A Place to Remember Read online

  Barely maintaining her composure, Nina thanked Lily and assured her she could find her way back to the main house. First she wanted to savour the surroundings. The one-room cabin, with its weather-beaten planks for walls, would have changed a lot since her mother’s day, but when she ran a hand over the bedspread, looked around the compact kitchen and surveyed the small porch, she pictured Ava.

  *

  Blair hadn’t been kidding yesterday when he’d told Nina he could manage the mise en place prior to service. If only all the kitchen hands she’d worked with had been as quick, conscientious and clean. He had already chopped, sliced and diced enough salad greens to feed the twenty expected diners and made sourdough buns. During service, Lily helped by running meals and keeping up with the dishes. When the time came for her to collect her daughter from a party on the outskirts of town, Nina and Blair took over the tidying up until he announced: ‘Beer o’clock.’

  Nina switched off the extractor fans over the grill. ‘I won’t say no this time, thanks.’ Having admired the commercial-quality appliances throughout service, she gave the stainless steel benches a final buff. It was some kitchen.

  Blair raised his beer. ‘Remind me to book more events where the birthday girl calls it quits by eight thirty. Cheers!’

  Nina took two short swigs of the cool, carbonated brew, then untied her apron, which Blair took. Then she grabbed her lightweight jacket from the coat hook, fashioned from the old wooden property sign. She stopped to run her hand over the carved and blackened design of dots and swirling lines.

  ‘What a few old rail spikes and a nice slab of ironbark can do, eh?’ Blair said. ‘A massive tree came down in a storm one year. My great-great-granddad made that.’

  ‘There must be a lovely sense of place in having such history and a strong connection to the land. I know so little about my ancestors.’

  ‘Believe me,’ Blair said, ‘sometimes I think I’d prefer to know a little less about my family history. You enjoying that beer? Can I get you another?’

  ‘Oh, no, thanks. Any second now I’ll get – hic – hiccups. It’s the car-hic-bonation. Besides, I’m kind of beat.’ One more mouthful drained her stubby bottle. ‘But I had a blast tonight and you seriously are the best kitchen hand. It was fun being back behind the grill.’ Like Hero Man in the yards yesterday, she had fallen into a relaxed rhythm with Blair. ‘Thank you so much for allowing me the opportunity. Tonight was great. I discovered how much I’ve missed cooking. I know it was only twenty covers and cake but I’m so buzzed right now I could do it again.’

  ‘You are something else, Nina. When Charlie does his next shift I’m going to have a chat with him about the lack of gratitude he demonstrates after slaving over a stove and a sink.’

  ‘Ha!’ She gathered both empty bottles, discarding them in the crate by the back door. ‘So, Tess and her guests really enjoyed the meal?’

  ‘Several compliments to the chef, with tips, and not the be-good-to-your-mother kind either, actual cash in the jar.’ He reached through the kitchen door and his hand came back with a balloon glass spilling with coins and notes.

  ‘Oh, gosh, no, I’m not expecting anything. I’m making up for yesterday. Put it into the staff Christmas fund.’

  ‘I’m paying you. You found your way around the kitchen pretty good. I would have been in trouble without your help.’

  ‘Kitchens can be a bit like riding a horse, I expect. Each one is different, with their own peculiarities. Other than that they’re much the same and a confident approach makes the difference.’

  ‘Well, Nina, if wishes were horses…’ Blair smiled. ‘We galloped through that service, thanks to you.’

  ‘This kitchen of yours is something else.’

  ‘Good, because I had to mortgage the property to afford the renovation.’

  ‘Then you can definitely put that tip money to better use. Or maybe put it towards my accommodation for tonight.’

  ‘And tomorrow night?’ Blair asked, attending to the message beep on his phone. ‘It’s Charlie. Cindy’s not handling motherhood well.’

  ‘He’s not coming in tomorrow, either?’

  ‘No, he can come in,’ Blair clarified, ‘but I’d like to be able to tell him to stay home. His mind won’t be on the job and I have my first tourist bus in for afternoon tea.’

  ‘What’s on the menu tomorrow that I can help with?’

  ‘I was joking. I’ll nip into the bakery in town and make do. You didn’t come here to work.’

