by Sandy Barker
The moment evaporated when we were interrupted to hear the specials. Then we looked over our menus and I decided to start with the mud crab, one of the specials, followed by the John Dory for an all-seafood meal. James ordered a bottle of wine without looking at the list and without waiting for the sommelier. The waiter nodded his head subtly and left us to our conversation.
“I completely understand the need to find that sense of home when you’re travelling,” I said. He tipped his head to the side and encouraged, I continued. “When I ran tours, I would always unpack a few things, even if we were only there for a night—just to create a sense of ‘home’.
“The site crew were important, too. They’d welcome us like we were family, even if we were meeting for the first time. Sometimes it was a little forced, the whole ‘we’re a family’ thing, but I did have genuine friends on the circuit. I’d often get a nice surprise when I arrived somewhere and found out who was on site.”
He looked baffled. “The company didn’t track that kind of information online?”
I laughed. “Uh, no. The company still operated like it did in the 90s. There was no central database or dashboard to log in to, so there was no way of knowing how our tours would criss-cross or parallel with other tours. Archaic, really.”
“And you toured for how long? I don’t think you’ve said.”
“I just did it for a couple of seasons, although they were quite long—from February to November.”
“Why only two?”
“I missed having a real home.” He nodded, his lips pulled into a tight, smile—a commiseration from a fellow traveller, I figured. “I loved the actual travel,” I added, “but the job was hellishly lonely sometimes, like what you said earlier.
“I mean, my clients were all on holiday and I was working pretty much twenty-four-seven. And I was responsible for everything. If it went wrong, I had to fix it. If it went right, it was part of the seamless fabric of the tour. I didn’t get credit—not that that’s why I did the job—but ‘perfect’ was the benchmark, you know?”
“I do, yes.”
“Is that how you felt about your job in finance.”
“To a degree. It was a self-imposed perfection, mostly. Of course, in finance, a mistake can mean millions lost, but I was driven to go above and beyond what was expected—self-imposed and completely unsustainable. I was not my best self then.”
It surprised me to learn we’d shared similar experiences in such vastly different jobs. Of course, James had had a career in finance and being a tour manager was not the kind of job you made a career out of. Well, not for me anyway.
I could have stuck it out a few more years if it hadn’t meant selling off a piece of my soul on a regular basis—every time I said goodbye to a dear friend not knowing when I’d see them again, or smiled at a client who was an utter troll, or fended off unwanted advances from certain vendors, or worked twenty-hour days through a head cold or the flu, hiding my misery from my clients with medicine and makeup.
“When I moved home and went back to teaching, it felt right for me.”
“From how you talk about it, it seems like teaching is your passion.”
“In a way, yes. I enjoy working with the kids, especially those lightbulb moments when you can see that something has clicked for them, or has resonated somehow. They’re quite incredible people—the little ratbags,” I added affectionately. “They can be exhausting at times, of course—such a diverse group, all with their foibles and insecurities, their dreams—but on the whole, they’re the reason I stay with it.
“And, of course, there are parts I endure, like the endless paperwork, but that’s the same for every job, right?” Then I realised what I’d said and who I’d said it to. “Except maybe yours.”
He smiled a wry smile. “You’d be surprised, I think.”
“Oh, really?”
“Two words—customs forms.” I made a face and he smiled, his eyes doing that sexy crinkly thing. “Exactly,” he added.
I was sure that James had a team of people employed to handle such mundanities as customs forms, but it wouldn’t have always been that way. I knew that his success was the result of twenty years’ hard work.
Twenty years—geez. Twenty years ago, I was in high school. I was one of those little ratbags who asked a million questions and had ballsy dreams about conquering the world.
James pulled me from my thoughts with another question. “So, with your work, the joy of the lightbulb moment, as you say, it’s something you could do from almost anywhere, yes?”
Was he just making conversation, or was he asking because he wanted me to move to London? I’d thought about it, moving back to London—of course I had. If James and I ended up together, one of us would eventually move, right? And yes, he travelled a lot, but we’d still want to share a home base—a home—and James certainly had a nice one of those.
