But now, standing outside the gutted Tea Chest, Kate was wishing she’d had the chance to talk to Mark about it first, and that she hadn’t heard the depressing conversation about house values.
‘I’m putting the kettle on,’ Elizabeth said, pulling off thick work gloves.
Kate checked her watch, calculating the time difference between London and Brisbane. She just had time to catch the boys before they went to bed.
Keats recounted his six and eight times tables to Kate, only stumbling over eight sevens are fifty-six.
‘That’s really good. I’m so proud of you,’ Kate said.
‘Dad put my maths test on the fridge. I got nineteen out of twenty and Dad said we could have fish and chips on Friday.’
‘Make sure you leave it on the fridge till I get home. I can’t wait to give you a hug.’
‘Yeah.’
He passed the phone to James.
‘Mummy, my feet feel mesmerised,’ her youngest son said with great importance.
‘Mesmerised? What have your feet been doing?’
‘They’re dreaming of fish.’
‘Oh.’
He passed the phone back to Mark.
‘Hi again.’
‘What’s with James’s feet?’
‘Mesmerised is his latest word. Last week it was perplexed, though he got the meaning confused with Perspex and kept asking me if our windows were perplexed.’
‘I imagine they were. Where is he getting these words?’
They discussed the boys for a while until Mark finally said, ‘So what’s up, Katie?’
‘That obvious?’
‘Only to me.’
Kate took a deep breath and told him all about the investment plans. ‘I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I’d really like to know what you think.’ She weighted her sentence, hoping he would realise it was okay for him to tell her he’d valued the house because he was worried.
He thought for a moment. ‘Well,’ he said, carefully, ‘it’s one of those things that has huge potential and possibly huge pitfalls.’
‘So what’re you saying? You think it’s a bad idea?’
‘I’m saying I think it’s good to keep your options open. What about the contracts? What’s the pound of flesh they’ll want in return? And do you have to sign a personal guarantee? You hear stories all time about people who’ve signed a guarantee for someone’s house loan and then they lose everything. We’ve taken a risk to be where we are now. You’re in London, which is a hub of financial business, but you just need to be cautious about which wagon you hitch your ride to.’
‘How very Western of you,’ she laughed, wanting to add lightness to the gravity of the conversation. ‘So what should I do?’
‘Be careful. Do your research.’
She waited for him to tell her more about what he’d been doing, about his fears and his plans.
‘I believe in you,’ he said gently.
‘Really?’ Then why are you valuing the house?
‘Yes, really.’
‘Love, is there anything else you want to talk to me about? Anything going on at home you think we should discuss? I’m here, you know. We can still talk about anything you want. It doesn’t always have to be about the boys and The Tea Chest.’
He paused and she heard him turn on the kitchen tap and start rinsing off some plates.
‘No, I don’t think so. Everything’s under control.’
Leila briefed Kate on the investor progress so far. One went no further than an enquiry email, one had been a phone call and an emailed prospectus, another had met with her for five minutes on his way to Madrid but she’d heard nothing from him since. And then there was Quentin. He was the only one still in the running.
‘Let’s hope he’s the one for us,’ Kate said, rushing out the door to the shop, leaving Leila to meet up with Quentin again.
They met in the lounge of the hotel he was staying in, her new notebook and pen ready to capture what he wanted to see in the details of the contract. Wearing Armani, he filled most of a large chair, an empty coffee cup on the table in front of him. He rose when he saw her coming and held out his hand.
‘Hi again,’ she said, taking his hand in hers, though it seemed a little formal after spending the night making pizza with him. After working in a kitchen together he seemed more like a mate from school rather than someone she was trying to impress in a business sense.
While they’d kneaded dough together, he’d told her he came from a large family in California; missed the family dog, named Kermit, when he travelled; failed his driving test twice; and if he could have three people to dinner this weekend he’d have Matt Damon, Nelson Mandela and Ellen DeGeneres.
