A Taste for It

by Monica McInerney

  Aidan introduced Maura to Sylvie. “Lorikeet Hill?” Sylvie repeated, as thought it was a particularly unpleasant disease. “Oh, that’s right, the little boutique winery in South Australia, now I remember it. You serve snacks or something too, don’t you?” she asked condescendingly.

  Maura was about to explain it was actually more like a restaurant when Sylvie gave a sudden unpleasant smile. “Now I remember where I know your face from. You were Richard Hillman’s little protégé, weren’t you, until he upped and left you for London? I hear he’s doing wonderfully.” She gave a faintly victorious smile. “And there you are in the country – isn’t it funny how these things turn out?”

  Maura’s eyes widened at the rudeness of her remark, though she wasn’t surprised to learn Sylvie knew of Richard – a society vulture like her would be sure to keep up with that sort of gossip. Richard had been one of the more high-profile young wonder-chefs and their relationship and break-up had been a five-minute wonder in some of Sydney’s gossip columns.

  She was about to answer back when Sylvie deliberately turned away – looking for more influential conversations, her movement seemed to suggest.

  Aidan gave a low whistle. “Phew! And there I was thinking all you Australians would be laid-back,” he whispered.

  Maura grinned, slightly shaken by the encounter. “Not when it comes to a share of the wine market. And Sylvie’s determined to get more than her share, I’d say.”

  As they watched, Sylvie grasped her husband William’s wrist and marched imperiously up to the head of the Wine Society and interrupted his conversation.

  “The poor man doesn’t stand a chance with Mistress Battleaxe in full flight,” Tony, the Victorian winemaker, whispered beside her. Maura smiled back. It was common knowledge that Sylvie was the powerhouse in the relationship, bossing William to within an inch of his life.

  “You know, the rumour is she doesn’t even let him make the wine any more? Apparently she brings in outside winemakers who are better than him, and pays them for their silence,” Tony whispered.

  Maura’s eyes widened.

  Brenda, the wife of the Western Australian delegate, joined in their hushed conversation. “That wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve heard of her bribing bottle-shops for constant display space for The Glen ranges, can you believe it?”

  Tony was about to elaborate when a tap of a pen against a wineglass called the room to order.

  With Sylvie still standing uncomfortably close to him, the head of the Irish Wine Society made a charming welcome speech, followed by another speech from the head of the Australian delegation.

  Maura took the opportunity to glance around the room to see if Bernadette had arrived yet. There didn’t seem to be any sign of her, or anyone that resembled the out-of-focus photograph she had sent Maura in Australia. “I know it’s blurry,” Bernadette had written on the back. “It’s the vaseline on the lens – the only way I can get a flattering photo of myself!”

  Maura touched Aidan on the arm as he rushed past her on the way to the bar as the speeches ended. “You haven’t seen Bernadette Carmody here by any chance? I was expecting her to be here by now.”

  Aidan’s hand flew to his mouth. “Oh God, I knew there was something I meant to tell you this afternoon. It slipped my mind when I was so late and thinking I’d probably have missed you and you’d have already caught a taxi into town wondering what on earth had happened to Irish hospitality.”

  Maura stepped in quickly. “What did you mean to tell me?”

  “The roof of Bernadette’s cooking school at Cloneely Lodge collapsed in the storms we had the day before yesterday. You were already on your flight by the time it happened or we would have rung and told you in Australia. They were the most ferocious storms, the weatherman was saying he thought we’d lose every tree in the west of Ireland.”

  “Is Bernadette all right?” Maura asked urgently, trying to halt his weather report.

  “She’s fine, she wasn’t home at the time, but the awful thing was she twisted her ankle the next day when she was looking over the damage. But she’s absolutely grand, she just can’t walk on it for the next week or so, doctor’s orders. But she’ll be fine and don’t worry about a thing, your cooking programme together will still be going ahead.”

  Maura was having trouble keeping up. “Bernadette’s been hurt, her house has fallen down, but we’re still going ahead with it?” she asked in amazement.

