Marta felt the sting of nerves as they walked through Christophe’s front door. Drawn by the sound of conversation and laughter, they walked down the corridor and poked their heads into the kitchen on the way.
Christophe greeted them with a beaming smile. ‘Joyeux Noël, Joe, Marta.’
‘Merry Christmas,’ Marta and Joe said in unison. Joe stepped forward and the two men hugged briefly.
The Frenchman looked Joe up and down, grinned wickedly, kissed his fingertips and blew an extravagant air kiss in his direction. ‘Showing real class!’
‘Cut it out,’ Joe muttered, a ruddy glow creeping up under his tan. ‘Did you expect me to turn up in a bloody monkey suit?’
‘And have all the other guests collapse comatose with shock?’ Christophe laughed, a deep rumbling belly laugh that rippled through the hot air. ‘They’ll be shocked out of their ever-loving minds as it is.’
Marta choked down a laugh at the expression on Joe’s face; he looked adorable when he blushed, and more than a little desperate. She took pity on him and changed the subject. ‘Is everything going to plan, Christophe?’
The chef’s smile dimmed. ‘Yeah, everything’s on track, except there’s no sign of Sam yet. He’s supposed to be bringing oysters.’
‘Want me to have a look out back?’ Joe’s eagerness to escape his friend’s ribbing was comical.
‘If you wouldn’t mind. Help yourself to drinks; they’re keeping cold in the eskies on the terrace just outside the family room.’
‘Will do.’ Joe tugged on her hand and she knew he’d endured enough of the chef’s teasing.
They walked through the family room where guests clustered around Christophe’s Christmas tree, a towering six foot artificial blue spruce decorated entirely in silver and blue, and spilled out through the French doors onto the covered terrace beyond.
‘Wow, that’s some tree.’ Joe walked around it looking at it from all angles. ‘Do you reckon he decorated it or had an interior designer?’
‘Interior designer,’ Marta answered without hesitation. ‘Decorating a tree like this is a real time-suck.’
Joe nodded. ‘Makes sense, he works long hours. He told me that in France, Christmas is a lavish celebration, and they go all out with their public displays, and in their homes. Looking at this tree I can believe it.’
‘And family means everything to Christophe or he would never have offered to play host to an orphans’ Christmas.’
Joe paused and looked down at her. ‘His liking to tease aside, Christophe is a damned good bloke, and a great friend.’
Marta caught the thread of genuine emotion in his voice, but before she had a chance to answer, a trill of laughter from the terrace drew their attention and they gravitated towards the open doors.
‘I love the way the family room flows straight onto the covered terrace,’ Marta said softly.
‘It creates the illusion of space in what used to be a really cramped area.’ Joe indicated the extensive grounds. ‘And the landscaper carried the theme on outdoors.’
Through the French doors Marta could see that beyond the covered terrace was a series of terraces, each more expansive than the preceding one and ending in a set of wide shallow steps that led down to a flagstone and grassed area surrounding a Balinese style swimming pool, its crystal blue water partially screened by an elegant vertical timber lathe fence and clipped hedges. The hot noonday sun and a brisk eddying wind set the surface of the pool shimmering.
The only detracting element was the crumbling fibro-cement wall between Christophe’s and the neighbouring property.
‘A pity about that.’ Marta aimed a thumb in the direction of the broken wall. ‘It completely spoils the ambience.’
‘Yeah well, Emily and Christophe are fighting over that. Hopefully they’ll see sense and reach an amicable agreement sooner rather than later.’
‘Emily?’
‘Emily Brighton, not sure if you know her. She’s a few years younger than us, and has had a few tough breaks.’
‘Can’t say that I do.’
Another peal of laughter turned their attention to the people clustered near the family room door under the shady patio, all of them strangers to Marta. And by the looks of it, wine was already flowing freely.
‘Let’s go see what Christophe’s put in the eskies,’ Joe murmured.
Together they stepped through the wide-open French doors onto the terrace. ‘Gotta love these.’ Marta flicked a finger at a bauble suspended on strands of tinsel on a huge potted palm, and set it swinging. I wonder if Christophe found mistletoe; even the fake stuff would do.
She itched to catch Joe unawares and kiss him senseless, surprise him as he’d surprised her.
