Читать книгу With A Little Help - Valerie Parv, Valerie Parv - Страница 10

SOPHIE STUCK HER HEAD around Emma’s office door on Tuesday morning. “Are you in for phone calls yet? I’ve had six inquiries so far and two new clients wanting to book events. One of them’s a wedding a year from now.”

“The Nathan Hale effect?”

“Yup. Word’s getting around.” Sophie carried in Emma’s Garfield mug. “Chailatte. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Thanks.” Emma cleared a small space to let Sophie put the cup down among the recipe books, cards and handwritten notes swamping her computer. “You’d think my mother would wait until we’ve done the job before telling everyone she knows.”

Another mug in hand, Sophie sat down. “No pressure.”

Emma sipped her tea. “It doesn’t help that Nate’s closest friends have either cooked or eaten some of the best meals in the world. I looked up his gourmet group online and two Michelin-starred chefs are members. How do you think they’d like white truffle donuts and basil-infused snails?”

“About as much as I would.” Sophie linked her hands on the desk. “I prefer the food my Chinese grandmother makes, simple but delicious. A few fresh ingredients, mostly from her garden, although she draws the line at snails. To her the main thing is all of us sharing the meal. Although that’s probably nostalgia speaking.”

With Garfield halfway to her mouth, Emma froze, staring at Sophie. “Nostalgia—that’s the answer! Soph, you’re a genius.”

Sophie gave her a measured look. “O-kay. I mean, you’re right about the genius part, but what did I say this time?”

Ignoring the recipe cards and papers showering the floor as she moved, Emma leaned forward. “Remember I told you about seeing Nate’s kitchen after our meeting last Friday?” Not waiting for Sophie’s nod, she plunged on. “It’s the kind I dream of putting in here—acres of stainless steel work surfaces, the latest Italian appliances, refrigerators big enough to live in. You could run a restaurant from his kitchen. And you know what?”

“No, what?”

“He hardly sets foot in the place.”

“Doesn’t he employ a cook?”

Emma shook her head. “Joanna, his housekeeper, says cooking isn’t in her job description, and he doesn’t have any other staff. She told me he eats out almost every night, or has a restaurant deliver. The most he ever does is put together a snack or a sandwich for himself in the butler’s pantry, which is practically another kitchen.”

“What a waste. But knowing this solves his catering problem how?”

Emma stood up, her efforts to pace hampered by the papers on the floor, so she sat down again. “I did some research on our Dr. Hale.” She didn’t add it was as much for her own interest as to get an idea of his lifestyle. “His parents split up when he was twelve. His dad is a country doctor living alone, and his mother lives in Sydney with her partner and their fifteen-year-old son.”

“Sounds fairly typical,” Sophie observed. “You and I are the minority these days with two parents still married and living in the same house.”

“Exactly my point,” Emma went on. “We all want what we don’t have.”

“Including Dr. Hale.” Sophie sounded as if she was starting to understand.

“You got it. By chasing exotic foods and recipes, I’d be giving Nate what he already has, when I should be giving him what he doesn’t have.”

“Meals like Mama used to make.”

“Except his mama never made them. If his life was like the family of most country doctors—or city ones for that matter—his father missed more meals than he showed up for. Or they’d sit down to eat when his father was home, then be interrupted by calls. Being dragged out at all hours would be normal.” Emma knew she was talking about her own family as much as Nate’s.

Sophie got her drift. “And when they moved to Sydney, his mother was working, providing for them both. I’m thinking pizzas and fast food.”

Emma dragged her fingers through her hair, spiking it. “No wonder he likes exotic foods now. And going out to eat must feel more normal than family dinners around a big table.”

Sophie grinned. “Is that what you’re thinking of giving him for his birthday?”

“You betcha. I’m picturing wonderful homemade dishes, big bowls of fluffy mashed potatoes, fruit and ice cream and rum babas with cream. How long is it since you had rum baba?”

“A long time. I used to think they were so sophisticated because of the alcohol oozing out of them.” Sophie tilted her head to one side. “At least we’ll have heart specialists on hand. This plan sounds decadent enough to send you straight to the cardiac ward.”

Emma shook her head. “Food can taste decadent without the artery damage. We could create the family dining experience by making grown-up versions of all that comfort food.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Emma couldn’t see what. “It’s perfect, I know it is.”

“The idea is brilliant, but who’s going to produce this bounty? I can help you with the prep work ahead of time, and I’ll be on the spot for the first hour, but I have an important oral exam I can’t skip. Carla’s working that night, and Margaret will be in Bali, so they can’t help. You’ll be doing the lion’s share of the work on your own.”