  Aidan gave a merry laugh and looked at her as if she was a bit simple. “Oh, of course we’re going ahead with it – just not in Bernadette’s house. Her place will be crawling with builders for the next month, there wouldn’t be room for you all. No, you and Bernadette are moving to Ardmahon House, just across the valley. Rita sorted it all out. Apparently Ardmahon House is gorgeous,” he drew out the word, “just been completely renovated, ten ensuite bedrooms, big kitchen, the height of luxury – it’s perfect. And we’re really lucky, it got through the storm untouched. Apparently the howling of the wind was so bad you could scarcely hear yourself think.”

  Following Aidan’s train of thought was like unravelling a kitten’s ball of wool. She was relieved to hear Bernadette was unhurt and vowed to ring her as soon as she got back to her room. Then another thought suddenly occurred to her. She managed to interrupt Aidan, who was in full weather-forecaster mode by now. “But what about the wine trip around the West of Ireland?”

  He stopped waving his arms around. “Oh, Rita sorted that out too. The owner of Ardmahon House is a new member of the Wine Society and has volunteered to take over that part of your trip as well,” he beamed at her.

  As Aidan paused to draw breath, Maura tried to get a word in to find out exactly what had happened, but he rushed on.

  “Now, now, not another word, trust me, it’s all sorted out, the owner is coming along tonight to meet you. You’ll travel around together the first week on the wine tour as you would have done with Bernadette and then we’ll get you and Bernadette and your students and your restaurant guests all set up in the substitute house, happy as larks.” Aidan smiled encouragingly.

  At that moment Rita from the Wine Society came up and caught Aidan’s last words.

  “Yes, it was such a shame about Bernadette, Maura, she was so looking forward to driving you around. But you’ll still get to do your wine trip and then you’ll meet up with Bernadette, one week later than scheduled. Actually, I think your new guide has just arrived – hold on a moment and I’ll introduce you.”

  Maura stood dazed, trying to take it all in. The whole anticipation of the trip had been heightened knowing that she had already made a friend in Bernadette. Now she would be starting from scratch with a completely different person.

  She crossed her fingers surreptitiously, hoping her new guide would be as nice as Bernadette had promised to be.

  Behind her she heard Rita say brightly, “Dominic Hanrahan, I’d like to introduce you to your travelling companion for the next seven days.”

  Maura turned around with a big smile, which froze as she looked up. The last time she had seen that face she had just emptied a vase of cold water over it.

  Chapter Five

  Rita blithely continued her introduction, unaware that the colour had suddenly drained from Maura’s face.

  “Thank you, Rita, but we’ve already met, haven’t we, Miss Carmody?” Dominic Hanrahan said smoothly.

  Maura couldn’t stop the look of horror she knew was in her eyes. What on earth was the OzTaste critic doing in Dublin?

  Rita seemed oblivious to the tension. “Oh, of course, you’ve just got back from Australia too, haven’t you, Dominic?” she said with a smile. “Did you manage to get to Maura’s winery café? I understand it’s really memorable.”

  “Oh, it is indeed,” Dominic answered, flashing Maura a look.

  Rita continued enthusiastically. “Dominic has just completely renovated a beautiful big house in County Clare, Maura, only a few miles from Bernadette’s. We were so happy he wa
s able to step in at the last moment after poor Bernadette’s mishap with her roof. We’ve had a great response from the food and wine writers - there are even one or two coming over from the British newspapers, I believe. You Australians are really causing a stir.”

  “And severe heartburn,” Dominic murmured so only Maura could hear.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting the British critics,” Maura looked directly at Rita. “I understand they have great integrity and know their subject, unlike some other critics I’ve met.”

  Rita gave a nervous laugh, picking up on the tension but not sure why it was there. “Oh, surely you haven’t had bad reviews, Maura. I’ve only heard great things about the food and wine at Lorikeet Hill,” she said hurriedly.

