by Lyn Denison
“That’s when I enjoy it, too,” Crys said from across the breakfast bar.
Mel glanced at the label on the bottle. “Stanthorpe? I haven’t tried anything from Queensland’s Granite Belt, but I’ve heard Stanthorpe wines aren’t bad.”
“They’re certainly getting more popular,” Crys said. “I like some of them and, actually, that’s my favorite,” she added. “I went up to Stanthorpe and Girraween National Park a few weeks ago with some friends. We made a weekend of it, and even though it’s getting pretty cold out there this time of year we had a great afternoon trekking around the wineries doing some serious tasting. Soon warmed us up.”
She walked out of the kitchen and set their meal on the table as Mel poured the wine.
They sat down, and Mel exclaimed in delight. “Isn’t this your famous apricot chicken?”
“Don’t know about famous, but yes, it is apricot chicken. I still make it every so often.”
“And I still love it. But nobody makes it quite as well as you do.” Mel took a taste and sighed. “Mmm. That takes me back.”
“I, well, I remembered you used to like it,” Crys said, and their eyes met for long moments before Crys glanced back at her plate.
“This is really nice of you,” Mel said sincerely.
Crys flushed a little. “Try the wine and see what you think.”
Mel made an exaggerated show of holding her wineglass up to the light and then waving the glass under her nose before taking a sip. “Yes, a light fragrant bouquet,” she said solemnly and grinned. “I don’t know a lot about wines, but this tastes wonderful. Very more-ish.”
“Well, drink up, eat, and be merry.” Crys clinked her glass against Mel’s. “And here’s to an enjoyable stay.”
“To an enjoyable stay,” Mel repeated, and her eyes watched Crys over the rim of her glass.
Crys was the first to look away.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Mel began to ask Crys about the farm. By the time they’d finished the main course and dessert of fresh fruit salad, Mel knew that although Crys grew and propagated lemon myrtle trees to harvest their essential oil, she was also experimenting with seedless Davidson plums and that once a year she harvested broadleaf paspalum grass for its seeds.
However, the lemon myrtle was her main source of income. She also sold the leaves, which were dried and then steam-distilled for their oil.
“And there’s a ready market for your produce overseas?” Mel asked as she helped Crys clear away the remnants of their meal.
“A very good market. Our Australian products are recognized for their pure quality. In fact, that’s what keeps me going financially. The grass seed and the jams and jellies I make for the markets are just supplementary.”
“How often do you go to market?” Mel asked, and Crys smiled.
“Usually twice a month. I could go every weekend if I had the energy. They rotate from place to place. I just do the two closest.”
“And do you dress like a hippie and tell people’s fortunes?” Mel teased.
“That’s a preconceived idea if ever I heard one. You’ll have to come along with me and broaden your horizons. Feel like some coffee?”
“Love some.” Mel followed Crys back into the kitchen. “I’ll wash the dishes while you get the coffee.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Crys protested.
“Only fair. You cooked. I’ll clear up. And there really aren’t that many dishes,” Mel added as she sought and found the dishwashing liquid. “You’re a very tidy cook. I tend to use every bowl and piece of cutlery in the house.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Soon they had retired to the living room with their mugs of coffee.
“Are you warm enough, or shall I light the fire?” Crys asked before she sat down.
“I’m okay.” Mel chose the comfortable couch, arranging a couple of pillows at her back. “But the fire must be wonderful on a winter’s evening.”
“Wonderful and necessary.” Crys relaxed into the matching chair opposite Mel. “It gets pretty cold here as the year wears on.”
“I used to love the fireplace you had in the cottage in Brisbane, too,” Mel said as she sipped her coffee. “Remember? We used to toast marshmallows.”
“Singe them, you mean.” Crys laughed. “I love an open fire. Although Paul used to say it was ridiculous having it when you only used it for a few months of the year. Paul was definitely not a romantic.”
“I could never understand why you married him.” Mel said the words before she thought about them, and she glanced at Crys, wondering if she’d offended her. “He was nice looking though,” she added quickly.
