Maura rubbed at her wrist. Gemma knew that sign too. “This is Gemma,” she said. “Your oldest and dearest friend. I tell you everything, you tell me everything, remember the rule? Spill the beans, kiddo.”
Maura shifted in her seat. “Well, maybe something happened between me and Dominic.”
“Maybe? Maybe what?”
“Well, maybe I fell for him and maybe we slept together and maybe I made a fool of myself,” Maura said in a rush, looking up defiantly.
Gemma pulled her chair closer to Maura’s, and settled in comfortably, grinning at her friend. “Now, this is more like it. Let’s work backwards. What do you mean you made a fool of yourself?”
Feeling herself tense as she spoke, Maura briefly explained the situation and how she had walked in on Carla and Dominic in bed.
“Maybe he was telling her what had happened between you and him,” said Gemma, always anxious to see both sides of the story.
“That’s right, without their clothes on, the way you normally have those sorts of conversations,” Maura said bitterly.
“You said she was naked but he had his trousers on?” Gemma was pressing for the nitty-gritty details.
“So I guess I interrupted them. Thank God I didn’t walk in a few minutes later . . .” Maura’s voice tailed off.
Gemma’s brow creased. “Well, let’s go back to admissions one and two. You said maybe you slept with him. Don’t you know for sure?”
Maura brought up her hands to cover her face. “Yes, I know for sure, Gemma, don’t make this any bloody harder than it is.”
Gemma smiled at her friend. “I’m not trying to make it hard, I’m just mad to hear the details and you’re being very cagey. So what happened?”
“I told you about running into Richard in London.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I ran into Dominic the same night. At the same time.”
Gemma clapped her hands together. “Fantastic! A tug of love between two men!”
Maura cast her mind back. “No, it wasn’t like that at all. I was a bit shaken after Richard suddenly turned up, and Dominic was staying in the same hotel and, well, he looked after me.”
“He certainly did,” Gemma grinned, then was serious again. “How did you end up staying in the same hotel?”
“Bernadette highly recommended it to me – “
Gemma raised an eyebrow. “Doing a bit of matchmaking, by any chance?”
Maura started to deny it, then remembered that Bernadette had been quite firm that she stay in that particular hotel. And she had mentioned that Dominic was staying there too. And Dominic hadn’t been at all surprised to see her in London . . .
“No, it must have been just a coincidence,” she said, though starting to doubt it herself.
From her expression, Gemma wasn’t convinced, but she went on with her questioning. “So you met in the hotel. And then what happened?”
“Well, I was a bit nervous about going up to my hotel room on my own.”
“Well, of course you were,” Gemma said with a laugh.
“Don’t tease me, I was. Richard was furious, I had this image of him following me up to my room . . .”
Gemma’s face went serious, as she remembered a couple of incidents with Richard in Sydney. “No, you were probably dead right. So you stayed with Dominic in his room instead. And?”
Maura started to speak, then stopped, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “And you’re not getting all the details, so don’t ask. But it was . . .” she searched for the word. “It was wonderful.”
“Then what happened?”
“We talked about Carla and he asked me to trust him and wait for him to talk to her, and like a fool I did. And look where that got me.”
Gemma looked puzzled. “Then what’s he doing ringing you here?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s feeling guilty about me, now that he and Carla are desperately in love again. I guess he wants to salve his conscience or something.”
“Why don’t you talk to him next time he rings and find out?”
“There probably won’t be a next time,” Maura said defiantly. “Look, Gem, it was a holiday romance that went wrong. In fact, it was never even right.”
“But still, why would – ” Gemma was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing again. Maura nearly leapt from her seat, while Gemma snatched up the receiver.
She grinned broadly and then started murmuring in a throaty voice that nearly made Maura choke on her wine. “Keith, darling, I’ve just been thinking about you.”
Maura rolled her eyes, and picked up her glass and moved further down the verandah to give Gemma some privacy.
