‘Yes, you did say that. Sorry, my ability to concentrate is—’
‘Please, John, there’s no need to apologise for forgetting. I get that your memory is unreliable and your mind wanders. You at least have a legitimate excuse. When I forget, which is happening more frequently these days, as my children remind me, I have only middle-age to blame.’ Ava put her wine down. ‘I do want to thank you.’
‘For?’ He placed the glass on the table, pushing it to one side. Wine could make him foggy, and when he left Ava tonight he wanted to be sure he took away a clear image of her.
‘For not delivering the usual grunt of disapproval when I announced my single status and children in the same sentence. It doesn’t shock you?’
‘It neither shocks nor surprises me, Ava. I’ve known you’re an interesting woman since our first meeting. Now then…’ He picked up the laminated menu. ‘We should choose our meal. Simple, but I can guarantee great flavours. Steak, chicken or sausages?’
‘Sausages. No competition,’ Ava said. ‘Simple food that provides real pleasure is my favourite.’
Ava and John ordered the same dish – the Iron Pot gourmet sausage, served with homemade chutney, a mash medley, and garden-fresh vegetables. It was good old-fashioned food that smelt delicious when it arrived on the table, delivered by a waitress who introduced herself as Hazel.
When the general chitchat slowed, John surprised Ava by saying, ‘You said you never married.’
‘So my single status combined with motherhood doesn’t sit well with you, after all.’
‘Not true.’ His smile brightened his eyes. ‘On the contrary, I was wondering why a man didn’t snap you up.’
Ava’s neck and cheeks warmed. ‘I’ve not lived the lonely spinster life, John. Not marrying was my choice, but I’ve been loved and asked often,’ she added. ‘One of those proposals came from the father of my children.’
‘Multiple proposals, eh? And here’s me not remembering one – my own.’ John huffed a smile into place. ‘You didn’t accept any of them.’
‘Each of those men had impossible competition. And they knew it.’
John nodded. ‘Ah, a first love.’
‘First and only.’ Ava sipped more wine, replacing the glass on the table.
‘Mind if I ask, Ava, why you didn’t end up with that first love?’
She flinched as she bit her lip a little too hard, even though she knew it was her tongue that needed holding. Another sip of wine was all she could think of to stop herself blurting the truth.
‘A cruel twist of Fate kept us apart.’ She spoke warily, fearful her now fragile heart was in danger of breaking all over again. ‘I do, however, consider myself fortunate, John. Life has not been too unkind. The twins’ father and I met sailing the Mediterranean one summer. He showed me the Swiss Alps in winter, Ontario in autumn, and Paris in spring.’
‘Ah, a woman of the world.’ John raised his glass to her.
‘I suppose life was good for a while. Better than a girl from a Brisbane working-class suburb could have hoped for, but the 1980s were not easy for a determined young woman with a cooking dream. I managed to save enough money to travel overseas and I spent the next decade making love and pastries, although not all at once.’ She managed a smile.
Had she shocked him?
It was hard to tell.
Did she want to?
Perhaps! Although Ava hated the idea that John might think her wanton, worse would be him thinking her self-pitying, boring and awash with nostalgia. He’d already implied that commissioning a portrait of oneself bordered on arrogance.
‘Have you seen Paris in springtime?’ The wine was loosening her up. ‘Sadly, the most romantic city couldn’t keep Dirk and me together. Over two good years we slowly grew apart. Differences can do that before you realise you have any.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ John muttered into his glass.
‘Not tying myself to one person was a conscious decision.’
‘Was that in case you fell out of love again?’ he asked.
‘The truth is, John…’ This wine was to be Ava’s undoing. Her heart pounded and she felt the quiver in her chin as she stared at him past the flickering candle flame protected from the evening breeze by a glass jar. ‘I never fell out of love the first time, so there was never any falling in after him. A vow would have been a lie. I could never promise to love another man until death us do part.’
‘Never, Ava?’
‘No!’ It was Ava’s turn to raise her glass in a silent toast to herself for getting the words out, stoicism restored.
John tapped his wine glass to hers. ‘To first loves,’ he declared. ‘Yours must have been some bloke.’
