A Place to Remember Read online

  ‘You’re challenging me?’

  ‘Yep, to a scone duel,’ he said. ‘I have two trays here, and in an hour from now Mum and Dad will be ready for afternoon tea.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  As usual, when he was thinking, John’s hand went to the dent in his cheek. ‘A blind tasting. We’ll give them one of yours and one of mine on a plate.’

  Ava cocked an eyebrow. ‘How will we know which one they’re eating?’

  He tapped the dimple a few times. ‘A paper napkin. I’ll present mine on the same plate, but mine will be on a folded napkin. What do you say? You up for it?’

  John already knew her answer. She had the most expressive face he’d ever seen: the tiny twist in her lips, her head tilted to the point of cute, and the way her eyes opened from half closed to two full blue circles, the same colour as the shirt she wore.

  ‘I’ll mix my secret ingredients in the house, but I’ll bring them back to set out and bake in the same oven as yours. Fair?’ he asked.

  ‘And the loser?’

  ‘Gets another chance to impress by whipping up a surprise dish for the winner.’

  Her eyebrows shot up in a game-on kind of way.

  *

  ‘These scones are scrumptious, Ava,’ Marjorie Tate announced. ‘And a delightful treat. Very thoughtful.’

  ‘Yeah, not bad, although you clearly cooked two batches, Ava.’ John played his role well. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I did, yes. The first was to test the oven, John.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He lifted the plate to scrutinize the remaining morsel. ‘Hmm, well, thinking about it, one batch did seem lighter and fluffier. Do you agree, Mum?’

  Marjorie considered her answer. ‘I suppose, if I was to be picky, this one here,’ she lifted the remaining scone half from the folded napkin and poked at it with a finger, ‘is a little denser.’

  ‘Denser!’ John startled his mother, and Ava bit back a grin.

  ‘Yes. I’d say whichever batch this one came from is not the better one. Now, I’d best walk these off by delivering some to your father in the office where he’s slaving over the books as usual.’ She brushed crumbs from her lap as she stood. ‘Again, well done, Ava. Anytime you need someone to sample your efforts you’ll know where to find me. What are you looking so miserable about, John?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Well, we have a family of four due any minute and I believe they’ll want a tour of the property. Make sure the children know to close the gates behind them. You do know there’s four guests for dinner, Ava?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Tate. I’ll be serving pumpkin soup with sourdough, then slow-cooked beef with tomatoes, followed by a lemon frangipane tart. Your orchard is wonderful.’

  ‘Good-oh, I’ll leave you with it.’ Marjorie stopped in the doorway, her ample hips taking up most of it. ‘Oh, and it’s Marjorie, dear. You’re far too old to be calling me Mrs Tate. See you at dinner.’

  His mother’s footsteps had faded away but Ava still whispered, ‘Too old?’

  ‘My mum tends to call a shovel a shovel. She doesn’t mean to be rude. If it helps, I don’t think you’re that old.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘I’d better get ready to play host.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ she asked. ‘I’ll need to know the date so I can clear my diary for that special winner’s dish.’

  ‘Hmm, right. How about I get back to you on that?’

  Ava’s laugh landed on John like a sprinkling of rain at the end of a dry summer. ‘I’m teasing, John. The challenge was a bit of fun. I never expected anything.’

  ‘Except to win,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Let’s call it even. Besides, I’m the treat-maker around here now.’

  ‘No way. I’m no piker and I don’t welsh on a bet. You’re due a special treat and I’ve got just the thing in mind,’ he said. ‘Prepare to be delighted.’

  Chapter 6

  List-Making Monsters

  As the weeks passed, Ava accepted more rules and requirements, but she was finding her place in the Tate hierarchy and falling into the rhythm of a quiet country life. One morning, woken by an impossible-to-ignore tangerine glow spilling into the cottage through the front window, she’d slid out of bed, put on slippers and a dressing-gown, then stepped out onto the tiny porch in time to see the sun emerge from behind the distant formation she’d heard John refer to as Mount Hedlow. Every morning since she’d been up early, keen to take a walk by the riverbank with its thickly scented scrub. Misty mornings by the water were the most spectacular, when the first vertical rays of sunlight pierced the haze before the heat of a fast-approaching summer took hold.

