon and smoked ham pinwheels, bocconcini with ricotta and smoked salmon, and ratatouille tarts that Gemma was able to relax and smile properly. Initially afraid that her food wouldn’t be up to scratch, she was now actually enjoying herself as she carried the canapés through the crowd, accepting the enthusiastic compliments with quiet pride. She’d been asked several times for the recipe for her beetroot dip, and had secured two new catering jobs for the upcoming month. This made it all worthwhile, she thought as she headed back to the kitchen to restock her trays. All those bone-weary nights when her feet ached after working all day in Micca’s kitchen and she could barely think straight, juggling a newborn baby and shiftwork, had finally paid off. She was happy. She had her own business, a beautiful baby boy she adored, and she was doing something she loved. It made everything she’d gone through to reach this point worth it.
‘Thank you, my dear. The food was absolutely divine,’ said Grace a few hours later, handing Gemma a cheque for the catering.
‘It was my pleasure,’ said Gemma, smiling as she packed the last of her equipment into the back of her car parked under the shelter of the Hendersons’ large carport off the side of the house.
‘I’ve been hearing nothing but raves about your food all afternoon. I think you’re going to be a very busy young lady.’
Gemma looked at her with profound gratitude. ‘Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity, Grace.’
The older woman waved one elegantly manicured hand. ‘I should be thanking you,’ she said, smiling. ‘Being the one who discovered you has made me the envy of the district.’
Gemma watched as Grace walked away to farewell the last of her guests. While Gemma was growing up, her parents were always either hosting or attending parties and charity events with the cream of Sydney’s society. She hadn’t realised that even a little place like Bingorra had a distinct social hierarchy, but tonight she’d seen that the women were every bit as well-dressed and dignified as their city counterparts. Who would have thought?
‘Sounds like you were a big hit, Ms Northcote,’ said Ben, emerging from the shadows of the stately verandah.
‘Thank you, Ben.’
‘For what?’
‘You know for what. I know it was you who got your mother to hire me for this event. So thank you for introducing me to a whole new line of business.’
‘I didn’t do anything, really.’ Ben shrugged. ‘My mother never does anything she doesn’t want to do. She must have been impressed when she came to see you or you wouldn’t have got the gig.’
‘Well, thank you,’ Gemma said again. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without all your help since I’ve been back.’ Her smile faltered a little as a strange look crossed Ben’s face and he suddenly stepped closer. He leaned forward and his lips brushed gently against her own. Startled, she returned his kiss for a moment until she realised what she was doing and pulled away, stepping back. ‘Ben—’
‘You don’t have to say anything,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I know you’ve still got a thing for Whittaker. Can’t blame a bloke for trying though, can you?’
Gemma wasn’t fooled by his bravado; she knew Ben had real feelings for her and it hurt that she couldn’t return them. ‘I’m sorry, Ben. I really am.’
‘Yeah. I know.’ He dropped his gaze to the ground between them. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t try anything again. I just figured I’d give it one more shot.’
Gemma laid a hand on his arm. ‘You’re a good friend, Ben. I hope that doesn’t change.’
He winced, then summoned a weak smile. ‘You sure know how to wound a guy. Don’t you know using the “friend” word is the equivalent of castration?’
‘My bad.’ She grinned, grateful that he was handling the situation so calmly. The Ben she’d met when she first came out here wouldn’t have been so gracious. He’d come a long way since then.
‘You need a hand with anything else?’ he asked when the silence between them threatened to get awkward.
‘Nope, I’m all done. I’ll take this stuff back to the cafe tomorrow.’ She’d washed most of the trays and serving dishes inside before packing up.
‘I guess I’ll see you around then . . . friend.’
Gemma couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head at his deliberately rueful expression. ‘You shall indeed. ’Night.’ She stepped into her car and started the engine, waving to him as she drove away.
As she left the lights of Bullowa behind and drove along the dark road towards Dunoon, a thrill of nervous anticipation went through her. A long night stretched ahead. Another night spent under Nash’s roof, and with only Finn as chaperone.