She leaned against the rail, moving the glass from one hand to another. Her heart was still racing. Dominic had rung. Should she have taken the call? She was glad she hadn’t. What if her voice gave away her feelings to him? At least this way he hadn’t realised that she had almost fallen in love with him. That gave her some shred of pride to hang on to. It was better to just forget about him, she reasoned. As if she could, another voice reasoned back.
Gemma joined her again. “As if you could what?”
Maura shook her head, smiling at her friend. “Just talking to myself as usual. How’s Keith?”
Gemma looked slightly sheepish. “Actually, he’s coming over again, he says he can’t wait until tomorrow to see me. Do you mind?”
Maura shook her head. “Not in the least. You’ve been very patient with all my yabbering tonight already. I’m exhausted anyway and I’m longing for my own bed again. Go for your life.”
“Oh Lord, don’t put ideas in my head!” Gemma said with a suggestive laugh. She noticed Maura’s newly quiet mood, and leaned over and stroked her friend’s arm.
“It’s good to have you back home. And don’t worry about Dominic and silly old Carla. It’ll all work out for the best.”
“You sound like Bernadette,” Maura muttered, as she stifled a yawn.
“Then you’re a lucky girl, you’ve got two wise friends. Now, will I walk you home? I can lock up when I come back.”
Maura shook her head. “No, you wait here for Keith, it’s only two minutes away. See you in the morning.” She hugged her friend close, then walked down to get her small suitcase from the car. She’d leave the rest of the luggage till the morning.
The walk through the vineyard to her own cottage was soothing, the wine she had drunk making her pleasantly foggy-minded. Inside, she walked around her little house, noticing with a smile the big bunches of flowers Gemma had placed around the rooms. She had taken great care of the cottage in the month she had been there, Maura could tell. The spare room, now full of Gemma’s belongings, looked like a different room.
Lying in bed, Maura heard Keith’s car pull up at the café. She heard their murmured laughs and voices as Gemma locked all the doors, and their whispered conversation as they walked down the vineyard path and let themselves into the cottage.
Soon after there was a long silence from the spare bedroom, which didn’t need much interpreting. Maura curled up in a ball, glad to be home and in her own bed.
But by two o’clock she was still wide awake, tossing and turning for what felt like the hundredth time. The question wouldn’t go away. Why had Dominic rung?
Chapter Thirty-five
No matter how much she watched it, the phone didn’t ring for her the next day.
“Ring him, will you?” Gemma eventually insisted. “You’re like a scalded cat every time it rings and you’re making me jumpy now too.”
“I don’t have his number,” she answered feebly.
Gemma snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Wine Society in Dublin would have it, or you could ring directories. Or surely Bernadette would have it?”
Maura answered in a small voice. “Yes, she would have it, but I’m not going to ask her for it.”
Gemma looked at her friend in astonishment. “Who is this weak-kneed creature in front of me? Has she lost her m
arbles during the flight home? Has she become a meek and timid Stepford Wife . . .?” Gemma was in full flight.
Maura stood up, laughing, waving her arms in the air. “Enough, enough. I’ll do something about it, I promise.”
“That’s the girl! Ring Bernadette now and get his number.”
“I can’t,” Maura answered.
Gemma looked as if she was about to wind herself up again. “Can’t? Can’t? Why not?”
“Because it’s three in the morning in Ireland,” Maura said silkily.
Gemma looked at her watch. “Then ring her later.”
“I’ll be on the road to Adelaide by then,” Maura answered, delighted with herself. “It’ll just have to wait another day.”
Gemma shook her head in mock disappointment. “Who’d have thought you would just give in as easily as that? Where is the courage of your convictions?”
“Gemma,” Maura said warningly. “You’re starting to sound like a football coach. I’m not like you, I can’t just go charging in there. I feel like a fool already, I don’t want to make it any worse. Please just leave me to sort out how I feel, will you?”