  Some mornings still made her snuggle back under the covers, but rather than sleep, she’d conjure food ideas, then get up to jot them in a notebook. While Ivy-May’s guests had been easy to please, with the abundance of fresh produce making Ava’s job more enjoyable than any other, her first priority had been scrubbing the main kitchen clean of Quentin.

  Each week she tackled another grimy appliance and cupboard. She cleaned cutlery drawers, sticky oven doors, and arranged the kitchen’s contents in a way that made sense. She also attacked the weeds in the vegetable garden and discovered planting seeds and composting scraps came with the same satisfaction as moulding dough. The separate herb garden close to the kitchen was invaluable and everything was thriving, but her most recent achievement came from the most unexpected source. So impressed was she with Ava’s pastries and cakes that Marjorie had announced she was adding morning coffee and afternoon tea to the optional extras list in the B-and-B rooms, which would require a constant supply of cakes and pastries.

  *

  John had been away for a few days, attending the cattle sales at Roma with his father, and with Marjorie busy, Katie stepped up to help clean and prepare the guest rooms, constantly reminding Ava of how to do everything Marjorie’s way. She didn’t complain, or point out that she knew her employer’s methods and her exacting standards. Katie had a point to make, which had nothing to do with cleaning and everything to do with John. If she could have branded him when they were doing the new cattle in the yards last week, Ava was convinced she would have done so.

  Having been dismissed from room-cleaning duties, Ava had returned to the cottage and was spending her break on the porch, her menu-planning notepad on her lap, when she saw a distant dust trail heading in the direction of the gates. She hoped it was John and his dad returning. There had been little to make her smile over the last few days, let alone laugh.

  The truck roared and rattled along the bottom road, heading for the small paddock with the sturdy wooden fence that John called the Arrivals Lounge. A straw hat flapped out of the passenger window as the vehicle turned towards the yards and Ava waved back. Unexpectedly she felt the tingle of anticipation in her belly and an urge to go up to the main house, sit at the kitchen table and surround herself with family chatter. After checking her face in the mirror and twisting her hair into its usual bun, she walked up the gentle slope to the house: once the men had offloaded the cattle Mr Tate would be keen to wash and have tea. If she hurried, Ava could have a cake baked in time.

  *

  ‘Lovely, Ava, just lovely,’ Colin said, about to leave the table after two slices of lemon drizzle cake. ‘I’ll take a piece to the office with me for Marjorie when she returns, unless I eat it myself first. And I’ll tell you a secret,’ he said. ‘All the way back from the sale yards I was hoping you’d have a treat waiting for me.’

  ‘Me too,’ John added.

  ‘A little too sickly for me.’ Katie slid her plate, with only a polite mouthful remaining, into the middle of the table. ‘John, we need to talk.’

  ‘We do?’

  ‘I need to discuss a few things with you.’

  ‘Yeah, like?’

  ‘Your mum and I have been writing a list.’

  ‘Uh-oh.’ John glanced at Ava. ‘Beware list-making
monsters.’

  Katie’s punch to his shoulder knocked the spoon he was holding from his hand to the floor. ‘Be serious.’

  He mouthed, ‘Thanks,’ when Ava retrieved it, passing the utensil across the table. ‘I’m serious, Katie.’ He wiped the spoon with the tail of his shirt. ‘Deadly serious – about having another bit of cake.’

  She groaned. ‘Come on, John.’

  ‘But I’m eating.’

  Katie stood up. ‘And I want to go for a ride.’

  John stayed seated. ‘Can I bring the cake?’

  Another grunt of frustration. ‘Why are you being such a pain? Let’s go.’

  John pretended to be dragged from the room, leaving Ava laughing as she cleared the dishes and set about preparing dinner: Katie’s parents were expected tonight. Such get-togethers had been regular events over the years, both families taking turns to host a gathering, but with Katie’s parents older, and Mrs O’Brien rarely feeling up to cooking, the onus these days fell on Marjorie. On the positive side, with no B-and-B guests to worry about, Ava would have only one dinner sitting, which left her free to enjoy eating with the Tates at the big kitchen table.