She’d told him she had just her mother and brother; no pets allowed; got her driving test first go; and if she could have three people to dinner this weekend she’d have Amelia Earhart, Angelina Jolie and Hugh Jackman.
‘Why Amelia Earhart?’
‘Everyone loves a good mystery. I want to know what happened.’
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ he said now.
‘Mocha, please,’ she said, settling herself on the chair next to him. She didn’t take up nearly as much room in it as he did in his. A tall potted plant nearby extended its leaves towards her.
The air conditioning was strong and she shivered.
Quentin returned and noticed her rubbing her arms. ‘Would you like my coat?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll warm up in a moment when the coffee’s arrived.’
Too late. He’d shrugged off his Armani coat and placed it around her shoulders. He sat down again and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, gazing into her eyes.
Leila was instantly warm, and not just from the coat.
‘Thanks. That’s very kind of you,’ she said.
‘I’m trying out this new thing of acting like a gentleman,’ he said, smiling. ‘How do you think I’m going?’
She had to look at the carpet beneath her feet. ‘I think you’re doing well.’
‘Excellent.’
Their coffees arrived, giving Leila the chance to look at the woman from the bar and fiddle with the glass mug instead of looking at Quentin.
When there was nothing left to fiddle with, she picked up her notebook again. ‘Have you had a chance to read through everything I gave you? Tried any of the teas?’
He nodded, his face suddenly losing its friendly high-school jock charm. ‘Yes.’
‘Would you like to talk about where we can go from here?’ she said, disappointed at the change in him.
And as fast as the disappointment came it was followed by a flaring of anger with herself. She was here to do a job. She was in love with Lucas. It was absurd to be feeling anything other than gratitude to this man for helping her and Kate achieve their dreams.
‘This investment is pretty straightforward,’ he began, leaning back in his chair, his voice serious now. ‘It’s similar to one I did in California last year for an independent dog food manufacturer.’
‘Dog food?’
‘Well, obviously tea and dog food are different. But the structure is similar and they had difficulty breaking into an already saturated market, just like you. But we overcame that.’
‘How?’
He gave a tight smile. ‘The same way we’re going to deal with it for The Tea Chest. It worked for them and it will work for you too. You might want to write this down.’
‘I’m ready.’
Elizabeth was exhausted—the kind of good exhaustion that leaves you feeling better than you did before. Though this time tomorrow her upper arms might not feel so good about all that work at The Tea Chest. She kicked off her shoes, slumped back in the red recliner in the lounge room, and muted the sound on the television. She closed her eyes, thinking she might actually get some sleep tonight rather than fretting and dreaming of disturbing things as she had each night since she walked out on John.
She’d just flicked up the footre
st on the recliner to stretch her legs when her father walked in.
‘Hello, kitten,’ he said.
‘Hi. Where’s Mum?’
‘Out.’ He extended an envelope with a blue and white airmail sticker and several Australian stamps on the front. He hovered for a moment, scraping his grey hair to the side, smoothing it from its part. ‘This came for you today.’
Elizabeth’s mouth went dry.
‘And he phoned again too,’ Bill said. Then he left the room.
She stared at John’s writing on the envelope. It had always bothered her, with its strange mixture of capital and lowercase letters, cursive writing and printing, the changes appearing randomly between the words and sometimes within the words themselves. It was as though he couldn’t decide which way to go. And now it seemed like a huge sign she’d missed right from the start. He couldn’t commit to one thing.
She also noted with a sickening jolt that he had hedged his bets with her name. There was some movement and blotching of the ink, as though he didn’t know what to write, finally settling on Elizabeth Plimsworth Clancy.
She sat dumbly, staring at it, not knowing how to comprehend this signal. Was he afraid she’d gone back to her maiden name and the letter wouldn’t reach her? Was he trying to be (ridiculously) respectful of her independence? Maybe he was hinting that it was time for her to let go of their marriage and the Clancy name and strip him from her life. He was too weak to make the decision himself so he’d left it up to her.
