“Carla?” Maura called, suddenly concerned. “Are you all right?” There was no answer. She walked toward the bathroom. The noise came again, quickly followed by the sound of a tap running. Maura was about to knock on the bathroom door, when Carla emerged. She jumped to see Maura.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
Maura was put out. “I was just checking that you were okay. I’m sorry to intrude, I heard you – “she chose her words carefully “I heard you being ill, is everything okay?”
To her surprise, Carla ignored her reference to the sounds from the bathroom. “I’m fine,” she said defiantly, though Maura noticed her eyes seemed teary, her mascara a little smudged. She seemed to be hiding a bottle of tablets behind her back. “It’s that time of the month, I get a bit queasy,” she said, staring Maura right in the face, daring her to ask any more questions.
Maura acknowledged her answer with a slight nod. “Well, we’re just starting the wine-tasting session, if you feel up to it. You’re welcome to just come and watch if you don’t feel able to do any tastings.”
Carla gazed coldly at her. “Your brother’s wine?” she drawled, her tone showing her contempt.
Maura felt her patience start to disappear. “Not just his – we’re tasting French and Italian wines as well today. Would you like to come back down?”
Carla shrugged. “I’ve nothing better to do, I guess.” She stepped toward the door. “After you,” she said.
* * *
Maura had just finished clearing the kitchen that night when she received a surprise phone call from Joel, her food writer friend. It was early morning in Sydney and Maura could just picture him, probably stretched out on a deckchair on his balcony overlooking Bondi Beach.
“Can you believe it?” he shouted down the phone. “I’ll be in London on Thursday night! Twelve thousand miles of flying just to do one story. I’m only there for three days, so you’ve no excuse, you have to come and meet me.”
Maura made him slow down and explain the situation again.
“It’s a story for the Sydney Morning Herald, about the popularity of Australian chefs overseas. It’s come completely out of the blue. They want me to try out their restaurants, talk to a few of them, interview the owners, you know the sort of thing,” he explained excitedly.
He coaxed her again. “I’m only there for three days, darling. You have to come over and meet me, there’s no excuse.”
“I’ll do my best,” Maura said laughing, promising to call back as soon as she’d had a chance to look at her diary and talk to Bernadette.
“Of course you can manage it,” Bernadette said immediately. “And you should see London while you’re this close. You can go over on Thursday night after the class finishes, see Joel and then come back on the Friday in time for dinner. I can manage all the preparations here for you – this new Australian cuisine isn’t that difficult once you get the hang of it!
“And I know just the hotel for you, right in the best part of London. Dominic stays there and says it’s great. Actually, he’s there this week, you might even run into him,” she added casually, as she reached for her address book.
Maura wrote down the details of the London hotel, only half registering Bernadette’s comments about Dominic. She quickly rang Joel back and made the arrangements to meet.
“So I’ll see you Thursday night at the restaurant. It’ll be brilliant, I can’t wait,” she said enthusiastically.
As she turned from the phone, the smile still on her face, she was surprised to see Carla walking out of the dining-room alone.
“So you’re going to London,” Carla said in her distinctive drawl, making no apologies for eavesdropping. “Catching up with an old friend, by the sound of it.”
What was it about Carla that made her want to slap her face, Maura wondered. “Yes,” she countered, “a very old and very dear friend. I can’t wait to see him again.”
“A lover, is it?” Carla asked, looking Maura up and down dismissively, as if amazed she could possibly attract a man.
“Oh, even better than that,” Maura answered quickly, her temper rising. “A man who loves me for who I am, not who my family is, or how much money I’ve got.”
Carla’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt they exist.”
“I’m sure you do,” Maura answered as coldly.
Bernadette’s call from the kitchen stopped the argument. Shaking her head, Maura thought with relief of the surprise trip to London. With all that had happened in the past three weeks, she was more exhausted than she’d been in a long time. A night out with an old friend was exactly what she needed.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Bernadette insisted on driving Maura to Shannon Airport, just a short distance from Ardmahon House, urging her to enjoy the quick break. “You know you can trust me to get everything ready – anyway, there’s plenty of canned soup in the cupboard as a back-up, isn’t there?”
The flight took less than an hour and after arriving into Heathrow airport and facing the throngs heading toward the underground, Maura decided to splash out and catch a taxi direct from the airport to the restaurant in the centre of London where she was meeting Joel.
Walking down the grand staircase into the main dining-room, she was glad she had worn her red dress again and taken advantage of the long cab ride to reapply her make-up and arrange her hair in an elegant style.
It was the most luxurious restaurant she had ever seen.
Each wall featured an elaborate combination of mirrors and handpainted murals. The chairs were works of art. Every waitress was exquisitely beautiful, wearing clothes that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a catwalk.
She had just been directed by a supermodel look-alike to her table when she heard a familiar purring voice behind her. It was Joel, dressed to the nines, looking like the cat that had got the cream. “It’s a home away from home, darling, isn’t it?” he laughed, as Maura greeted him warmly.