  *

  It turned out that Katie’s parents were not big talkers so while the Tates and the O’Briens ate, Ava asked about Ivy-May’s history. Colin told her that John was the fifth generation and that the property had been named after his great-great-grandmother, Ivy May. Ava learned the place had once been an even bigger land holding, originally a dairy and piggery. In wartime, Colin’s forebears had grown maize, sweet potatoes and pumpkins, which helped feed American soldiers stationed nearby.

  As interesting as the family history was, Ava was glad when John butted in to explain that the future was all about land management. ‘Conservative stocking rates and rotational grazing will preserve the land for generations to come and help produce high-quality crops.’ He looked pleased with himself.

  ‘We can’t focus on ourselves alone.’ Katie’s curt delivery had knocked a little of the enthusiasm from John’s face. She seemed to enjoy a good counter-argument, offering her own take on the role and responsibilities of community and government in the survival of small farming communities like Candlebark Creek. To Ava’s amazement, everyone listened.

  ‘A farming community is just that, a community. In order to survive we must work together. Properly planned, Ivy-May can contribute to maintaining infrastructure and population growth. Isn’t that so, Mrs Tate?’

  ‘Katie’s right. Finding ways to draw people to a town, or prevent locals from leaving, is key to our survival.’ Marjorie rose from the table, dabbed her mouth with her napkin and dropped it onto the empty plate. Suddenly she looked weary, her commanding voice quieter than normal. ‘When a population declines, towns lose important things like medical services, and that can make the difference between life and death.’ Colin reached out as if to comfort his wife, but Marjorie moved away and his hand fell short.

  ‘Losing the school would also be devastating for Candlebark Creek,’ Katie added. Marjorie gave her a nod of approval, then left the table.

  With Marjorie’s departure, Ava had expected Colin to liven up, but he remained, as always, a silent observer unless spoken to directly. Not wanting to interrupt John and Katie’s debate, she leaned towards him and said softly, ‘For someone with no farming knowledge, but who’s used to cutting up and cooking beef, I’m fascinated to learn what happens before the cattle end up at the butcher’s. May I, at some stage?’

  Colin perked up a little and drained his glass of red wine – the fourth. ‘Any time, Ava. Come to the yards tomorrow. We’ll be branding more new arrivals.’ He put a hand on her thigh under the table. ‘The meal tonight was excellent.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She stood and Colin’s hand fell away. ‘I’ll see how I go with my other chores tomorrow.’

  Chapter 7

  Too Close to Midnight

  A soft tap-tap-tap on the cottage’s wooden door made Ava sit upright in the wicker rocker. With the night unseasonably cool, she’d earlier dragged the comfortable chair from the porch and had propped her feet on the edge of the bed. The single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling was too dim to read by so she’d twisted the arm of the reading lamp attached to the headboard. At first she’d thought the noise was coming from one of the horses that roamed the property freely, because one night she’d woken to find two horses outside her window. One was nibbling noisily at what she assumed was an itch on its belly while its mate rubbed back and forth against the porch upright.

  The tap-tap-tap sounded again, and it definitely wasn’t a horse.

  Ava’s first thought when she opened the door to John was that she’d done something wrong. She’d cooked the dinner and tidied up, but had she forgotten something? In her haste to get away, having been delayed by Colin dripping red wine on one of Marjorie’s good tablecloths, had she left the oven on, or something out of the fridge, or worse.

  ‘Don’t look so panicked,’ John said. ‘I told you I don’t welsh on a bet.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I had to go away with Dad, but I’m back now and I come bearing dessert. Debt paid in full. First you’ll need to let me inside.’

  ‘Now?’ Ava squinted at her watch, but it was too dark.

  ‘It’s late, I know. These things took longer than I thought to set and I couldn’t start until you’d left the kitchen for the night. First time ever I’ve wanted you to hurry up and get the hell out of the house.’ He laughed, a little awkwardly, maybe because she was making him stand on her doorstep with these things, whatever they were. ‘I saw the light on so I figured you were still up.’