“Well, yes, I suppose. I mean, I taught in London, as you know, and I’ve sometimes wondered about living in a non-English speaking country, maybe teaching English.”
“Exactly right. Education will always be a worldwide endeavour, and of course, so much learning takes place online these days. There are those opportunities too.” I wasn’t sure why, but something about his comment didn’t sit well with me. But before I could respond, we were interrupted again by the arrival of the wine and the business of tasting and pouring. James made a generic toast “to Sydney”, and after touching the rim of my glass to his, I took a sip. Delicious—but of course it was. It was a Western Australian chardonnay.
“So, Sarah, I was thinking we could head over to New Zealand for the weekend.” It was a total non sequitur and I nearly choked on my wine.
Was this what life with James would be like, him whisking me away to some gorgeous destination at a moment’s notice? Traveller Sarah was very much on board, so to speak, but practical Sarah—the one who was preparing for the new school year, the one who had brunch plans with her girlfriends that Sunday—wasn’t quite so sure. Hiding my raspy coughs behind my hand, I looked up to see those eye crinkles again. “So, what do you think?”
I cleared my throat. “Um, that sounds amazing,” I replied, traveller Sarah taking the lead. “I’ve only been there once, and it was ages ago.”
“Where did you go?”
“Christchurch, then up to Marlborough.” He nodded. “Have you been to New Zealand?”
“A few times.” He didn’t elaborate, obviously not the type of person to go on and on about all the amazing places he’d been.
“So where were you thinking we’d go? I asked.
“Well, I’d love to take you to one of the sounds. Milford is probably my favourite.”
“Oh, that’s supposed to be beautiful.”
He grinned and laid out the rest of his plan. “We could fly into Queenstown, stay there, then head down to Milford by car. There are these overnight cruises where you wake up on the sound. It’s incredible. Then there’s the wine tasting, of course. We’d be right in the heart of the Otago region—great pinots.” He raised his eyebrows at me. The trip did sound incredible, but I wondered how we’d fit it all into a weekend. “What’s that? You frowned.”
“I was just thinking. It’s a lot to do in a weekend.”
“Well …” He drew it out and smiled to himself. “We could take a little longer. I’ll be wrapping up the museum talks in the next couple of days. We could leave Thursday, or perhaps even Wednesday evening, and I’d have you back in Sydney on Monday. We’ve got time, right? You said you’re off work until the end of the month?”
“Well, yes. We don’t start the school year until the third of February …” I was stalling as I thought of all the things I’d have to rearrange and cram into the next few days. Then I realised that when the handsome man, who says he’s falling in love with you, wants to take you to New Zealand for the weekend, you say “yes”.
“Let’s do it. Let’s go to New Zealand.”
“Wonderful,” he rep
lied, those eye crinkles intensifying. He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it with a smack, and we shared a smile across the table. I would have to call Lins in the morning to ask her to take Domino again. I hoped he’d forgive me for being such a bad “furrent”.
By the time the first course arrived, our conversation had shifted to the sights of Sydney, and I started mentally cataloguing all the places I wanted to take him to. I couldn’t believe that someone who’d visited Sydney several times hadn’t even been to Taronga Zoo—or Bondi.
The mud crab was delicious, by the way, and I thought of Paulie in London praising Sydney’s seafood. With good reason, Paulie, I thought. Then the moment the plates were cleared away, a tall, elegant woman, who looked about fifty, appeared next to the table.
“Hello James,” she said.
Seriously, does he know everyone?
“Antoinette!” He stood and planted a warm, friendly kiss on her cheek. She smiled at him just as warmly.
“Matt’s not in tonight, but I called him, and he said to spoil you with dessert later.” Then she reached out a hand across the table. “Hello, I’m Antoinette, the maître d’ and a friend of James’s.” I appreciated that she didn’t load up the word “friend” with adjectives like “old” or “good” or “with benefits”. It meant we weren’t going to have to play that awful game of “I know him better than you” that some people seem to enjoy.
