A gust of wind blew a sheet of rain across them, and they both shivered, but Ginger hardly noticed. She was so glad he was here tonight. Maybe they’d finally be able to sort out their differences. Because she really liked him, and she didn’t want him to be angry with her.
“I’m sorry about the bakery,” she said.
“Yeah. I don’t want to think about how much work that’s going to take.”
“You’re insured though, right?”
“Yes. It’ll cover a rebuild, I guess, and replacement of the equipment.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again.
“What?” he asked, amused.
“Nothing.”
“Ginger...”
“I was going to say you could see this as an opportunity to revamp the place. Make some changes. Modernize.”
“I would if I could,” he said. “I’d change the shop around, have a much longer counter, with plenty of display cases for the baked goods. Update all the equipment, buy bigger, smarter. Bring someone in to do a customer survey of what they’d like to see sold in the shop, and completely revolutionize the range of goods. Start making cakes and pastries alongside the breads and muffins. Take on new staff. But it’s not possible.”
“Your father?” she asked, knowing she was right.
He nodded.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I should have thought about the fact that there might be other reasons why you weren’t making changes to the business. I jumped to conclusions, and that was wrong.”
“Eh, I should probably have told you. It wasn’t your fault.”
“What is it? Is he just afraid of change?”
“That’s partly it. He’s a very proud man. He brought his kids up on his own, rarely accepting any help or money from anyone. If we didn’t have enough for something, we went without. He doesn’t believe in accepting charity. And for him the business goes beyond a way to make a living. His father was a big influence on him, and the bakery is a connection to both him and the others who came before him. For him, baking is almost a spiritual experience. Breaking bread, you know.” He smiled.
“Yes, he said something similar to me. I feel the same way, to some extent, and I’m sure you do, too.”
“Maybe. But for him, it goes deeper, to a level I can’t really comprehend.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to bore you.”
“This is nice, Sam. Lying here, listening to your voice while the rain comes down. It feels kind of magical. Keep talking. I want to know more about you.”
He slid a little deeper into the water, leaned his head back, and looked out at the rain. “Confession time, is it? Okay. I respect the fact that my ancestors built the bakery—I like knowing I’m standing in the same place as my father and his father, and his father before that. But for him it’s almost reverential. He can’t bear for anything to be altered. He thinks it would be disrespectful. The first man to bake bread here was called Samuel Pankhurst, did you know that?”
“I didn’t. How lovely.”
“That was back in the 1840s, not long after Russell was founded. New Zealand had no native wheat, and Maori struggled with finding a food source that could be stored over the winter. That all changed with the planting of wheat fields and the making of bread.”
“I never thought of that. So Samuel Pankhurst must have been popular?”
“He was. He got friendly with a Maori man called Hone, and taught him how to make different kinds of bread. In the early days, European men sometimes lived with Maori tribes and married Maori women. The government encouraged it—they called it ‘a treaty made in bed.’ It was unusual for pakeha women to marry Maori men, though, and many people disapproved when Hone eventually married Samuel’s daughter. But they stayed happily married, and he eventually took over the bakery when Samuel died.”
“That’s a lovely story.”
“It’s not a bad one, as family history goes. So we can trace our lineage back to the old land, to England, where Samuel learned the art of baking bread from his father, way back into the Middle Ages. The wheat seeds themselves come from England, so they carry within them the memory of that ancient land. And we also have this Maori thread running through us, this tie to Aotearoa, and to the past. Maori people are very traditional, and although they’re now mostly Christians, they also have their own beliefs about the land and the spirits that dwell within it.”
“So for your father, the bakery really is a sacred place.”
“And he sees my attempt at modernization as an insult, a criticism that the way it has always been done isn’t good enough.”
She closed her eyes briefly. The poor guy. She’d waltzed in and implied he had no ambition, and even that he was lazy. Instead, he was holding back out of respect for his father. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t just told her. He must have thought her so rude.
She didn’t want to sink into self-pity, though, so she forced herself to think about him and not herself. “What will happen now that the bakery has been flooded? It will need an overhaul. It’s the perfect time to bring it up to speed.”
“I know. We just have to convince the old man of that.”
“You said he got upset when you changed the name?”
“That’s an understatement. I honestly didn’t realize he felt that strongly about it. I’d taken over, and I was starting to think about what I’d change and how I’d run it differently. I applied for the name change and put up the new sign—I thought he’d be pleased that I’d taken an active role. Instead, he went ballistic. It completely threw me. He hardly said two words to me for a month.”
“Jesus. I wouldn’t have thought he could be like that. He seems so... nice.”
“He’s been a great father. He’s just mired in the past. I understand that, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to keep your culture and your history alive. But there are ways to do it at the same time as keeping up with the times, I’m sure.”
“There are. Maybe we can talk about it later and jot down a few ideas. Perhaps if you make it clear that you’re not trying to eradicate everything he’s worked for, but only bring your touch to it, he’ll be more open to change.”
“Maybe.” Sam knew his words carried his lack of enthusiasm.
“Do you think most of his problem is to do with missing Ian?” she asked softly.
Sam sipped his whisky. “I guess.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a brother?”