He took his seat and swiftly ordered two glasses of champagne for them. “This is an absolute swizz, sweetheart,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “All this way to talk to six Aussie blokes. I could have telephoned from Sydney and got the whole thing over and done with in less than an hour. They might be the world’s best chefs but believe me they’d make terrible chatshow guests. Articulate they are not.” He rolled his eyes.
As they fell into their usual easy conversation, swapping Sydney gossip with rural Irish tales, she laughed as Joel ostentatiously placed his mobile phone on the table between them.
“Just fitting in with the natives, my little colleen,” he said. Maura glanced around. Sure enough, there seemed to be a mobile phone beside nearly every plate in the restaurant. The wall-length mirrors made it seem even more bizarre, as tables reflected tables.
She pulled her attention back to Joel, who was outlining his research for the story. “I’ve been trying to set up an interview with the owner of this restaurant since I knew I was coming over,” he confided, “but he seems to be the busiest man in London. Hopefully I’ll get twenty minutes with him here tomorrow – his PR said she’d ring tonight to confirm.”
The phone thankfully stayed silent while they ate their meal. The food matched the décor in every way, rich and sumptuous, with incredible attention to detail.
As they ate, Maura brought Joel up to date with the story about the critic’s visit to Lorikeet Hill and the problem with the mistaken identity. He was especially amazed at the news of Dominic turning up in Dublin.
“Darling, I hope I didn’t get you into trouble,” Joel was aghast. “I should have found out exactly what that critic looked like. And me and my big mouth. I shouldn’t have breathed a word about the takeover.”
Maura swept his concerns away. “It doesn’t matter, really, none of it. It was all absolutely fine,” she pretended. “And it sounds like you’re still getting plenty of work. Let’s forget about all that – tell me about life in Sydney.”
Joel was great comp
any, Maura thought, wiping away tears of laughter after a particularly scandalous story about one of the newspaper food writers. He fitted in perfectly here, his flamboyant style well-suited to their surroundings.
Even the bathrooms were magnificent, Maura thought later. Like the inside of a Hollywood starlet’s powder puff. There was even another beautiful woman stationed permanently inside, waiting to turn on the bathroom taps, give out soap and offer a spray from a selection of very exclusive perfumes. Maura laughed to herself at the thought of borrowing that particular idea at Lorikeet Hill. She could imagine the shock some of her regular customers would get if they entered the tiny cubicle and found a waitress waiting there for them, hand-towel at the ready.
Joel had just regaled her with a tale he had heard second or third-hand about Richard’s work in London when his mobile phone finally rang. He mischievously let it ring until he had caught their fellow diners’ attention, then picked it up.
It was the restaurant owner’s personal assistant, ringing to tell him that the only opportunity for the interview would be within the next hour, as her employer had to unexpectedly fly to Paris in the morning.
Maura brushed off Joel’s apologies for the sudden end to the evening. “Of course I understand. You can’t possibly say no – that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
After an effusive farewell from Joel, Maura caught a taxi to her hotel, only a few miles away. Bernadette was right – it looked charming. She had just checked in and was about to go straight to her room when the sound of gentle music from the small hotel bar caught her attention.
Looking at her watch, she decided it was far too early to go to bed yet. She was in London after all. How often did that happen? She’d have a glass of champagne, catch up on some letter-writing and have a good look at some Londoners.
As she took her seat at a quiet window table, she looked around the bar, enjoying the elegance and sophistication of the other patrons. There were several couples in evening wear. A well-dressed family group. A trio of businessmen in suits. And Dominic Hanrahan.
Dominic? Surely not. She looked over again, suddenly embarrassed. It was him. Bernadette had told her Dominic was staying here, but she’d put it to the back of her mind, not really expecting to see him. He appeared to be in the middle of a business meeting and didn’t seem to have noticed her.
Not sure why she was doing it, Maura quickly shifted around in her seat, looking intently out of the window onto the street. With her back to the room, she hoped Dominic might not recognise her.
She had nearly finished her drink and was writing a postcard to Gemma when a hand on her shoulder made her jump.
“Well, well, so you’ve given up restaurants and taken up high-class prostitution instead, have you? You’ve probably got more talent for it than you’ll ever have for cooking.”
She looked up in shock, even after three years immediately recognising her ex-boyfriend’s voice. “Richard! What are you doing here?”
“You can thank your dear friend Joel,” he said surprisingly. He ignored her unwelcoming stare, and pulled up a chair beside her, dragging it uncomfortably close. “I’ve been out tonight with the restaurant owner Joel’s interviewing and I was still with him when Joel turned up. And you know Joel and his big, big mouth – he just happened to let slip you were in London and staying at this hotel. So I came right here. I knew you’d come looking for me eventually – I’m just surprised it took you so long.”
She realised in a second by the slur to his words that Richard was very drunk. And by the odd glitter in his eyes he’d taken something a bit stronger than alcohol as well. As Richard moved his chair in even closer to her, she could see immediately that the years hadn’t been kind to him. His hair was receding, and he’d become even flabbier. The arrogant tilt to his jaw hadn’t disappeared though.
“Still on your own, I see,” he taunted her, leaning close enough for her to get a strong whiff of alcohol. “I told you, and that idiot friend of yours, that it was a mistake to leave me. What was her name? Gemma, wasn’t it?”