Ava couldn’t be sure what happened next, except that her heart started beating a slow, sad refrain. She knew she must still be smiling because John smiled back, looking at her with that curious tilt of his head.
‘Take this,’ he said. Ava looked bemusedly at the unused paper napkin he passed across the table, then back at his face. ‘You might need it.’ He tapped a finger to his own cheek. ‘You’re crying.’
Ava dabbed both cheeks and hoped for some semblance of a grin. ‘Silly me. Not sure what that’s about.’
‘How about we change the subject?’ When John picked up the wine bottle to check the remaining contents, Ava covered her glass with a flattened palm.
‘Don’t let me drink any more, but do allow me to explain about that first love…’ She took a deep breath. ‘He was a very special person. My perfect match.’
‘Both rare and lucky, Ava.’
‘Certainly not something I’d experienced before and most unlike my parents’ embattled relationship. I’m not sure what brought them together. All I saw was two incompatible people tormenting each other by hanging on. There was physical violence, but worse than that was my mother’s emotional abuse. Thankfully, times have changed and people can talk openly about such things now. Openness and acceptance give victims help and hope, don’t you think?’ John’s nod said he agreed. ‘They let them know there are options. Forty years ago I had no such outlet and innocence is quickly lost when a child experiences violence in the one place they need to feel safe.’
‘I’m grateful Blair turned out as amazing as he is and we share a close bond, despite him having grown up in a less than perfect environment. At least I had the opportunity to try to right some wrongs. I’m sorry to hear about your sad childhood, Ava.’
‘That’s why I went to live with my aunt at seventeen. Not for long, though. I didn’t fit in well with that family. There were a lot of places I didn’t fit in.’ She didn’t mention Rick or the bully chef. John didn’t need to know there was a time when she wondered if she was forever going to be fair game for cruel people with powerful fists and pathetic excuses for using them on her. ‘When I found myself with twins in my thirties I decided I’d raise my children my way. I wanted to prove I could be a good and loving mother and that the cycle of family abuse is not always handed down.’
‘And you have?’
‘Perhaps not if you asked my daughter,’ Ava admitted. ‘That girl was a handful when I told her why I didn’t marry her father. At thirteen the twins were old enough to know the truth and I’ve always thought honesty the best policy.’
‘Are the twins alike?’ John asked.
‘Physically, yes, but emotionally they couldn’t be more different. To the news that Dirk was not my first and one and only love, Tony was “Yeah, right, whatever, Mum”, while Nina… Well, you’d think I’d slept with the entire Italian navy and had a plane sky-write every one of their names over her school playground.’
John seemed to take his cue to laugh from Ava, their connection at that moment unmistakable. Ava seized the opportunity. Despite the situation, she was enjoying sitting close to him, the scent of aftershave and the shimmering candlelight reminding her that she was still a woman, not just a mother.
‘My twins could be described in this way,’ Ava d
ared. ‘Tony is rather like a Kelpie, while Nina is more Border collie.’
John’s wide-eyed reaction was almost puppy-like. ‘Now that’s an explanation I can understand, Ava.’
‘I thought you might. A lovely man once explained the difference between the breeds to me and Tony is definitely all go, go, go, whereas Nina is more… I guess you’d say open to outside influences and curious. Naturally she asked more questions about her father and I made matters worse by telling her why I never married him.’
‘Because he wasn’t that first and for ever love?’
Ava smiled, at John’s grin and her recollection of that particular mother-daughter conversation. She’d never forgotten her daughter’s eyes filling with tears and the sag of her shoulders as she dealt with not being, in thirteen-year-old Nina’s words, made from real love.
‘My daughter is twenty-five now and I fear she may be so intent on not taking after her mother that she’s waiting for that first real love. If I hadn’t bought myself a nice little villa so I can enjoy some alone-time she might also be back living under my roof. How hard does a parent push to make their fledglings fly?’
‘I didn’t have that problem. My son couldn’t wait to see the world.’
‘Mind you,’ Ava added, ‘with Mrs Hense next door I never feel like I’m living alone. She keeps me up to date with all the comings and goings.’