I smiled up at her and shook her hand as I said, “Hello,” and James said, “This is Sarah,” at the same time. Antoinette was a pro and didn’t miss a beat.
“Sarah, it’s a pleasure to have you here.” Then she turned back to James and included us both when she said, “I hope you enjoy the rest of your meal.”
When she left the table, I leant closer to James so I could talk about her discreetly. “Well, she seems lovely.”
“She is,” he replied, just as quietly. “There have been quite a few nights when Antoinette, Matt, and I have closed the restaurant, sitting right here and solving the problems of the world over a bottle of wine—or two.”
The thought made my stomach twinge in a pang of jealousy which surprised me, especially as I hadn’t detected any sort of agenda in our brief conversation with Antoinette. It must have registered on my face, because James placed a hand on mine. “We’re just friends. Besides, her husband is an ex-rugby player and about twice my size.” He winked at me and I laughed.
He’s here with you, Sarah. Please get a grip.
When the main course arrived, I had to resist the urge to photograph it—the plating was just spectacular—but when you’re on a proper date with a grown man at Aria, it’s not the time to pad your Instagram feed.
The John Dory tasted even better than it looked and I savoured every bite as we chatted about our respective visits to New Zealand. Although my one trip had been on a budget, I’d been completely taken by the physical beauty of the South Island. It didn’t matter that I saw a lot of it from a bus window; I’d fallen in love with New Zealand back then and I couldn’t believe I was going again—and in a few days!
The evening seemed to speed by and when I glanced at the view, I was surprised to see that the sun had well and truly set, and the Sydney Harbour Bridge had donned her array of sparkling silvery lights. We’d finished the bottle of wine, and James asked about ordering another. At that rate, I was going to develop a drinking problem. “Uh, maybe just a glass, or something to go with dessert?”
James turned to our waiter, a young guy who throughout the evening had achieved that perfect kind of readiness where he was there when we needed him and discreetly absent when we didn’t. Ahh, Aria. It had leapt to the top of my list of favourite Australian restaurants. “Would you please check with Antoinette and ask what we’re having for dessert, then ask the sommelier to send over liqueur that will pair?”
“Very good, sir.” He nodded and left us. “You know, I do eat at normal restaurants too,” James said, another non sequitur. I could tell he was teasing himself and played along.
“Oh, yes? You like to slum it once in a while, see how the little people live?”
“I was one of the little people once. I like to remember my roots.” We shared a smile. “But really, I hope you know it’s not like this is every night. I’m showing off a little because I want to impress you.” I was definitely on board with that. “When I’m in London, I will cook for myself, or order in. Janice sometimes cooks, but it’s not part of her job. It’s only when she gets inspired. Sometimes, I’ll come home to a giant pot of something delicious on the stove.”
He laughed, “And then, of course, I’m eating lamb stew for three days straight, because it’s just me.” I had a very clear picture in my head of James sitting at his kitchen counter eating stew and I wanted to be there with him. Maybe I’d make him stew, or cookies, or any of the other things I liked to make.
Our desserts arrived, each a perfect miniature lemon meringue pie. Oh, how I love lemon meringue pie. LOVE! The sommelier brought a bottle of Limoncello over, along with two tiny liqueur glasses.
“I think you’ll find this is a terrific pairing. I assure you, it won’t feel like too much lemon. Instead, they should dance beautifully on the palette together.” What a lovely way to put it. She poured and I squirmed a little in anticipation.
I took a bite of pie, then followed up with a sip of Limoncello. Oh, my god, the sommelier was right. It was as though one taste continued into the other. It was a stunning pie, by the way, the pastry just perfect—not too doughy—the lemon custard, tart and silky, and the meringue creamy and sweet, the brushstrokes of caramelisation giving it that toasted-marshmallow note. Heavenly.
I cleaned my plate and sat back in my chair, a decent-sized food baby percolating. Uh oh, I did not think this through. Lolling about in a food coma until my food baby disappeared was hardly the way to end a romantic evening. And it was probably not what James had in mind when he’d invited me to stay with him in that fancy hotel. Crap.