“There’re many of us taken in by a pretty face,” Crys said lightly enough, but for a moment her comment hung between them, causing them both to pause. “But enough of that.” Crys broke the uneasy silence. “Tell me about you, Mel. Are you and Marie-Therese working on a new book?”
Mel spluttered, and Crys leaned over, quickly taking her coffee mug from her until Mel had caught her breath.
“Okay?” Crys asked as she handed Mel back her coffee.
“Sorry. Must have gone down the wrong way,” Mel said, taking a cautious sip, knowing she was playing for time.
How was she going to answer Crys’s casual question? Because she didn’t really know if they were still a working partnership. When Terry had explained that she didn’t want to be with Mel any more, she’d also said there was no need for their personal life to come between them professionally. Mel had angrily exclaimed her disbelief. And they hadn’t spoken of a new book since then.
If Terry was the professional she professed to be, then surely she would have contacted Mel. But she hadn’t. Unless Terry was waiting for Mel to contact her. Anyway, Mel was unsure how she felt about the situation. Could she still work with Terry? Or perhaps Terry had decided it was easier to find another artist to illustrate her books?
“Well, we haven’t exactly started another book yet,” she said vaguely. “At least, Marie-Therese hasn’t given me a new story line. I guess I’ll have to ring her soon and see how she’s going. But I did a couple of freelance jobs before I left Melbourne.”
“I loved the animal characters you did in the last one,” Crys told her. “They’re so lively and colorful. No wonder they’re so popular.”
“Thanks.” Mel managed a smile. “I really enjoyed doing them.”
“I saw you and Marie-Therese on the Midday Show last year. I don’t see much daytime telly, but your mother rang me to tell me you were going to be on it.” Crys’s dark eyes scanned Mel’s face. “You looked very striking on TV”
Mel flushed. “Who says the camera doesn’t lie? I had so much makeup on I thought my face would crack if I opened my mouth.” Mel scratched her face in memory. “Made me so itchy I could barely put two thoughts together.”
Crys laughed. “Rubbish! You came over very well. Very self-assured and professional.”
“It was all an act.” Mel grinned. “I was a quivering mass inside, believe me.”
“And Marie-Therese seemed very nice, too. I could tell from the interview you had a good rapport with each other.”
“We used to enjoy working together.” Mel caught her breath when she realized she’d used the past tense, but Crys didn’t seem to have picked up on it.
“I believe you met Marie-Therese at a party?”
“Yes. Years ago. We both moved in the art school crowd. It was a lucky meeting for both of us.” Mel stifled a yawn, and Crys grimaced.
“Here I am talking your head off and you’re exhausted. I’m sorry, Mel. Put it down to my rarely having a captive audience.”
Mel laughed. “I’m all right. Really. It’s just the pure country air. It was rainy and gray in Melbourne when I left, so all the sunshine since I came home has been fantastic.”
They discussed the weather for a while, and Mel was amazed at how relaxed she was now becoming in Crys’s company. But then, in th
e early days, she always had been. It was only after that stolen kiss that things had grown tense between them. If Mel could only put the memory of that out of her mind.
At that moment a loud mewing came from behind the French doors. Crys stood up and crossed to open the door and in bounded two sleek cats. They stopped and eyed Mel with studied indifference.
“The black-and-white one is Paddy,” Crys introduced. “And the larger tabby is Misty. You could say they run this place.”
Mel made cooing noises, and the two cats merely strolled in the direction of their food bowls.
“They’re just playing hard to get. In a day or so they’ll be driving you mad. Every time you look like you’re sitting down they’ll be on your lap. Excuse me while I give them their dinner.” Crys chided the cats good-naturedly and soon returned to sit down again.
“Did you catch up with your sister on your way through Brisbane?” she asked.
“No.” Mel shook her head. “I haven’t seen Amber and Adam since they came down to Melbourne last year.”
And her sister and brother-in-law’s visit had caused more than a little uneasiness between Mel and Terry. Terry had insisted on moving out to stay with friends, and Mel’s so-called boyfriend, Terry, had supposedly gone home to Western Australia to see his parents.