She didn’t even bother to nod. Richard knew Gemma’s name perfectly well.
“How is dear Gemma? Has she managed to find any work yet? Such a shame about that magazine review, wasn’t it? And I hear you’re serving chops and mashed potatoes in some football canteen in the country. Found your true calling, did you?”
“Leave me alone, Richard,” she said, her nerves jangling.
Richard’s mood changed in an instant. “’Leave me alone, Richard’,” he mocked. “How dare you say that to me. And how dare you walk off on me like you did? Don’t you know I was the best you’ll ever get, you little fool.” He swayed dangerously toward her, putting his hand on her leg to steady himself.
Maura sat rigid. She’d seen this mood up close before. His hand came up to her forehead. From a distance it would look like a caress, but she breathed in sharply as he took hold of a curl and tugged it hard enough to hurt her.
“Nothing to say, Maura? Still need your friends to hide behind, do you?” he slurred.
She felt the anger rise, a cool, clear fury, unlike the hesitant confusion she’d often felt in similar situations with him.
“Take your hands off me now or I’ll call for security,” she said, finding a calm, strong voice.
“Oh, big brave girl, aren’t you?” he taunted her. “Come on, darling, remember the old times. I know you’ve missed me.”
“I mean it, Richard. You mean nothing to me. Get away from me now or I call for the police,” she repeated.
Richard twisted her hair again. “Listen to me, you little fool . . .”
A quiet voice behind them stopped his words.
“Is this man bothering you, Maura?”
Dominic’s voice.
Richard turned around before she did. “Who the hell are you?” he growled at the newcomer.
Maura looked quickly up at Dominic. He was on his own – no sign of the other businessmen. His meeting must have finished.
His arrival had distracted Richard enough for him to loosen his hold on Maura’s hair. She put her hand up to his wrist and gave it a sharp twist, digging in her nails as she did so. In his state he barely noticed the pain.
“No, he’s not bothering me at all,” she answered Dominic. “And we needn’t worry about introductions. He’s just some old drunk and I was leaving anyway.”
She stood up, gathering her belongings in one quick movement. Smiling fixedly, and taking great pleasure in turning her back on Richard, she surprised Dominic as much as herself by kissing him on the cheek and taking his hand.
“It’s wonderful to see you, darling,” she said deliberately loudly for Richard to hear. “I hope all your meetings went well.”
She was conscious of Richard looking blearily back and forth between the two of them, rubbing his wrist where her nails had dug in. He seemed about to speak when Maura interrupted.
“Goodnight, Richard. And goodbye, Richard,” she said politely, virtually marching Dominic out into the foyer.
Her nerve started to fail her once they were back in the bright light.
“That’s how you deal with ‘just some old drunk’?” Dominic said, looking down at her with a half smile. “I must remember to stay sober around you.”
She didn’t reply, too shook up to respond to teasing. Dominic looked closely at her over-bright eyes, and seemed to realise it had been serious.
“That was Richard the chef, I gather?” he prompted softly.
She looked up at him. He had a good memory. “It was,” she said quietly.
He looked down at her bags. “You’re staying here, I believe?”
She nodded. Bernadette must have telephoned and told him. “I’m just in London for the night, I met up with an old friend from Sydney. But this wasn’t quite the night I was expecting . . .” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t quite believe all that had just happened.
His voice was concerned as he looked down at her again.
“Maura, are you all right? Would you like me to see you to your room?”
She nodded, still distracted. She kept mentally replaying the encounter with Richard. Through her shock, she felt relief at how she had handled it. She had never really had a final showdown with him. After their last fight, she had not seen him again, not feeling strong enough to do so. The ending of their relationship had always felt slightly undefined in her mind. Not any more.
Wordlessly, she followed Dominic as he escorted her to her room. He had just said goodnight when he noticed her hands had started to shake. She could hardly get the key in the lock.
“You seem to have had more of a shock than you realise,” he said gently. “Would you like a drink of something?”
She thought for a moment, then nodded, attempting a smile. “I’d rather not go back to that bar though.” She thought of Richard waiting there.
Dominic seemed to understand. “I’ve a bar in my room, just up on the next floor. Would you like a glass of wine or something stronger?” he asked.
Maura nodded. As she followed him up the stairs, she started to explain the situation. Dominic hushed her.
“Let’s get you settled with a drink, then you can tell me the whole story if you want to.”
His room was lit with two warm red lamps, the double bed turned down by the maids, the couch covered with his luggage.
Dominic gently steered her toward the side of the bed. “Sit here for a moment, while I clear a space for you to sit and get you a drink.”
Sitting in the quiet of his room, she suddenly had a delayed reaction to Richard’s insults. She remembered him pulling at her hair, and the aggression in his eyes as he had leaned toward her. Before she knew it her eyes had filled with tears.
“Ah, Maura,” Dominic said, turning back to her immediately. He sat close beside her and, without a word, she turned into the circle of his arms.
“Shh,” he soothed her. “Don’t mind him, he can’t get you now, I’m here, I’ll look after you, you’re fine . . .”
A Taste for It Page 23