“What’s going through your mind? You have an odd expression on your face.” I was sure I did, but there was no way in hell I was going to tell him what I’d been thinking.
“Just thinking about the last time I had Limoncello.” Liar! “It was in the Cinque Terre—Riomaggiore—and I’d just finished hiking the whole thing.”
Okay, so that wasn’t a lie. I did do that, and I did celebrate with a glass of Limoncello at the end before I got on a train back to Monte Rosso where I was staying. This was years ago, when the track was open the whole way, before the landslides. I was travelling with a not-so-serious boyfriend, who I omitted from the story.
“Really? Now, that’s somewhere I would love to go,” James said.
“You’ve never been?”
“Sarah, this may surprise you, but there are many, many places in the world I’ve never been to.” Intrepid Sarah perked right up at the thought of travelling somewhere with James and being the experienced traveller, the one showing him the way. “Did you do the whole trek in one day?” he added.
“We did!” Uh oh. Intrepid Sarah forgot to omit the ex-boyfriend from the story. “I was there with an old boyfriend. Uh, sorry, not that he was old, I mean, it was … he was a boyfriend from a long time ago.” Oh crap, does he think that I think he’s old? “Not that I think you’re …” I trailed off, mortified, and he graciously chuckled, rescuing me from digging myself into a deeper hole.
“I understand. Anyway, so you did accomplish the whole trek in a day?”
Relieved, I got back to the story. “Yes! And we did this fun thing where we stopped at each town for a bite to eat or something to drink. First was morning tea, then lunch, then afternoon tea, and at the end, the Limoncello. It’s over thirty kilometres and there are a lot of stairs, so it was a massive day, but just phenomenal.
“You’d come around a bend and there would be another town, nestled into the cliffside, these arrays of pastels and primary colours—just gorgeous. And there were so many farms along the way—
we’d meet up with people working on their terraced crops. ‘Buongiorno’, a little wave, and we’d keep going.
“We also saw quite a few people doing the trek in reverse order—the same thing, ‘Buongiorno’ as we passed. It was only when we got to Corniglia, the middle town, that I felt sorry for anyone doing the trek north. They’d had to walk up these ridiculous stairs just south of Corniglia—thirty flights, maybe three hundred and fifty stairs in all.”
“I didn’t realise.” A small smiled curled at the corners of his mouth.
“Yes, just brutal, whereas we got to walk down them. Actually, I felt even more sorry for the people who arrived on the train to stay in Corniglia, especially if they had luggage. Imagine carrying your bags up all those stairs from the train station. It made me glad we’d chosen to stay in Monte Rosso. Also, because it had an actual beach—it’s the only town that does.” Am I rambling? For the love of limoncello, stop rambling, Sarah!
“It sounds like a special place.”
“It is.”
“I’d love to go there with you.”
He’d caught me off guard and I blinked at him like the proverbial stunned mullet. It was one thing for me to go to Hawaii with Josh—we’d made those plans while we were still in Greece and before I’d seen James in London. But if James and I were already going to New Zealand together and he was talking about Italy, were we going to turn into a vacationship too?
Chapter 19
As I’d anticipated, the next few days passed in a frenzy as I prepared for my trip to New Zealand with James, pinging from one task to the next like a child hopped up on birthday cake.
I called Lins to see if she and Nick would have Domino again and she dryly suggested they just adopt him. Rude! And I spent several hours sifting through my wardrobe and trying on outfits to assemble the perfect trousseau for a long weekend in New Zealand with a sophisticated fifty-something. It was more difficult than it may sound.
I moved my brunch date to the following weekend, ran errands and ticked off those heinous online tasks that I usually put off until the last moment, like banking and renewing my car insurance, baked cupcakes for the bake sale Mum and her friends were hosting to raise money for wildlife preservation, and did some planning for the new school year—all things I would have done if I wasn’t going to New Zealand, but condensed into three days.