  ‘Mum did, though, and as I’m staying in her old digs it’ll be like walking in her footsteps.’

  ‘Yes, except that she would have worked in Ivy-May’s kitchen.’

  ‘Details, schmetails!’ Nina flapped a hand. ‘I’d much rather be busy. Sitting around all day is what I do at work.’

  ‘Then in the morning I insist on showing you Ivy-May’s kitchen where she did work.’

  A silent, victorious yessssss sat behind Nina’s smile. A very successful night indeed.

  ‘I’ll come by the cottage around nine?’ Blair was suggesting.

  ‘Perfect. Will your dad be home?’ When he eyed her, Nina was quick to explain. ‘Because I wouldn’t want to disturb him.’

  ‘My father never strays far these days. He’s on hand whenever I need help and he’s always up for a cuppa.’

  ‘Me too.’

  With Blair’s attention on his reply to Charlie, Nina studied the smile lines she’d seen a lot more of tonight and his physique honed by hard work rather than the unnatural gym-junkie results Conrad achieved. Nina’s idea of the perfect workout was a big night in a pumping commercial kitchen, but there were fewer of those these days. The combination of long hours at a desk with a nightly diet of wine and toasted sandwiches meant she sometimes skipped a proper evening meal. She simply wasn’t motivated to cook for one, and with Conrad going all caveman a few months back, his paleo diet meant they ate together even less.

  ‘What are you thinking, Nina?’

  ‘I, ah, I’m thinking about what to cook with fifteen for afternoon tea.’ She could hardly admit to comparing him to Conrad. While they might share solid biceps, Conrad’s expensive all-over solarium tan was truly all over, while Blair’s farmer’s arms had distracted Nina from yesterday’s prairie-oyster nightmare when he’d stopped briefly to strip down to a sweat-stained singlet. ‘Who are we feeding?’

  ‘It’s a regional CWA committee meeting held in Candlebark Creek each year. The Moo-tel in town is booked out – a wild night, no doubt – and the ladies will be stopping in here tomorrow after touring local attractions.’

  Nina was curious as to how many tourist attractions existed in a small town. She couldn’t imagine many, but she didn’t want to offend. ‘You can’t serve any old food to a delegation from the Country Women’s Association, Blair.’

  ‘Exactly, and time got away with me today. I’ve still got work to do in the yards that can’t wait. Dingoes got to a few of the calves. That means bringing the lot in first thing for a shot of penicillin.’

  ‘I’d offer to help out, but needles… Brrrr!’ She shuddered. ‘I’m not afraid of CWA ladies, though. I can whip up cakes and maybe some sandwiches?’

  For a moment Nina thought he was going to refuse. His brow creased, knitting bushy eyebrows together, and the chin cleft with a dark stripe of stubble turned chasm-like.

  ‘Are you a dream?’ Blair’s hand was hot were it came to rest on her shoulder. ‘Am I going to wake up tomorrow and be disappointed to discover you were a figment of my imagination? A very nice figment,’ he added. ‘What is a figment? There’s another word you don’t hear a lot, like “calamity”.’

  Nina laughed. ‘A figment is kind of like a fantasy.’

  ‘So, better than a calamity, then?’ His wink took Nina by surprise.

  She puffed a strand of hair out of her eyes, only to find it glued tight to the sweaty slick of melted make-up. Hot grills tended to do that; so did hot guys. ‘Let’s hope so,’ she
said.

  ‘I can offer jam to go with scones,’ Blair said. ‘I put down a fresh batch of persimmon yesterday. Better check it’s set. And while I think of it, I promised Dad a jar. Give me a second.’

  Where was the obnoxious grouch from the yards? If she hadn’t bumped into him in the pub, she might have driven away from Candlebark Creek with a very different opinion. The encounter had Nina even more curious about what his father might be like and who else Blair had in his life. Men like him didn’t get to his age and stay single. A girlfriend was bound to pop her gorgeous face around the corner any minute and claim him as hers, leaving Nina to fall into bed, feeling as flat as the man’s six-pack.

  ‘Are you okay, Nina? What were you thinking just now? You looked kind of sad.’

  ‘Did I? Gosh, no idea why. It’s been an interesting twenty-four hours and tomorrow shows no sign of slowing down.’