  “Not personally, no,” Maura said, smiling at her, before turning toward the man beside her and letting the smile slip. “But as I’m sure Mr Hanrahan knows, the restaurant and wine world is a small one and everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

  Dominic was about to speak when they heard a drawling voice behind them. Maura recognised the accent straight away - it was the critic’s glamorous wife. “Introduce me to the wonder-child of Australian wine and food, darling. I’ve been dying to meet her,” the woman breathed, as she slipped her arm around Dominic’s waist.

  Dominic nodded at Maura. “Maura Carmody, may I introduce Carla Thomas. I don’t think you were formally introduced before.”

  Carla looked at Maura. “You!” Carla’s shriek made heads turn. She gave a nasty laugh. “What a joke! Yours was the worst meal I’ve ever had in my life.”

  Maura’s hackles rose. I guess it would stand out, she thought. The woman looked like she’d only had about six meals in her life.

  Carla pointedly ignored her. “Oh, Dominic, you can’t have her cooking in Ardmahon House. It will ruin your reputation. I’ve only just finished telling Janice all about our shocking experience at her restaurant in South Australia. Wait until she hears about this - it’ll make a great piece in her newspaper column tomorrow!”

  “Oh, we can’t leave our visitor in the lurch, Carla,” Dominic replied calmly. “And I’m very interested to see if there is any substance to all this hype and pretension about Australian food and wine.”

  A mixture of jet-lag, nerves and shock suddenly hardened into a flash of hot temper. Maura found herself reacting sharply to his sarcasm.

  “You’re a fine one to talk about hype and pretension, Mr Hanrahan. Presumably that is your real name, or perhaps you have another alias to hide behind here in Ireland?”

  Rita stepped in again nervously, completely bewildered by the strange turn in the conversation.

  “Well, isn’t this a great party and I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time on your car journeys to argue this out,” she said hastily, smiling at them in a faintly desperate way. “And believe me, Mr Hanrahan, we really are so grateful to you for stepping in at the last moment. You really have got us out of a tight spot.”

  Maura realised her flash of temper must have seemed very ungracious to Rita. She turned to explain the situation and say that it would be impossible for her to work with Dominic Hanrahan, but, before she could, Rita drew Carla away to a group nearby. To Maura’s dismay, she watched as Carla struck up a conversation with Sylvie Rogers. She heard Carla whisper something, and then both of them turned and looked over at Maura.

  With a deep breath Maura turned back to Dominic Hanrahan. A part of her brain registered again just how striking he was, but she pushed the thought aside. With difficulty, she kept her voice steady. “I’m sorry, Mr Hanrahan, but this really is an impossible situation. I would find it very difficult to travel with you or work in your house. If I’d had any idea you were connected with this trip, I would have thought twice about even being part of it.”

  “I agree that it might seem like an impossible situation for you, Miss Carmody,” he said. She realised he was mocking her formality. “But I think the Wine Society would be very surprised at your lack of professionalism if you were to back out of the trip now.”

  Her lack of professionalism? That was rich, coming from him. Maura decided attack was the best form of defence.

  “But it’s your fault that it’s come to this. It was your review in OzTaste that nearly sent Gemma Taylor bankrupt and started this whole situation.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said smoothly. “Who is the mysterious Gemma? I remember you chanting her name like some spell as you tipped the water over my head, but beyond that the details are a little sketchy.”

  Maura gave a surprised laugh. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that review. Of course you know who Gemma is.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t. And while I’ve eaten in many restaurants I’ve never actually written a review of one.”

  “Oh, please,” she almost snapped, impatient now at his stubbornness. “The next thing you’ll be saying you’re not connected with OzTaste at all!”

  There was a slight pause, then he answered. “I am connected with OzTaste but I’m not the food critic.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said sarcastically. “You own the magazine, of course, how silly of me.”

  “Well, yes, I do now, as a matter of fact.”

  Maura felt a strange sensation like a slow electric shock run down her spine. She suddenly had the most horrible feeling that he was telling the truth.

  There was silence for a moment as they looked at each other.