She settled back in the chair and felt the warmth of the pashmina around her. The night was unseasonably cool, but she liked the outside table with its view of the clear night sky. Their conversation became lively and she and John laughed often. Blair made it back in time to offer them coffee. He brought three cups and said he’d be back to join them but was called away again – Ava hoped it wasn’t the bride once more – leaving the two of them alone, one question begging to be asked. Obviously being so close to John wasn’t torturous enough.
‘What about your first real love, John?’
*
‘My wife, apparently.’ John kept his tongue-in-cheek reply short. He didn’t want to talk about Katie. He still loved his ex-wife, in a way. How could he not? For a start, she’d given him a son and dealt with his early emotional absence while managing a growing business and a demanding mother-in-law.
‘You were good to each other?’ Ava asked him. ‘You loved her and she loved you back?’
The intensity of her questions surprised John. Marriage was not his favourite topic, and certainly not tonight, but even more alarming was his struggle to answer. While the questions were simple, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been asked so directly. His delightful dinner companion had a way about her, and there was no denying his attraction to Ava. She had opened up and told him things about her life; it seemed reasonable that John reciprocate.
‘As kids Katie and I shared the same dreams and conjured up all kinds of ideas on the bus trip to school. Her dad had a bigger, better meat house so I was always over there. Pat O’Brien was the first person to show me how to break down a beast,’ John said. ‘Katie didn’t like that job, even though she did everything else better than most blokes.’ He leaned back, comfortable in Ava’s company. ‘As Katie’s parents were quite elderly she’d had to decide if she wanted the responsibility of taking on the family farm from a young age. Of course she did. There was never anything more important.’
‘Nothing?’ Ava questioned.
‘Except maybe to rule the world.’ John fought a surge of melancholy. ‘Sorry, I look back on those times with mixed emotions. Katie and Mum became my memory after the aneurysm. I won’t bore you with the details I do remember, because the life of a grazier can’t compete with luxury yachts and French pastry chefs. Anyway, I fear I may have talked too much already.’
‘Not at all. I enjoy listening to you.’
‘Then you’re to be rewarded with a special liqueur. Blair makes his own limoncello. I imagine such an Italian staple would be to your liking?’
‘It would, but a very small one.’
‘Too easy. I’ll be sure to hunt down a very small glass and be right back.’
*
Ava checked the time on her mobile phone. Ten o’clock already. Perhaps she should’ve rejected the offer of more to drink. The night would end soon enough, and she’d prefer John not to leave her alone for a second. That meant waiting, which Ava didn’t do well. Her only constructive waiting experience recently was her last visit to the doctor’s surgery where she’d discovered the magazine article that had prompted her return.
The medical centre she regularly attended was typical: a jam-packed waiting room with signage insisting mobile telephones be switched off and people everywhere using them. Patients no longer read the magazines – which left Ava spoilt for choice. Unfortunately most were a decade old. Choosing one from the stack, she had thumbed through it, then spotted a Qantas magazine, the type normally stuffed into an aeroplane’s seat pocket. She’d skipped the advertisements, glancing at articles on food, theatre, business and an art festival in Luxembourg. Ava had never been to Luxembourg, and feared she was unlikely to get there once the doctor had delivered his prognosis. The rate things were going she could die from waiting. The next page in the magazine had an article headed: Ten Places to Visit Before You Die. She was about to put it down when the featured story on the cover caught her eye: John Tate, Miraculous Master of Art.
‘Ava Marchette, the doctor will see you now.’
‘Of course he will. What perfect timing!’ she grumbled, unconcerned that the receptionist and half the waiting room watched her shove the magazine into her handbag.
Now she was watching the Miraculous Master of Art walking towards her with two half-filled liqueur glasses in one hand and a plate in the other.
‘Checking the time?’ he quipped, as Ava swept the mobile phone from the table into her bag. ‘Wondering how the hell you get away from this boring bloody artist and his life story?’
‘Messages.’ Ava sipped the limoncello, the fusion of sweet and sour tingling in her mouth. ‘All our talk about children, I took the opportunity to check. I’m surprised my daughter hasn’t left more. She likes to keep tabs on me in case I fall into evil hands.’