After delivering the vegetables to Christophe, he’d showered and, despite vowing he wasn’t getting ‘trussed up like some damned bush turkey’, he did change—into the rural Aussie uniform of fawn shirt and trousers. With his dark hair still damp and slicked back, dark designer stubble, he was so handsome, he stole her breath. She’d been too taken with his face to look at his feet, but glancing at them now, she grinned—well damn me, he’s wearing a brand new pair of thongs!
‘Look at the dinner table,’ Joe breathed in her ear. ‘Have you ever seen the like?’
They walked over to the lavishly set table, decorated with silver-coated sprays of eucalyptus and gum nuts.
‘I wonder what tree he picked those off.’ Joe reached out and touched one of the gum nuts. ‘I’ve never seen a gum tree with silver nuts.’
Marta elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Behave yourself.’
‘Spoilsport, where’s your holiday spirit? Look at all these dishes and glasses. Who do you reckon will end up on dish-duty?’
Marta displayed one manicured hand and grinned at him. ‘Count me out.’
‘Ah, here are the eskies; can I get you a drink?’ He stopped beside one of the ice-filled coolers, stooping to investigate its contents. ‘There’s beer, wine, soft drinks and cans of pre-mix vodka, rum, Jack Daniels and other spirits.’
‘A beer will do. I don’t want to be legless before we even get started.’
Joe pulled out a stubby and held it up for her inspection. ‘This do?’
‘Sure.’
He flicked the cap off and handed it to her then rooted among the ice cubes and found a bottle of his favourite brew.
‘Ah, Christophe knows my tastes well.’ He twisted the cap off and took a swallow. ‘That wets me whistle. Tell me, Marta, what do you think of Christophe’s rural getaway?’
‘It’s certainly very restful.’
‘He’s done a great job of resuscitating a tired, rundown property. This place was ten times worse than your mother’s when he bought it.’
‘True?’
‘Yeah, I’ve spent quite a bit of time here helping him. Properties like this are in hot demand with folks like him, townspeople who want secluded getaways to escape their frenetic lifestyles.’
She frowned over this. ‘You really think I should hold off selling Mum’s place?’
‘Once it’s sold, Marta, it’s gone. This place was an ordinary cinderblock and brick house on an average block when Christophe bought it.’
She scanned the elegant area, and sighed. ‘And it’s been created with serious money, something I lack.’
‘It need not happen immediately, all you need is a plan, and do it as you can afford.’ Joe held her gaze, his expression serious. ‘Consult with Ben. He may happily settle here and work for me, and help you do up your mum’s place.’
‘Maybe.’ Marta sipped her beer; she understood what Joe wasn’t saying. Already, elbow grease and a few nice touches had changed the ambience of her mother’s house. ‘Nice as this place is, it’s still a long commute to Rainbow Cove; why else is Christophe only here on weekends?’
‘Just think about it, okay?’ He touched her arm.
‘I’m not looking forward to the daily commute. Three nights a week for gigs is okay.’ She shrugged. ‘It makes more sense to live closer.’
‘Moving is a drastic solution for what may well end up as a temporary position.’
‘Xander intends to hire more permanent staff when Eve returns from leave, and you heard him say temporary staff would be given first option. And Christophe is eager to formalise our gigs at the restaurant.’
‘McIntyre is as hard-nosed as they come, Marta. Don’t sell your home if you intend to rely on working for him.’
She stared at Joe, sudden tension tightening the skin on her forehead. ‘You really do have a grudge against Xander; what I don’t understand is why?’
‘He’s not a stayer,’ Joe muttered, his brow scrunched in a black frown. ‘He arrives in a place with a great fanfare of publicity, gets the public all excited. He makes a creaming then he’s gone, he’s moved on to the next place all ready to repeat the process.’
‘He gave me no indication he was thinking of leaving when I met with him last week.’
‘Stands to reason, he wouldn’t, would he? He’s an astute businessman, and he’s already committed to leaving Rainbow Cove in the new year.’
‘What? You’re kidding me.’
Joe’s dark brows lifted. ‘One of my employees knows the manager of the resort, who told him.’
The beer in Marta’s belly solidified into a cold lump. ‘Xander gave me the impression he was here for the long haul.’
‘McIntyre never made his money by standing still.’ Joe drained his stubby. ‘And management aren’t obliged to follow through on the developer’s promises, long term.’
The dry observation chilled Marta. ‘I see.’