Emma spread her hands. “I can’t not do it, Soph. You said yourself we’re getting inquiries purely because word of mouth has us working with Nathan Hale. Can you imagine what will happen once we actually deliver the goods?”

“The business will go from struggling to booming,” Sophie said. “Why couldn’t this chance have come up after I finished my course?”

“Murphy’s Law. We’ll manage somehow.” Emma spoke with a confidence she was far from feeling. “If you don’t need me in the kitchen, I’ll turn this harebrained scheme into a workable proposal to show Nate when he comes here later today.”

Sophie stood up. “I can manage, thanks. I’ve finished prepping lunch for the lady bowlers. Plenty of time before I have to deliver everything to their club room. What can I do to help?”

“You can contact some furniture rental places and find out what it would cost to rent a stack of big, old-fashioned dining tables and chairs.” Emma’s mind was racing. “The chairs wouldn’t have to match. In fact it’s better if they don’t. They should look like they came straight out of Grandma’s dining room. I’ll include the costs in the budget for Nate’s approval.”

“On it, boss.” Sophie sounded excited. “Where are you going to get the nostalgic recipes?”

“I don’t have to look far for inspiration.” Emma rummaged among the pile of books on her desk and came up with the one she wanted. “Jessie’s Kitchen, by Jessica Jarrett.”

Handling the well-thumbed book bathed Emma in happy memories. As a little girl visiting her grandmother, she had enjoyed many of the foods described in the book. As well as her own recipes, Jessie had included some her mother and grandmother had handed down to her, creating a fifty-year history of family food, studded with anecdotes of her life as a young mother on the outskirts of Sydney. Early in their marriage, Jessie and her husband had lived not far from East Hills, then the last stop on the suburban railway line. Their house was set in the middle of acres of rugged bush between East Hills and Heathcote.

The book fell open at Jessie’s never-fail sponge cake recipe and Emma’s mouth watered, recalling the feathery lightness of the cake filled with cream and Jessie’s home-made strawberry jam, the top cloudy with icing sugar. Gramma had given her a big wedge of the cake as consolation for getting lost in the bush. Emma had been picking flowers when a bee flew at her. She’d screamed and run, not stopping until she stumbled into a shallow creek, splashing water around to scare the bee away. Only then did she realize she didn’t know the way back.

Remembering how the branches of the eucalyptus trees had reached for her like ghostly arms could still make her shudder. She’d tried walking back to the house, but went round in circles, always returning to the creek.

She’d never felt more relieved to hear her father calling her name. He’d been so angry, she was almost sorry she’d answered, but the sun was setting and she was afraid to spend the night alone by the creek. Without a word, he’d carried her back to Gramma’s house and sat her down on a stool in the kitchen. Gramma and Cherie had fussed, but Emma’s father had silenced them with his gruff doctor’s voice as he tended to her scratches and bruises.

“She’s fine, aren’t you, girlie?” he’d asked when he finished.

There was only one answer he wanted to hear. “Yes, Daddy.”

He’d patted her shoulder. “Good. You won’t go running off and getting lost in the bush again, will you?”

Not if it meant getting such a cold reception. When she was found, her fantasy of cuddles and warmth in tatters, she’d promised herself to be more careful next time. She’d rather have a bee sting her nearly to death than make her father that angry with her.

Gramma Jessie’s compassion had eased some of Emma’s wretchedness. “Give the child a break, Greg, she’s only four.” She’d lifted Emma off the stool. “You sit at the table and I’ll get you some sponge cake. And you,” she said, glaring at Emma’s parents, “might like to help yourself to something from the cocktail cabinet.”

Emma ate her cake and the homemade lemon drink her gramma served her in the brightly lit kitchen, surrounded by delicious cooking smells and an atmosphere of warmth, while Jessie had sat across the table from her and listened to her adventure.

Realizing she was stroking the book’s cover, Emma let her hand fall to her lap. Was it any wonder she’d rejected her parents’ world in favor of her grandmother’s? As she grew older, she’d come to understand that being in medicine meant walling off many of your own feelings in order to do your job. She admired her parents and brother for their lifesaving skills, but surely life wasn’t only about clinical survival? What about emotional well-being? Maybe it was up to people like Jessie and Emma to balance out the medical side with their own form of caring. “There’s room in Heaven for all kinds of angels,” Emma remembered Jessie telling her one day when she asked why she was the only one in her family who had a problem with the sight of blood. The answer had puzzled her for a long time, but now she knew exactly what Jessie had meant.