‘Grown sons are not so clingy,’ John said. ‘Then again, Blair generally knows where to find me. I harbour no secrets.’
‘Not too many people can claim that.’ Ava left her glass on the table, unsure if she should finish the drink. The doctor had suggested everything in moderation, and Ava had overdosed on memories and John all night. ‘As for my daughter, I love staying in touch, but sometimes I crave a little me-time. I thought coming back to Candlebark Creek would allow that.’
‘Back. That’s right – Blair did mention something about you having lived here. Our paths never crossed?’
His question wrenched agreement in the form of a small nod. ‘My stay was brief, too brief. More passing through, I think you’d call it.’
‘Cheese?’ He pushed the plate of crackers closer.
‘No, thank you. I couldn’t fit in another bite. I’ll never sleep if I do and I fear it’s time I said thank you and goodnight.’
John’s disappointment showed. ‘But I’m interested to know about your time here, Ava. I’m enjoying the evening very much.’
‘Me too, but we have a portrait to do and I need my beauty sleep.’
‘I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble finding the beauty in you.’ John’s voice cracked and he coughed to clear his throat. ‘But I should be checking on my son, if only to see how he got on with budging that bride.’ A chill fell around Ava the second John stood to leave. ‘And about those scones you left behind…’
‘All eaten by breakfast?’
‘Yes.’ He looked bemused. ‘How did you know?’
She smiled. ‘Good night, John.’
‘Good night, Ava.’
He walked away, stopping briefly to turn at the bottom of the steps, before he dissolved into the night.
*
Now alone in her bed,
having trawled through her daughter’s messages, Ava composed a one-text-answers-all response, which would likely attract a fresh barrage of questions. One of Nina’s messages suggested Ava was being irresponsible by making her worry, but right now Ava wasn’t thinking about her children. She was thinking about herself, and if that made her irresponsible, so be it.
Tonight she’d seen a glimmer of the vibrant young man she’d fallen in love with, and had felt the same instant, intense connection as though thirty years no longer separated them. Did she dare stay? Did she risk wanting more?
Chapter 34
Lavender Kisses
For the first time in years John had something to do that made him bound out of bed. He showered, shaved and put on clothes far too good to paint in. He rarely needed to wear any of the shirts taking up space in his wardrobe, some almost as old as him. The sound of tyres crunching gravel heralded Ava’s arrival. John patted his hair into place, checked his fly and strode barefoot down the hallway.
Ava’s appearance made his breath catch. She stood before him looking fresh and youthful in black trousers and a white shirt that accentuated her slender neck. She’d kept everything simple, except the brooch she had worn yesterday, now pinned to her collar.
‘You’re bright and early, Ava.’
‘First we cook.’ She marched straight to the kitchen and emptied the contents of her canvas tote onto the bench.
John examined the groceries. ‘We’re cooking again?’
‘Detail,’ Ava told him. ‘Something sweet to put on the table. We discussed it. You don’t remember?’
Did he? And did it matter? Nothing stopped a woman on a mission. He knew that from living with Katie. Besides, he was hungry.
‘You told me you ate the scones,’ she said. ‘I thought something different might be nice.’
‘Lavender?’ John sniffed the fragrant sprigs she’d tipped from the bag.
‘The best kind for cooking. Blair has oodles of it growing outside my guest room.’ Ava plucked a couple of small purple buds, pressed them between her fingers and popped them into her mouth. ‘The Greeks and Romans were eating it centuries ago. Try some.’ She held the sprig towards John. ‘I promise you’ll enjoy the subtlety. The flavour’s not so strong when used in moderation and it’s especially lovely when blitzed with sugar. We’ll have biscuits rather than scones today, but not just any biscuits,’ she called, over her shoulder, as she went into the pantry. ‘While I border on obsession when it comes to the simplicity of shortbread, I find lavender makes the everyday extraordinary. Shortbread is more versatile than people realise and nothing smells better in the oven. My daughter is partial to orange and rosemary, another favourite but a little more fiddly.’
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