And she did. If there was little chance of a permanent position at the resort, she could not afford to sell and buy a place nearer Rainbow Cove, and provide Ben with his share. She was still digesting this when Xander walked through the family room doorway. ‘And here’s the man himself.’
‘You want to ask him about his plans?’ Joe’s soft voice was brim-full of challenge. ‘No time like the present.’
‘Not here,’ Marta muttered and rolled her eyes. ‘That would be the best way to ruin Christophe’s party.’
‘Coward.’
She scowled and hunched an offended shoulder. ‘I refuse to get into this here, in someone else’s home. You may consider this acceptable behaviour, I don’t.’
Joe gripped her arm, his brows lowered in a ferocious glower. ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’
She looked at him, her eyes narrowed and her mind working feverishly. God! I am so thick!
‘I can see right through your outrageous ocker behaviour, and your tatty dress code.’
And she could—why have I not seen this before?
‘What do you imagine you can see?’ Joe’s voice was dangerously quiet, his grey eyes dark, and a muscle ticked in the side of his jaw.
‘It’s long past time you got rid of that massive chip on your shoulder and matured from living in the time warp of teenage rebellion. It’s time you grew up, Joe; the crass attitude you’ve perfected doesn’t suit you.’
‘You have one hell of a nerve.’ His face paled beneath his tan.
With a lift of her eyebrows, she looked at him for long pregnant moments. ‘Or did I hit a very tender nerve?’
Before he had a chance to answer, Xander approached, smiling. ‘Joe, Marta, season’s greetings.’
He held out a hand, and the men shook hands, both of them smiling broadly.
Hypocrites, both of you—Marta managed a strained smile and a nod. It’s alright for Joe; he’s not relying on employment with Xander to meet his living expenses.
‘I thought Flick was coming with you. Have you run her off already?’ Joe’s obnoxiously cheerful greeting was a blatant attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
Marta gave him an oblique glance and saw ruddy colour flush his tan. She had definitely struck a raw nerve, and was surprised she’d not picked up on this sooner.
Xander’s eyes narrowed, his gaze skimming between her and Joe. ‘Flick’s just taking a phone call.’
Marta looked past him and saw a pretty, slender blonde, dressed in a floaty, flower-patterned dress step through the French doors of the family room dabbing at her eyes. She walked across and joined them, leaning up to kiss Xander.
Marta blinked—she really looks the part, a rich man’s arm candy—and immediately regretted the snarky thought. It wasn’t Flick’s fault Xander was moving on from Rainbow Cove.
Xander drew her forward. ‘Have you met Flick?’
‘Sure, we’ve met at Chez Christophe.’ Marta couldn’t keep the edge of frost from her voice. Have you told Flick you’re moving on, or do you just love them and leave them?
Joe held out a hand, his greeting effusive. ‘Merry Christmas, Flick. You’re looking beautiful today, I hardly recognised you out of your kitchen whites.’
Xander scowled at Joe, put an arm around Flick’s shoulders and pulled her close to his side, the move unmistakably possessive, and an unsubtle brush-off.
Christophe appeared in the family room doorway. He carried a large silver tray and breezed up to them. ‘Joe, just the guy I was looking for.’ The chef handed him the tray. ‘Would you and Marta please pass these hors d’oeuvres around while I finish up a few last minute things in the kitchen?’
His presence diffused the screaming tension, and Xander quickly guided Flick away.
‘Of course, these look gorgeous.’ Marta selected a vol-au-vent and took a delicate bite. ‘Mmm, scrumptious, chef.’
‘I aim to please.’ Christophe rubbed his hands together.
Before he could disappear, she asked. ‘Do you need any help in the kitchen?’
‘No, I’ve roped Nico in to help, but thanks for the offer.’
After he left, Joe peered at the tray’s contents. ‘What are these? I suppose they have unpronounceable French names too!’
‘Mini-quiches and vol-au-vents.’ Marta glared at him. ‘They’re hors d’oeuvres, Joe.’
He glared right back. ‘At least there’s plenty of food, even if the company’s lacking.’
‘The only thing lacking here is your attitude.’ Her voice was tart.
‘Let’s circulate and offload these horse-thingies.’ He deliberately exaggerated his flat ocker accent, his grin mocking her.
‘For God’s sake, Joe, they’re hors d’oeuvres,’ she hissed.