Nate was a doctor, she reminded herself. Would he appreciate what she wanted to do for his birthday dinner? There was one way to find out. She pulled her keyboard toward her and went to work.

FEELING HER BACK MUSCLES complaining, Emma stretched and glanced at her watch, startled to see how much time had passed. There was no sound from the kitchen. Sophie had a lecture this afternoon, and had probably gone straight there after delivering the food to the bowling club. Emma realized she was hungry and headed for the kitchen, where she made herself a chicken wrap, eating it standing at a bench, imagining the room with the new fixtures and fittings in place. Why couldn’t Nate’s birthday be a few months later? Then she could have really shown him what she could do.

It wasn’t as if Emma cared about impressing Nate. He’d been quick enough to leave her with his housekeeper after their meeting. She was lucky he was making time to see her today.

At least she thought he’d suggested today. Emma checked her diary. The date was right. So where was Dr. Hale? She hesitated a moment then called his cell phone.

After several rings, she began mentally composing a message for his voice mail when a masculine voice snapped, “Hale speaking.”

“Nate, it’s Emma Jarrett.”

“Emma?” He sounded a million miles away. “Did we have a date tonight?” Before she could reply, he said, “Oh, hell, you’re not that Emma, are you?”

Tension gripped Emma. Who was that Emma? Someone he’d dated, or possibly still did? Not that this Emma cared. She said coolly, “You requested a meeting at my office today to review ideas for your party.”

This wasn’t about him as a man, she reminded herself tautly. This was business.

“I did?” he asked vaguely. “Look, something came up. I’m going to be another hour or so.”

In the medical world, something always came up. “I can email you my notes and prices if you prefer,” she said, trying not to let him hear her disappointment. She’d looked forward to sharing his enthusiasm for her plans. And seeing him again. She swiftly suppressed the thought.

She heard his muffled voice as he spoke to someone else, then he came back on the line. “No need. How about I pick you up at your place as soon as I can get away?”

The increased beating of her heart irritated her, sharpening her tone. “And go where?” If he thought she was having dinner with him, only to be interrupted constantly by his relentless cell phone, he was out of luck.

“I’ll let you know when I get there,” he said.

Before she could demand more details, he’d hung up.

Her knuckles whitened around the phone as an all too familiar feeling washed over her. How many times had she been left dangling by her family when something had come up? She resisted the urge to slam the phone down. If Nate thought she’d wait for him to spare her a few crumbs of his attention, she had news for him.

She printed out her proposal, copied the pages to disk and slid the lot into one of the monogrammed folders she’d had made up when she started the business. Placing the folder into a large envelope, she scrawled his name on the outside. Then she called a cab and gave Nate’s address and the envelope to the driver. As soon as they were gone, she sat down, feeling drained. But there was one more step to take.

She texted Nate to say she was unable to move their appointment, but the information he needed was on its way. He could get back to her when he was ready. Then she surveyed her chaotic office. She should tidy up before retreating to her flat at the back of the building, but couldn’t muster the enthusiasm and closed the door on the mess. It would still be there tomorrow.

An hour later, wearing her favorite sleeveless top and track pants and a well-worn pair of running shoes, she’d barely sat down to work on the velvet evening bag she was making for Sophie’s birthday when the doorbell rang. The business facade of the building deterred most door-to-door salespeople. Had Sophie forgotten something? If so, why didn’t she come around the back?

But when Emma checked the peephole, instead of her friend waiting in the street, she found Nate Hale leaning against the door frame, his hand raised to press the bell again. As she opened the door, she felt her heart kick against her ribs. “You’re lucky to catch me still here.”

He looked skeptical. “Going out?”

She knew her workout clothes argued against a hot date. “I sent you a text saying I couldn’t reschedule our meeting.”

“Yet you’re still here.”

He was reading her like a book and she didn’t enjoy it. “I had some things to do first.” Her tone said it was none of his business.

He refused to get the message. “I came to apologize in person.”

Heat spun through her. “That’s not necessary.”

He shifted his stance so one arm reached over her head to grip the door frame, locking her in place. “Don’t you mean not expected from a walking ego?”

This close, he was affecting her more than she liked. It wasn’t only the sculpted chest outlined by a bad-boy muscle shirt and the snugly fitting jeans that were sending her imagination soaring. He had come to apologize, something so rare in her experience that she hardly knew how to respond. She hid behind a cliché. “The customer is always right.”