The letter inside might have contained some answers to these questions, but she screwed it up into a tight ball and crushed it in her hands.
Bill returned.
‘What did he say?’ he said, watching her carefully.
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not reading it.’
‘Don’t you . . . ? Wouldn’t you like to . . . ?’
She held up her hand to silence him. ‘No. It really doesn’t matter what it says.’
And it didn’t. She wasn’t being deliberately petulant or stubborn or melodramatic. She just honestly believed there was no point. It didn’t change anything. He was married to someone else. Had kids with someone else. He’d betrayed her in the most awful way. And anything he had to say now was simply to make himself feel better.
The way he’d written her name on the envelope summed it all up. She had to choose who to be now because no one else would do it for her.
13
Fullerton Frat House report: James’s latest words—erectile dysfunction. I’m sure I caught Miss Hopkins sniggering at school pick-up.
Portobello Road on Saturday was filled with the kinds of sights, sounds and smells that made tourism brochures sing. Market tents and stalls, gazebos and tables lined the streets. Brass antique kettles and pots overflowed off wooden trellis tables. Short men in jackets and caps spruiked made-in-China socks and rivets. Pyramids of handmade moisturisers and body creams in the most edible colours of pale lime and strawberry tempted Elizabeth as she walked. The smell of donuts, sausages and freshly ground Brazilian coffee made her tummy rumble. Pink and red parasols spun gaily in the breeze. Fine English crockery wobbled nervously on uneven ground.
Elizabeth carried two cups of hot coffee in a cardboard tray and swung a bag of fresh croissants and sticky chocolate buns in her other hand. She sashayed her way through the throngs of market-goers. When she reached The Tea Chest’s stall she was delighted to see Kate smiling and selling the cutest pink fleur-delis glasses to a small group of women, whose Roman noses made them look like sisters. Kate had decided they should head to the market, getting the word out onto the street in preparation for the launch. She was an old hand at markets and knew the power of word-of-mouth.
‘I thought you could use this,’ Elizabeth said, handing Kate the coffee.
‘It’s appalling, isn’t it? I’m a tea designer and I’m drinking coffee. But, yes, these long nights are starting to wear a bit thin, I’m afraid.’ She brushed some stray hairs from her face and Elizabeth noticed her eyes did indeed look tired. ‘Not as young as I used to be.’ She gave a wan smile.
‘You’re doing wonderfully,’ Elizabeth affirmed. ‘Believe it or not, Kate, this is really coming together. You’re doing it. It’s getting done. And it’s going to be fantastic.’
Kate smiled. ‘Thanks. I really don’t know how I’d be doing this without your help. Or Vicky’s.’
Elizabeth smothered the urge to correct Kate’s use of her sister’s name. It was such an Australian thing, this need to shorten names. Instead, she smiled gratefully in return. She was feeling good for the first time since that disastrous morning two months ago when John had confessed his sins. Lightness had returned to her walk and her tone of voice. The Tea Chest had come along at the perfect moment. Keeping busy, working hard and flexing her creative muscles—and some physical ones too—had given her a sense of pride and usefulness she hadn’t felt in ages.
‘What’s she up to this morning?’ Kate said, sipping her coffee and rearranging the tins of roasted fruit-and-nut blends on the table to make them more accessible to pedestrians.
‘Victoria? She’s resting up today. I don’t think she’s ever worked so hard in her life,’ Elizabeth said, familial pride rising. ‘Honestly, I really didn’t think she had it in her. I’m starting to think maybe she has matured a bit after all.’
‘She’s been great,’ Kate said. ‘Did you know she’s been borrowing books from the library to research tea?’
‘No, I didn’t. Good for her,’ Elizabeth said, genuinely impressed. ‘Sounds like she’s taken to this business like a duck to water.’
‘She’s a good swimmer,’ Kate smiled.