Terry wouldn’t even come along as Mel’s writing partner to meet Amber and her family. The whole subterfuge had ruined Amber’s visit for Mel. And later Mel had learned Terry had been with Maureen, the woman who became Terry’s new lover.
“I was sorry I didn’t make it to Amber’s wedding,” Crys was saying. “But Diane was too ill to travel. Was the wedding as amazing as your mother said it was?”
“And some.” Mel rolled her eyes. “You missed the event of the century. Mum pulled out all stops for that wedding. I felt sorry for Amber. I can’t believe she enjoyed it even if she said she did. I’d have eloped in the dead of night if I’d been her.”
“And spoil all your mother’s fun?” Crys laughed. “I can imagine how much Angela enjoyed playing mother of the bride.”
“Oh, she had a ball. But I’ve told her there’ll be no repeat performance with me, so she may as well get used to the idea.”
Crys sobered. “I know you feel like that at the moment, Mel, but, well, that’ll pass. Give it time.”
“I guess so.” And suddenly Mel found she wanted to confide in Crys, tell her everything. How betrayed she felt about Terry’s perfidy. How much it hurt to know that someone she thought she knew wasn’t that person. How much the pain lay heavily in her heart by the breaking of trust. But all that was treading on such dangerous ground.
Mel feigned a yawn. “You know, I do think I should call it a day,” she said as evenly as she could. “What time do you usually get up?”
“Oh, I get up early, but you can sleep in as long as you like,” Crys said as they walked down the hallway. “If I’m out in the shed when you wake up, just raid the fridge for breakfast. Oh, and close your bedroom door in case Paddy and Misty go in to try to con you into giving them a midnight snack.”
Mel grinned. “Okay. See you in the morning. And, Crys, thanks.”
“My pleasure.” Crys smiled back and disappeared into her room.
Crys entered the restaurant and smiled as she joined her friends. The six of them met each Tuesday evening for a meal and a chat, and Crys really looked forward to it. Apart from her twice-monthly visits to the Sunday markets, it was her only social outing. Two in the group were a couple, and the others were single like Crys.
“Ah, the wanderer returns,” said Margie Donovan, patting the vacant seat beside her for Crys to sit down.
“What happened to you last week?” Loretta Jones asked. “Please tell us you had a hot date.”
“My little romantic.” Billy Macklin patted Loretta’s knee under the table. “She hasn’t changed in the thirty years we’ve been together.”
Loretta smiled at Billy before turning back to Crys. “So was it a hot date? Margie told us all you’d said was that something had come up. No explanations.”
“She doesn’t have to tell us everything,” put in red-haired Sue Stevenson, at forty the youngest of the group. “Crys may not want to tell us.” Sue ran a hand nervously through her tight curls.
“Or she might want to tell us it’s none of our business,” added Josey Rudd.
Crys laughed. “It’s no mystery. When I rang Margie I got her machine and I just hate talking to answering machines. They’re so off-putting.”
“I’m with you there,” Billy agreed. “Bloody awful things. So impersonal, and you end up either tongue-tied or babbling.”
“So. What happened last Tuesday night?” Margie persisted. “You met this tall, dark strange woman who swept you off your feet and you decided she was more interesting than this sorry lot.”
“I wish,” quipped Crys, feeling suddenly a little warm. She shifted in her seat. “Actually I had, and still have, a houseguest.”
“You have?” Josey Rudd’s plump face beamed. “Why didn’t you bring her along?”
“Yes, we could use some fresh blood.” Margie rubbed her hands together and they all laughed.
“Now what makes you think it’s a female houseguest?” Crys teased and watched the various and varied expressions of shock and disbelief on her friends’ faces.
“You have a man in your house?” Sue asked incredulously, her blue eyes wide with horrified surprise.
“Not thinking of changing lanes at this time of life, are you, love?” Loretta inquired with mock seriousness.
“Bit late for that,” Crys replied dryly. “No, my houseguest is a young woman, the daughter of an old friend.”