Wrong approach, she thought when his mouth curved into a smile. “Finally we agree on something.”

Her suspicion flared. “Why do I feel as if I’m being set up?”

His look was all innocence, difficult to carry off given his rebel looks, but somehow he managed it. “You want to discuss your proposal, I’m all ears. But not here. I need some air, and you look like you do, too.”

Her hand went to her hair before she stopped the movement. “Careful, you might give me a swollen head.”

“It’s not a criticism, merely an observation. I’ll bet this is the first time you’ve stepped outside all day.”

“Wrong.” She didn’t add that the only other time had been to give his package to the cab driver. “So you can drop the doorstep diagnostics.”

“Believe me, I’m too beat to diagnose anything right now except my need to move and stretch.”

Curiosity won. “You want me to come for a walk with you?”

“We can settle our business while we’re out. Why not kill two birds with one stone?”

Disappointed to find his invitation was aimed at saving time rather than a wish to be with her, she hid her reaction. She knew how his world worked. Or she should by now. She turned, trying not to collide with his hard body. “I’ll get my purse.”

“You don’t need it. Is everything locked up inside?”

She nodded and showed him the keys clipped to her belt. “I only have to set the alarm and I’m ready.”

Not true, she knew, as she tapped the security code into the panel inside the front door. She’d have preferred talking business with her desk between them. Several rooms would have been even better, she thought. Sending her proposal by cab had been an act of cowardice to avoid the attraction she felt whenever he came near her. Nothing could come of it. Nothing good, anyway.

Best laid plans, she told herself as she pulled the front door shut.

He was holding his car door open. “I thought you wanted to walk,” she said. What was he up to?

He slid into the driver’s seat. “We’re only driving as far as Canada Bay. Have you done the bay walk?”

Sophie had been nagging her to try it. “Not so far.”

“You’re in for a treat.”

The sun was low and the temperature pleasantly mild by the time he parked the car on Henley Marine Drive near the Iron Cove Bridge. Emma sniffed the salty air. He was right. She was glad to be out of the office, but sorry the walk was a means to an end for him. Reminding herself that her business was already gaining clients on the strength of her connection with him, she set herself to match his long strides along a wide footpath around the mangrove-lined foreshores of the cove.

She would have liked to stop and read the signs about the flora and fauna in the surrounding bay, but Nate set a demanding pace that left little time to admire the scenery as it shifted between city skyline and thick greenery. Most of Emma’s workouts were in a gym, accompanied by music with a throbbing beat. She wasn’t out of shape, but neither was she in his league, although she was damned if she’d let him outclass her.

When had this walk become a competition? she wondered. But then her whole life had been one long competition with the medical fraternity on one side and herself on the other. This was only the latest installment.

“Ready for a break? We’re about halfway,” he said, steering her to a park marked by a large sandstone cross at the top. From here she could see the city of Sydney and waterways all the way to Rodd Island. He dropped to the grass and wrapped his arms around his bent knees, taking in the view.

She sat down beside him, careful to keep a safe distance. He unclipped a water bottle from his belt and handed it to her. She drank, aware that his lips would soon touch the same spot as hers. Almost like a kiss.

And she knew exactly how that felt, an inner voice whispered. The hard contours of his mouth, the rasp of stubble against her cheek, the wine-rich taste of his breath were all burned into her memory.

The thought made her frown. She’d known spending too much time with him was a risk. Their worlds were too different. Getting involved with a high-flying surgeon like Nate was playing with fire, and she had no intention of getting burned.

Jumping to her feet, she handed him back the water bottle. “I should get moving.”

“What’s your hurry?”

“It will be dark soon” was her lame excuse.

“Don’t you feel safe with me?”

Physically perhaps, but not where her peace of mind was concerned. “You might be missed,” she said. “I’m surprised your cell phone hasn’t rung by now.”

He rose in one lithe movement. “My phone’s set to vibrate. My assistant knows how to get hold of me, and then only if there’s a crisis she can’t handle.”

Emma couldn’t hide her disbelief. To her parents and brother, every call was a crisis only they could handle. Confusion coiled through her, followed by annoyance. He’d seen how irritated she’d been over the constant interruptions to their meeting at his house. Was this a new strategy to get his own way, or was something else going on here?

She planted her hands on her hips. “This won’t work.”

“What won’t?”

“Provided we can agree on the details, I’ll cater your party because it’s in both our interests, but that’s all.”

He frowned. “What else do you think I want?”

She dragged in a deep breath. “Isn’t it obvious? Me.”