Elizabeth poked at some tea tins. ‘Roasted nuts in tea?’
‘They don’t add much flavour as such, more of a body or essence. It gives the tea a really hearty feel, if that makes sense.’
Elizabeth opened the bag of pastries. ‘It would go well with one of these then.’ She tore off a piece of sticky chocolate bun, popped it in her mouth and washed it down with Irish cream– flavoured coffee. Perhaps she could use a similar flavour for her own chai design.
She closed her eyes and moaned with delight. ‘I can’t tell you how liberating it is to stop being good all the time. Now that I’m not trying to get pregnant every minute of the day I can do whatever I want. I haven’t been to the gym in weeks.’ She poked a finger at the flesh under her arm. ‘I’m drinking and eating whatever I want. I even had one of Victoria’s cigarettes the other night, just because I could.’
Kate took a twenty-pound note from a customer and popped it into her vintage flowered metal tea tin with shabby-chic rust around the rim. She wrapped a bottle of rosewater and a packet of masala chai and instructed the woman on how to blend them for an exotic iced-tea sensation.
Then she smiled at Elizabeth. ‘Well, enjoy it while you can because those baby-making and -raising years are definitely consuming. Your body’s not your own for a long time.’ Kate finished the parcel with a shiny gold and black ribbon and handed it to the young woman.
Elizabeth swallowed her bun. ‘Believe me, I will.’ Just then, a range of teapots at the other end of the stall caught her eye. She hadn’t seen them when she’d helped set up at the crack of dawn this morning. Now, she had no idea how she could have missed them. They were all Japanese teapots, the hexagonal types with tall, arched wooden handles, and delicate patterns of snow-covered branches reaching for stark skies. The sight of them was an unexpected blow.
Japan. She was shocked to realise that she had no idea where her husband was. Perhaps in Japan. Perhaps in a kimono. Or in nothing at all. His letter had been posted from Australia, but that didn’t guarantee he was still there. He could have left again.
Love was a funny thing. It could so quickly turn to hatred and just as sneakily swing back the other way. Her chest hurt. A deep cavern of longing threatened to open up a torrent of waterworks.
Instead of thinking what a lying, cheating arse John
had been, Elizabeth found herself thinking of surprising things. Like the time when she had the flu and had been in bed for days and he cleaned the house and made her chicken soup and rented her E.T. and Bridget Jones’s Diary to watch on her laptop in bed. Or the time he phoned her at work and told her to go straight home and get changed into her finest clothes because they were going for a romantic, candlelit dinner on the river, just because he fancied her. Or the time he bought them tickets to see Swan Lake for her birthday, even though he hated ballet, just because he knew she’d always wanted to go.
He could be so charming when he wanted to be. And she suddenly ached to smell his Acqua Di Gio, which always struck her with its citrus notes first before warming into the patchouli scents.
She wiped at a stray tear.
‘I do carry Pu’er as a loose tea,’ Kate was saying beside her, showing the man in the silk scarf a brochure. ‘But if you come to the store when we’re open, you’ll see an authentic tea brick on display and I can cut you some to take away with you.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ the man said, pushing his thick black-rimmed glasses up his nose. ‘So few people have aged teas in their original form.’
Elizabeth shook herself and took a deep breath. She mentally pulled down the curtains on memories of John and plastered a cheerful expression on her face.
‘Well, thank you,’ Kate beamed. ‘I’ll also be conducting weekly tea tastings on a Wednesday evening, which you might be interested in.’
He pushed the brochure into his jeans pocket and assured her he would be there.
Elizabeth felt herself radiate even more pride, this time for being part of a team of brave, creative women who were really out there and getting something right.
Take that, John, you bastard.
She rummaged under the tables to find her sketchbook and pencils. She took a seat and flipped open the pages to her current designs.
‘Did you get Leila’s latest notes?’ Kate said.
The Tea Chest Page 13