  ‘You’re lovely for offering to help, so I’m not going to say no.’

  ‘Good, because I rarely take no for an answer.’

  ‘Why does that not surprise me?’ He grinned. ‘We serve afternoon tea on the deck. Nothing fancy. Someone told me recently to keep it simple. Tiny sweet treats with big flavour and lots of texture is the goal, and I make tea and coffee with an urn in the communal kitchen that joins the lodge accommodation wings. A decent coffee machine’s on my wish list, but that’s all it is for a while yet – a wish.’

  ‘No worries. Can I take five minutes now to check out your cool room and dry store?’

  ‘Make yourself at home and feel free to check out whatever you like. No secrets here.’

  ‘Just looking for my favourite pantry essentials,’ she called, en route to the room at the back of the kitchen.

  ‘We keep loads of stuff on hand, especially when we move into storm season, like now. We’ve had our share of weather events around here, which can mean isolation and power interruptions that last for days, if not weeks. All part and parcel of life on the land. And since I made you work without a break tonight, let me whip up a late-night thank-you snack.’

  ‘Sure thing, thanks.’

  ‘Pick a wine while you’re in there,’ Blair added. ‘On the floor to your right. We have our own label. It’s good.’

  *

  The wine was exceptional, the snack substantial, the conversation amusing, and Nina should have been exhausted. Instead, she was totally buzzed. Blair seemed genuinely modest, very natural and open, his conversation unguarded. She hoped to find him the same tomorrow so she might factor in some essential Project Portrait questions. After all, she reminded herself, she was here to learn about John Tate, not his son.

  ‘Like I said yesterday,’ Blair wiped the last of their snack plates and draped the tea towel over a dishwasher rack to dry overnight, ‘you’re not what I expected and I mean that in a good way.’

  Nina returned his smile. ‘Likewise, and despite the castrating I’m having a really good time.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘Hmm, that sounded weird.’

  Blair chuckled. ‘Just let me know how I can pay you back for helping.’

  ‘That tour tomorrow will see you debt-free,’ Nina said.

  ‘And that is another phrase I haven’t heard much since taking on this business. Come on.’ He did a final check of the appliances and went to switch off the lights. ‘I’ll drive you over to the cottage.’

  ‘It’s not far. I’d prefer to stretch my legs and walk. You see more of a place when you walk.’

  ‘In the city, yes, but out here at night you won’t see much without a torch. I’ll grab one and we’ll be off.’

  Chapter 40

  Light Pollution

  Without a moon, and only an occasional solar-powered bollard and the intermittent beam from Blair’s torch to light the way, Nina found the blackness strangely disorienting and the star-filled sky distracting. ‘Look at them all. You don’t get that spectacle in the suburbs, or am I never outside and looking up at night?’

  ‘Light pollution.’ Blair blackened the torchlight again, pausing to look up. ‘Cities, even regional centres, can have loads of misdirected artificial light that basically blots out the stars. Mum and I have a plan to get Candlebark Creek accredited as an official dark-sky place.’

  ‘What’s a dark-sky place?’

  ‘Where artificial light is purposely minimised so the night sky can be fully enjoyed. They call them pristine dark skies,’ he explained. ‘When I was a kid I was totally fixated on finding the man in the moon. Then my dad told me something and I’ve been mesmerised by the night sky ever since.’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask what your dad said?’

  They started walking again.

  ‘Not sure how old I was at the time, maybe ten,’ Blair said. ‘He was explaining his need to draw and he said, “Blair, little buddy, I love you so much I’d paint the moon to prove it.” So, of course, every night after that I’d look up and wish on a star and wait. I remember my first red moon. I told everyone at school: My dad painted that.’

  ‘He sounds special.’

  ‘My dad?’ Blair huffed. ‘Yeah, he’s that, all right.’

  ‘You’re lucky. I met my dad only once, a few years ago in a noisy café near the Spanish Steps in Rome, and as father-daughter moments go, the occasion was pretty unmemorable.’ Nina had never told her mother about the meeting and neither, it turned out, had her father. What did that say about them as a family? ‘We had nothing to talk about. No connection whatsoever. I stopped wishing.’