  Maura spoke first. “You’re not the food critic from OzTaste, are you?” she asked in a very quiet voice, her eyes wide with alarm.

  “No, I’m not,” he repeated. “I’m Dominic Hanrahan. And, in fact, from next month there won’t be a magazine called OzTaste We decided to close it when we realised it’s been dragging the rest of the company down for years.”

  “So why were you in the Clare Valley?” she whispered in an even smaller voice.

  “It’s called tourism. Apparently you usually welcome visitors.”

  Maura’s hands came up until they were nearly covering her face. She suddenly spoke in a rush. “I was told the critic from OzTaste was coming to Lorikeet Hill and that the review would never be published because the magazine house was being taken over. You and your wife fitted the bill, you’d come from Sydney, you had American accents…”

  “Wrong on three counts, Miss Carmody. I wasn’t the critic, I’m Irish, not American, and Carla isn’t my wife. Though you’re right on one point, we had travelled down from Sydney.” The smooth exterior suddenly dropped and his voice was quite sharp. “Who told you about the takeover? That was inside knowledge until a week ago.”

  “My friend Joel rang… he’s a freelance food writer in Sydney.” Even as she spoke Maura wished the ground would open up and a huge tunnel would transport her through the earth back to Australia.

  She had probably just blown Joel’s chance of getting any work with the company run by this man. Even more probably, she had blown her own chance of making a success of this trip.

  Maura took a deep breath, about to attempt an apology. As she opened her mouth to speak, Carla sidled back up beside them. “Still wasting your time here, Dom?” she drawled. “Surely you’ve explained to this Australian woman that the trip is off?”

  Dominic looked down at Maura, before turning his attention slowly back to the American girl. “Oh, not at all, Carla, the trip most definitely is on. I’m sure Maura is more than keen to prove that she knows something about wine and that she really can cook.”

  Maura’s intention to apologise evaporated in an instant. Her eyes narrowed. She had had enough of this sort of arrogance with Richard and she’d be damned if the trip she and Bernadette had slaved over would go to pieces because of this man.

  She glared up at him, oblivious to the flush in her cheeks and the amused look he was giving her. Switching her gaze, she gave his companion her full attention. “Oh yes, Carla, it most definitely is on. In fact, I can’t wait to get started.”

  Carla picked up the unspoken chall
enge between Maura and Dominic and patently didn’t like what she saw. Without warning she jerked her hand so that the glass of white wine in her hand shot forward and spilt onto Maura’s dress.

  Maura gasped in surprise.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, how clumsy of me,” Carla said triumphantly. “It must be contagious. You’re lucky there wasn’t a vase of water close by. You’ll just have to go back to your room and change now, won’t you?”

  With that, Carla took Dominic’s arm in a firm grip and marched him away. Seconds later, Aidan came up beside Maura and immediately misunderstood the situation.

  “Oh, did you spill your drink, you poor thing, you must be dying of the jet-lag. Here, let me get you a cloth to wipe it down. Luckily it doesn’t show too much on your dress.”

  “Yes, luckily,” Maura said, suddenly almost too weary to stand up. What on earth had she done to deserve all this? she thought. Wasn’t this supposed to be a straightforward business trip?

  As Aidan and Rita fussed around her, Maura looked around the room, unable to stop herself from seeking Dominic out. She was disconcerted to find his eyes meeting hers, until Carla stepped between them, breaking the contact.

  Overwhelmed by the whole situation, Maura explained to Aidan and Rita that she was going to call it a day.

  Rita was very sympathetic. “Absolutely, you poor thing, you probably don’t know if you’re coming or going. Hold on just a moment and I’ll just check that Mr Hanrahan knows when to collect you. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Rita is looking for me, is she?” The sound of Dominic’s voice right behind her made Maura jump. She cursed her reaction. The last thing she wanted was for him to realise how much he unsettled her.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “I saw from across the room that you were leaving. We need to confirm the arrangements for our trip together.”

  She noticed an amused glint in his eye and tried to ignore it.