Gemma was about to speak again but a glance at Maura’s face changed her mind. Maura really was hurting about this. Gemma had thought it was a harmless fling, but she knew her friend well enough to see that Dominic had shaken her. And he was the first man she had even mentioned since Richard. Gemma wisely decided to keep her mouth shut. Not permanently, she assured herself. But for the moment at least.
Nick and Fran were delighted to see Maura back in Adelaide, and even more delighted to see the bags of clothes and supplies she was carrying.
Quinn was like a different baby. Maura could see an enormous change in just two days. She delighted in watching a little personality emerge from what had been a gravely ill baby. She was even able to hold him and felt a rush of love for the little boy lying in her arms. She couldn’t begin to imagine how Nick and Fran must have felt, coming so close to losing him.
The doctors wanted Quinn to stay in for another week, to be completely sure his lungs were strong again, but the worry was all but gone.
A week to the day of her return from Ireland, she and Nick sat again in the foyer area of the ward.
“This coffee has got worse, if that’s possible,” she grimaced.
Nick laughed, pulling a face as he too took a sip from his cup. He suddenly looked serious.
“Are you okay? Apart from Quinn, and Catherine, and the sudden return, I mean. As if that isn’t enough. You don’t seem yourself.”
“I’m fine,” she consoled him. “Just jet-lag, I guess.”
“One week later?” Nick wasn’t easily put off. “Did something else happen you’re not telling me about?”
“It’s a long story, but nothing to worry about. I’ll tell you the whole lot one day,” she said with a wry smile.
Nick looked at her closely. “You’re not worried about the winery or the café, are you? Please don’t be – I really reckon we’re on the way up.”
“So do I. No, I’m not worried about it at all. Just wait till I get my article written and sent off to the magazine, we’ll be turning the punters away.”
Nick’s face cleared. “Oh God, that commission, you haven’t had a chance to finish it, I guess, have you?”
Maura gratefully accepted the article as an excuse for her distracted air. “Well, I’ve done a few notes but I’ve a couple of weeks yet.”
“Look, things are fine here with Quinn now, why don’t you go back to Clare and your computer and get cracking on them? Gemma said she’s happy to stay on and help run the café for as long as we need her to. Fran and I are fine here, and besides, we’ll be back with Quinn in a week ourselves. How about it? It’s time you had a bit of time to yourself.”
Once he’d assured her he meant it sincerely, Maura was happy to take up his suggestion.
Within twenty-four hours, she was back in Clare again. As she started writing up the magazine article, she was pleased at how easily the anecdotes came, and how she was able to put a gloss on the whole trip. To her surprise, she was also contacted by the food and wine writer from one of the national newspapers and interviewed for a feature story on the Irish trade trip.
Reading the newspaper article several days later, she saw the journalist had referred to Lorikeet Hill as one of the regional finalists in the forthcoming Australian Restaurant Awards.
“Oh God, I’d forgotten all about those Awards, with everything else that’s happened,” she said to Gemma as they read their newspapers over breakfast. “What happens next? I’ve never been nominated before.”
“They do a second round of judging, I think,” Gemma said.
“So we have to go through it all with that critic again, do we? I’ll get nervous every time an elderly man comes into the place.”
Gemma frowned as she tried to remember the judging process. “No, I think they send different judges this time around, so there’s no favouritism. The South Australian writers judge the Victorian restaurants, the West Australian ones do the Queensland ones, etcetera etcetera.”
Maura thought of their bookings register, and looked worried. “This looks like being our busiest time as it is.”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Gemma soothed. “I’m sure they’ll give us a bit of warning.”
Whether it was the write-up in the national newspaper, or just the long spell of fine March weather, but a rush of phone calls over the next few days saw Lorikeet Hill completely booked out for the next couple of weeks.
Maura spoke to Nick on the phone. “I think it’s just as well I’m here with Gemma, she’s going to be flat out. We’ve decided to try opening up for Friday and Saturday nights until the Gourmet Weekend in May, just to meet the demand. What do you think?”