  ‘Okay, you’d better come in.’ She stepped back to usher him inside, while her spare hand gathered tight both sides of the tracksuit jacket she wore over pyjama trousers and a T-shirt.

  The fluorescent tube in the kitchen flickered on, highlighting the untidy one-room cabin, but Ava hadn’t been expecting a late-night visitor. She’d come back from dinner with a stack of old magazines Marjorie had planned to throw away and had been cutting out recipes when the knock had sounded on her door. Assorted clothes occupied one of the two chrome and red vinyl dining chairs, and assorted magazines crowded the speckled laminate table. Ava shifted it all to the only other piece of furniture in the room – the bed – and felt immediately self-conscious that she was in such close proximity to the disarmingly attentive John Tate.

  ‘You can’t look until it’s done,’ he said, transferring a tea-towel-covered tray from the bench seat on the porch to the table inside. ‘You’re on tea duty while I finish my presentation over here.’

  Ava complied, filling the kettle and calling over the running water, ‘I give bonus points for presentation.’

  ‘My mother will tell you I don’t have a creative bone in my body, unless I’m in the kitchen. There’s something about me and food like there’s this… I’m not sure of the word to explain.’

  ‘A connection? A need? An all-consuming obsession?’ Ava set two mugs and teaspoons on the kitchen counter while she waited for the water to boil.

  ‘Yes, yes, obsession is a good word. Oh, bugger!’

  ‘Something wrong?’ As instructed, she’d been doing her best to avoid looking, but curiosity was inching her closer to the table. ‘Are you sure I can’t help?’

  John thrust a hand in her direction. ‘Stay where you are. The next one will be better, I hope – or not. Damn and double bugger!’ He stepped aside, defeated. ‘Okay, definitely not top points for presentation, but I promise it’ll taste better than it looks.’

  Ava sidled up to him and saw two plates, barely capable of holding the molten creamy mass pooling around fresh strawberries and drowned mint leaves. Gently she asked, ‘What is it?’

  ‘You mean, besides a disaster?’ John pulled an exaggerated pout. ‘Maybe I should try again another day.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ Ava stopped him lifting the tray. ‘I’m sure they taste amazing. We need spoons.’<
br />
  ‘We need straws or, better still, a shotgun to put the bloody thing out of its misery.’

  Ava returned to the table wielding the cutlery. ‘I say we eat them. I’ll go first.’ She helped herself to a spoonful and lifted it to her nose. ‘Oh, so it’s panna cotta?’

  ‘You mean you couldn’t tell?’ John’s voice sounded as flat as the food.

  ‘You didn’t set it in serving glasses?’

  ‘I read somewhere the best chefs use a mould and turn them out. Guess I’m not quite there yet.’

  She smiled and swallowed the spoonful. ‘Well, there’s a beautiful, delicate vanilla taste and no sign of graininess. Some of the best chefs never master that texture.’

  ‘You’re being nice.’

  ‘Not at all. Try it.’ She had another mouthful to prove her point and soon they were going scoop for scoop and over-doing the feigned ecstasy until there was none left. As their laughter died away Ava was reminded of the possibly inappropriate nature of the situation.

  They were sitting on her bed. When did that happen?

  Ava leaped to her feet and hugged the tracksuit top to herself. Time to bring this late-night taste test to a close. ‘Nothing beats a midnight snack and that was delightful. Thank you, John. I’m glad I won.’ She was at the door. ‘And it was very sweet of you to make a panna cotta.’

  ‘I didn’t expect it to be like your dad’s.’ He shrugged.

  ‘I can’t tell you it was as good as his because that would mean I’d have to stop ordering it whenever I see it on a menu.’ She had opened the door, but John wasn’t budging.

  ‘I’m not following you,’ he said.

  ‘I order panna cotta whenever it’s available,’ she explained. ‘Always trying to find the one that will be as good as, or better than, Marco Marchette’s.’ She talked more about her father, how he had worked as a delivery driver for a large food company in Brisbane. Sometimes he’d called at their home with the truck to let Ava poke around in the boxes of ingredients. Sometimes he’d come in with a small carton of goodies just for her. Not that she ever told her mum. ‘Dad made the best panna cotta and I plan on travelling the world until I find one that’s as good.’