“So why didn’t you bring her along?” Josey repeated. “We’d have behaved ourselves. Well, we’d have tried,” she added at the exclamations of skepticism.
“As I said, she’s the daughter of a friend, a young daughter.”
“Gee! Not only fresh blood but fresh young blood.” Margie made drooling noises, and Sue frowned at her.
“You sound like a vampire.” She shivered. “All that stuff scares me to death.”
“How young are we talking here?” Josey asked quickly, steering Sue away from one of her lengthy monologues on things that go bump in the night.
“She’s twenty-eight,” Crys replied.
“Twenty-eight. A mere babe in arms,” Loretta retorted. “I haven’t seen twenty-eight for over thirty years. All the same, love,” Loretta continued, “you could have brought her along. We wouldn’t have minded, would we?”
“Well, I did consider bringing her, but she’s not…” Crys paused.
“She’s not one of us,” Loretta finished for her. “Pity. But you know we’re not exclusive.”
“No. And we wouldn’t hold it against her,” Billy said quite seriously.
“Or hold ourselves against her, as much as we may want to,” Margie added, and they all laughed again.
“She’s just broken up with her boyfriend,” Crys told them. “So she’s a little down at the moment.”
“And ripe for consolation,” quipped Loretta.
Sue looked shocked again. “You’re awful, Loretta. Do you know that?”
“I sure do, honey. I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Loretta grinned. “So how long will you be holding this young woman’s hand, Crys?”
“I’m not sure.” Crys shrugged. “Mel hasn’t said how long she wants to stay, but she’s been a great help this week.”
“Mel? That’s her name?” Margie frowned at Crys. “Isn’t that your friend Angela’s daughter? The one who writes the kids’ books?”
“Yes. She’s Angela’s daughter and she’s an illustrator.”
“Oh, yes. I remember.” Billy nodded. “You’ve told us about her before.”
“Bring her along next week,” Loretta directed lightly. “We had Josey’s semi-straight friend last week.”
“Loretta!” Josey admonished. “Ingrid’s not semi-straight.
She’s just coming out. You know that’s a difficult time.”
“Loretta’s problem is she popped out of her mother’s womb clutching a rainbow flag,” Margie said lightly. “And we all thought your Ingrid was very nice, Josey. It was a shame you didn’t get to meet her, Crys.”
“But she’ll be here next week,” Josey told them eagerly. “As you know we met at the hospital. We’re on different wards and don’t have our shifts in sync yet, so she can only get here every second week. But she enjoyed meeting you all, too.”
“And have you two lovebirds done the dirty deed yet?” Loretta asked.
Billy groaned. “That’s about as subtle as a hit over the head with a dead fish, Loretta.” Billy retorted. “Give the girl a break. You’ve got her blushing.”
Josey laughed good-naturedly. “For your information, Loretta, and not that I’m a kiss-and-tell, mind, but Ingrid and I went away for a couple of days at the end of last week. And that’s all I’m saying.”
At that moment the waitress came to take their orders, and there was a scrambling for menus.
Mel had a quick shower and pulled on a comfortable pair of track pants and a loose warm top. She curled up on the sofa and picked up the mystery novel she’d just started reading. The two cats immediately draped themselves all over her and juggled for position until the three of them were comfortable.
Absently Mel stroked the cats’ warm fur. She felt as though she’d been here with Crys for months rather than a little more than a week. It all seemed so right somehow.
She was even helping Crys with the seedlings now, and today Crys had taught her how to drive the cantankerous old tractor, which caused them both a good deal of merriment. And next week they were going to harvest the paspalum seed in Crys’s lower paddock. Crys said she usually made a day of it and took a picnic lunch to have by the river. Mel was really looking forward to it.
She yawned, feeling a pleasant tiredness in her muscles. The physical work she’d been doing made her feel far more alive than she’d felt in ages.
Each evening she and Crys took turns cooking dinner, and Mel knew she was eating far more sensibly and regularly than she had been. Since arriving at the farm she’d lost that pinched look, and she felt she was looking more like her old self.