‘If you say so.’ He grinned, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. He offered the tray to a hugely pregnant lady. ‘Freya, isn’t it? Have some of these horse-thingies and lighten the load.’
As she stretched out a hand to take one, a gust of wind flattened her floaty dress against her belly. ‘Oops, sorry.’ She laughed and tried to loosen the garment over her baby-bulge, rich colour creeping up under her pale skin.
‘No worries.’ Marta pasted on a bright smile and whisked the tray of hors d’oeuvres from Joe with an impatient huff of breath, and approached a cluster of guests near the edge of the terrace and proffered the tray. ‘Try one of Christophe’s delectable morsels, they taste divine.’
With much laughter and compliments the tray quickly emptied. Marta turned intending to return the empty tray when she caught sight of a man skulking beside the house near the broken fence.
She turned and nudged Joe. ‘Who’s that guy hovering there by that side gate close to the house? Do you think he’s scoping out the place? There’s been a rash of opportune thefts recently, and Christophe is real busy.’
***
Joe looked down the side of the house, initially only seeing the broken fence that so irked his mate. Then he caught a glimpse of a lurking shadow. ‘I’m not sure. I’d better go have a look.’
Joe helped himself to a pastry from the tray then strode across the patio.
Anger gnawed at his innards—what the hell had gotten into Marta? He’d only mentioned Xander’s plans in the hope that this would dissuade her from making any hasty decisions about selling her family home, and it had backfired.
I am not hung up on the past, nor do I have a chip on my shoulder—Marta’s accusations stung.
He pulled up short when he saw a guy almost hidden behind the pile of ice boxes he carried. He recognised the Viravaidya Oyster Farm logo on the boxes, and the man peering around the side of them. ‘Kiet! Long time, no see, mate. I didn’t know you were coming today.’ Joe opened the gate and hurried through. ‘Here, let me help you with those.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’
The Thai family had settled in Marandowie and established an oyster farm in the inland coastal estuary, that long finger of sea between Marandowie and Rainbow Cove.
Joe relieved Kiet of some of the bulky polystyrene boxes. ‘Christophe said he was expecting Sam.’
‘Not coming. He bloody well roped me in to bring the oysters,’ Kiet muttered, scowling. ‘The silly clot still can’t see he’s better off without the sheila who dumped him, and he got it into his head she would be here today and refused to do the delivery. Can I get to the kitchen of this place without going through that blasted crowd?’
Jeez, Kiet, who put itching powder in your grundies?
‘Yeah, follow me.’ Joe led the way down the side of the house, through the mudroom and into the kitchen. Kiet hoisted the boxes he carried onto a vacant bench. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
Joe, after giving Kiet one last glance, left to rejoin the party.
The guests were a hell of a lot more cheerful than Kiet even if Marta was in a strange mood. He hadn’t had much to do with the man since their schooldays, but he never expected the sunny-natured kid he remembered to become such a grouch.
In the family room near the Christmas tree, he saw Christophe talking to Marta, their heads so close together they touched as they laughed.
Jealousy knifed through Joe, and left him winded.
Is Christophe making moves on Marta? Does she consider him more cultured, more refined and more to her taste? Is she falling for the Frenchman’s Gallic charm? As clear as a bell Joe could hear his father’s voice—‘Jealousy robs a man of reason and stokes his insecurity, son.’
He shoved aside the jealous thought and stalked across the patio to join them. ‘Hey Christophe, there’s a delivery of oysters in the kitchen.’
‘Great, thanks Joe.’ The chef glanced at his watch. ‘It’s not like Sam to be late.’
Christophe bustled off without giving Joe a chance to correct him.
‘Only he’s going to find Kiet Viravaidya there, not Sam.’ Joe scowled at her. ‘You and Christophe looked mighty chummy.’
Marta’s long, cold stare sent panic shafting through Joe.
‘He was replenishing the hors d’oeuvre tray.’ She skewered him with a look that dared him to make something of this. ‘I’ve not seen Kiet since we were in school.’
Joe eased out a breath, and grasped the change of subject. ‘He finished school early, remember? After his parents died in that storm, he took over care of young Sam and the running of the family oyster farm.’
‘I’d forgotten that.’ She picked a pastry from the tray and nibbled daintily. ‘Kiet showing up is a surprise.’
‘Christmas has a way of throwing up surprises, without fail.’ Joe grinned, and unable to resist, said, ‘Can I have another of those horse-thingies? They’re mighty tasty.’