  ‘Such a shame we have to grow up and stop believing stars are magic and can make our dreams come true if we wish hard enough.’

  Nina slowed to a stop and looked up at the sky again, Blair alongside her. The path had narrowed so much she could feel the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. ‘What would you wish for now, Blair? Besides a coffee machine.’

  When he didn’t laugh at her joke Nina guessed she’d struck a nerve.

  ‘When I was young I used to wish Mum and Dad would get back together, and that my dad didn’t have to be so different from everyone else’s. I didn’t much like him painting all the time. It made everyone uncomfortable.’

  ‘Your parents split up how long ago?’

  ‘Hard to say for certain. Even after moving into town Mum spent most days out here on the property. She was still managing the accommodation business, and I think deep down she was also still trying to make her marriage work. Other wives would’ve walked away, fed up, but things were different for Mum.’

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘In that there was no slow realisation of her marriage failing, no acceptance that the love was no longer there, because it was. Surgery changed Dad when he was only twenty-one in ways no one could’ve predicted. They’d married soon after and I get the feeling Baby Blair might have had something to do with the rushed nuptials.’ His chuckle bubbled, like effervescence in a glass, light and refreshing enough to give Nina another dose of the hiccups. ‘Once word got out about Dad, the circus came to town and the yelling behind closed doors started. Watch your step on the slope.’ Blair put out a protective hand to guide her, his grip firm on her elbow. ‘My grandmother did her best to hide the truth about Dad, but there’s no keeping secrets in a place like Candlebark Creek. Between the gossip and the unauthorised article hidden in the pages of the local rag, news about Dad’s rare condition started to attract interest – medical researchers, the tabloid press, the art world. That’s what Grandma Marjorie called the circus.’

  ‘As if life wouldn’t have been difficult enough for you all. Not sure I’d cope very well with such attention.’

  ‘Poor old Gran didn’t, not at all. Mum said she grew angrier every year and that the stress probably triggered her early dementia, which is what I remember most: Gran as an angry old lady turned sad who, towards the end of her life, would sit and stare at me while calling me names and shouting all kinds of weird stuff. Mum insisted we give her a wide berth and let her shout at the moon. That made Dad withdraw f
urther into his art, and Gramps kept busy away from the house.’

  ‘And your mum?’

  ‘She was the buffer in the family. Mum spent her life shielding the rest of us from outsiders. She does still. Sometimes I think she’s shielding us from each other.’

  ‘Sounds like my mum,’ Nina said.

  ‘Dad once told me she’d turned out the strongest of all, and that while everyone else shied away from the circus, Mum walked straight into the centre of it – the ring master who wielded a whip.’

  The whipcrack sound Blair made startled Nina, and several big black shapes – kangaroos she guessed by the speed and heavy thud – bounded across their path, in front and behind, so close that the air around her whooshed.

  She clutched her chest. ‘That’s awful. Don’t do it again.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He laughed his apology. ‘That’s Mum – still. Katie doesn’t ask. Katie commands. Then she criticises. I love her, of course,’ he said, ‘and I don’t doubt she loves me, but interestingly my father turned out to be the most consistent thing in my life.’

  ‘Why interestingly?’

  ‘Because I grew up with John Tate, artist extraordinaire. To me he was just Dad, until the school bullies decided to explain otherwise by beating the crap out of me.’

  ‘Hope you hit them back.’

  ‘Nah. I decided then I was a lover, not a fighter. Besides, Mum and Gran had enough verbal punch-ups for everyone.’

  ‘Typical mother-in-law spats, you mean?’

  He nodded. ‘I’d seen two heifers head-butt each other and I can tell you which I would rather have put myself between.’

  ‘You like your jokes, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m trying to make up for being Mr Grumpy. We turn off the main path here and cross the bridge.’ Blair guided Nina to the left and flicked the torch around to light the way. ‘Almost there. The darkness doesn’t make it a quick hike.’

  ‘But it does make it special.’ Nina stopped again, maybe to delay the goodnight that awaited them once they reached their destination – the rustic and now awfully romantic cook’s cottage – or maybe she wanted another look at the stars. ‘I’ve been overseas a few times, but there is something spectacular about the southern sky. Have you travelled much, Blair?’