Nick was enthusiastic. “Go for it, I reckon. Are you sure you don’t want me to come back? Quinn’s getting better every hour. I’m sure Fran would understand if I came home for a few days.”
Maura was insistent he stayed where he was. “Everything’s fine, honestly. Gemma and I can handle it.”
By Saturday she was wishing Nick was on hand. The café was booked out, and the phone was still ringing with enquiries for tables.
She had been perfectly relaxed at ten o’clock that morning, when she had given Bernadette a quick ring, using the fax phone to keep the main line clear for bookings. She was featuring a light potato and leek soup on the menu that evening, and wanted Bernadette’s recipe for Irish brown bread to serve with it.
Bernadette had been delighted to hear from her. In the rush of the last week, they had only managed a couple of hurried e-mails to each other, and they had both avoided any real news, sticking to “I’m fine, how are you, how is Quinn?” messages. Bernadette was thrilled to hear that Quinn was making such progress.
“That must be a relief for you all, what a time you must have all had.”
Maura readily agreed. “And now I can talk a bit more calmly, how are things with you?”
Bernadette explained that the house restorations were nearly completed. “You won’t believe it, but we’ve actually had five days clear of rain, so we’ve been working like demons to make the most of it,” she said with a laugh.
There was a faint pause, and Maura knew in her heart that Bernadette was about to mention Dominic again. The pause lengthened, and Maura realised Bernadette was waiting for Maura to ask for news. Almost despite herself, she asked a quick question.
“So, any word from Dublin?”
“Oh, Cormac’s doing just fine, he’s still seeing the young one he brought to your final dinner – that’s almost a record for him.”
Maura couldn’t help but laugh. “No, I don’t mean Cormac, you brat.”
“I thought I wasn’t allowed to mention anyone else to you,” Bernadette said innocently.
“You know who I’m talking about, Bernadette Carmody. He happened to ring here the other night and I wondered how he might have kno
wn I was back in South Australia. I wondered if by any chance he had been talking to a certain well-known chef from the West of Ireland who might have been saying more than she should have on behalf of her dear Australian friend?”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Bernadette said, the mock-outrage obvious in her voice even 12,000 miles away. “Sure, why would I want to involve myself in private business between two young people who obviously already know their own minds?”
“What do you mean he knows his own mind already? What did he say?” Maura couldn’t stop herself from asking.
“Well, we only had a quick conversation last week, just before he left for America . . .” Bernadette said slowly.
Maura’s heart fell. He’d obviously taken Carla back to New York to recover from her little turn. She was about to swallow her pride, and ask for the whole story, when Gemma stuck her head around the door.
“Sorry, Bernadette, can you hold for a moment?” Maura looked over at Gemma, who was unusually fussed.
“I need to talk to you, it’s urgent,” Gemma hissed.
Maura nodded at her friend, actually quite glad of the interruption. Dominic’s phone call the other night had strangely lifted her spirits. Hearing this latest update from Bernadette, she felt them plummet again. “Bernadette, I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll talk to you again soon – and thanks for the recipe.” She said a quick goodbye, before giving Gemma her full attention.
“Sorry, darl,” Gemma said, almost breathless. “I’ve just had a call from the tourism department. Can you believe it, they want to bring the bloody judges for the Awards here tonight!”
“But we’re booked out!”
“I told them that and they didn’t even apologise. They said they’re turning up like this at all the restaurants, to see how well everyone copes under pressure, and to make sure they’re not getting preferential treatment.”
Maura groaned. “How many of them?”
Gemma swallowed. “Four.”
“Four judges? What is this, the Culinary Olympics?”
“Well, the woman said there’ll be a couple of judges, one of the sponsors and a tourism representative. I hope that’s it. She said they would make themselves known when they arrived, so it’s not completely anonymous.”
A Taste for It Page 28