Marta scowled and turned away, only to stop mid-movement. She poked him in the ribs. ‘Who’s that chick, the one in pink who’s just arrived? Jeez, she looks like a cone of candy-floss in that get-up.’
Joe turned as Christophe and Emily walked through the family room doorway and out onto the terrace. Pleasure spiked through him. Thank God, Christophe did do the right thing.
‘That’s Emily.’ Joe strode across to greet her and gripped her hands in both of his, smiling warmly. ‘You came; I’m so pleased to see you.’
He gave his friend a meaningful glance. ‘And thank you, too.’
‘I didn’t like the thought of my closest neighbour spending Christmas alone, so voilà, here she is.’ Christophe made an extravagant gesture, dull colour flushing his face. ‘And here she is.’ He raised his voice. ‘Everyone, this is Emily. Joe, will you do the introductions? I need to be in the kitchen.’
As Christophe bustled off, Joe smiled at Emily, glad she’d decided to come. It’s wasn’t healthy sitting at home alone brooding. Joe caught Marta’s eye, subtly pleased at her militant expression—see, there are others here who appreciate me, ‘just as I am’.
He gripped Emily’s hand and tucked it through his arm and pulled her forward. ‘Emily, this is Flick, she makes all the fabulous cakes at Christophe’s restaurant.’
Flick nodded, her smile strained—Joe gave her a squinty-eyed look before he turned to Xander, who looked just as grim. What gives there?
Joe quickly moved on. ‘This is Xander McIntyre; he’s the guy who’s redeveloped Rainbow Cove. And the guy next to him is Jago, a long-time friend of Christophe’s.’
The men nodded and murmured greetings.
‘And here’s … ah … Freda.’
‘Freya,’ the woman corrected in a deep cultured voice. ‘A good friend of Christophe’s.’
Joe turned to Marta and in a voice as dry as dust, he said, ‘And this is my friend Marta Field. Emily lives just through the fence, there.’
***
Marta blinked rapidly—what the hell? Joe thinks I’m his friend—the memory of their love-making earlier curdled the savoury hors d’oeuvres in her gut.
Joe’s big tanned hand contrasted starkly with Emily’s, the young woman’s delicate and slender. He towed her around the patio, warmth and protectiveness oozing from his every gesture.
Did this Emily and Joe share a history?
Temper and jealousy stirred, burning Marta in its fire—who the hell is this sheila and what is she to Joe?
Quietly simmering, she watched Joe introduce the girl around, her arm tucked through his. The chick sure as hell displayed enough flesh. Her haute couture plunging neckline dress was totally unsuited to a semi-casual Christmas party. Together, arm in arm, Joe walked Emily back to Marta.
‘So, Emily, you live next door?’ Marta’s voice was far too bland, and Joe stiffened.
‘Yeah, I do,’ Emily stammered and pulled her arm from Joe’s.
‘That eyesore of broken fibro-cement belongs to you?’ Marta stepped a little closer to Joe. ‘It quite ruins the ambience of Christophe’s backyard.’
‘He’s the one with the problem about the fence.’ Emily edged further away from Joe, blushing furiously. ‘It doesn’t worry me any. If he wants it gone, then he can pay to make it happen.’
‘They’re negotiating over the fence.’ Joe frowned, his gaze flicking from Marta to Emily.
Insensitive jerk, he’s all over this chick right in my face.
‘Negotiating?’ Emily snorted. ‘Christophe demands, and he expects me to jump, or else.’
‘I’ve heard he can be temperamental.’ Marta’s voice held a hard edge. ‘Most chefs are that way because they need to be.’
Joe scowled at her and she scowled right back. He has one hell of a nerve. If he thinks he can get away with acting like this with me, he has another think coming.
Christophe appeared once more in the doorway and clapped his hands to get attention. ‘Dinner in ten, folks.’
As soon as he disappeared, conversation started up again and people started drifting towards the dinner table at the far end of the patio, shaded by the canopy of a huge spreading jacaranda tree; its flowers were done now, but its lacy foliage provided shade, a welcome respite from the blazing summer sun.
Christophe had set up two huge outdoor fans to complement the lazy drift of the fan set into the patio roof and these were doing a great job of stirring the heated air.
‘Let’s grab these seats,’ Marta said and sketched a hand at the two seats near the end of the table.