He looked away from her, into the darkness. “We didn’t get on. Neither Ian nor my father understood why I wanted to leave the bay. I was always the black sheep of the family. Ian could never do any wrong in my father’s eyes, and now of course he’ll remain perfect forever. I’ll never be able to match up to him.”
He sounded sad. After what had happened that evening, she wanted to cheer him up, not lower his spirits more. She shivered. “The water’s cooling down and my fingers are turning to prunes. I think we should get out.”
His gaze came back to her, and he raised an eyebrow. “So I have to confess, but you dodge the bullet?”
She splashed him. “Woman’s prerogative.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened in England?”
She swallowed hard. “I made a fool of myself, again.”
“How? Was it over a man?”
She passed her hand backward and forward through the water, watching the ripples glint in the flashlight’s rays. “I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why?”
“In case it changes your opinion of me.”
The rain beat on the plastic roof, thundered on the paving stones in the garden. Sam sipped his whisky and considered her words. “We’ve all made mistakes, done things we’re ashamed of.”
“It’s difficult to say. I’m embarrassed.” She’d told Fred and Sandi the bare bones of it, but it had been hard, and she’d shrugged off their attempts to console her.
She had to t
ell him, though. He had to know why she’d walked out of the awards, and that it didn’t really have anything to do with him.
“Look, I really am getting cold,” she said. “Why don’t we get out and have something to eat, and bring my duvet onto the sofa? If you still want to know, I’ll tell you then.”
“Okay.” He reached out a hand and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek.
It was such a tender gesture that it made her throat tighten. Tender wasn’t something she was used to.
She wanted to confide in him, she really did. But did she have the balls to confess? Would he laugh at her? Make fun of her? Would she shock him? She wasn’t sure. She needed a few minutes to think about it. Maybe a hot drink and some food inside her would give her the courage she needed.
Chapter Nine
Sam held her hand as she rose and stepped out of the tub. This time, though, he did let his gaze linger on her slim form as she retrieved the two towels she’d left just inside the door. Her wet underwear was now transparent and hid nothing from his sight. She had an hourglass figure, not overweight, but not skinny either, perfectly rounded, suggesting to him that she enjoyed tasting the food she made. He liked that. His gaze lingered on her full breasts, the curve of her hips. He wanted to pull her back into the tub, wrap his arms around her, and kiss her senseless.
He didn’t, though. He rose and stepped out, accepted her towel, and dried himself off. Only then did he remember that his clothes were wet.
“Come in,” she said, opening the sliding door to the living room. “I’ll find you something to wear, and then we’ll raid the cupboards.”
In the end, the only thing that would go near him was her bathrobe. The sleeves came halfway up his arms and it would only reach to his thighs, but it was better than nothing. He slid off his wet boxers and left them outside with his clothes. Ginger promised that as soon as the electricity came back on, she’d tumble-dry them.
Wearing a pair of pajamas, and pulling on socks to warm her feet, she led him into the kitchen, and found a portable camping stove in the cupboard. They lit the gas and boiled water for a cup of coffee, then heated up a tin of soup. Sharing it between two bowls, they buttered some rolls and took everything into the living room. Ginger brought her duvet in from the bedroom, and they sat next to each other on the sofa with the duvet over them.
“What time is it?” Sam asked, the soup warming the inside of his body and the duvet warming the outside.
Ginger tapped her phone and studied the screen. “It’s 12:17 a.m.”
“Are you tired?”
“I’m weary,” she said, sipping her soup. “But I don’t want to go to bed yet. I don’t think I’d sleep with the rain still pouring down. I slept earlier, but I just crashed out after I’d been sick.”
“You threw up?”
She stirred her bowl. “Yeah. I think it was shock. And embarrassment. Like I said earlier, it wasn’t the first time I’d been so arrogant, and I couldn’t believe I’d done it again.”
He dipped his roll in the soup and took a bite. They still only had a torch for light, and it made her skin glow with a silvery sheen. “So... confession time.”
She gave him a wry look. “You’re not going to let me off the hook?”
“Nope.”
She sighed. “His name was Jack. His mother was the manager of the London hotel where I worked as head chef. He was on the panel who interviewed me. I thought I’d won the position through my culinary skills and experience, but it turned out he’d talked the others into taking me on, above other, more qualified people, including several who already worked at the hotel.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah, awkward, much. Anyway, I started work, and almost immediately he began pursuing me. I choose that word carefully. He courted me, in an old-fashioned way—flowers, jewelry, clothes, other presents. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. I felt... I don’t know, flattered, I suppose, at being the focus of all that attention. At being wanted so much. Eventually, I said I’d go out with him. He took me to the top restaurants, the cinema, and the theater. He spent a lot of money on me.”
“Nice,” Sam said.
“Don’t be sarcastic,” she told him. “I’m unzipping my fly here.”
“I’m really not. I can see how it must be appealing.”
“It was. He was quite a bit older than me,” she admitted.
“How much older?”
“Eight years. He was very sophisticated and suave. Always wore a suit. Knew all the best places to eat. Knew all the maître d’s, and got all the best tables. It was like going out with a member of the Italian Mafia. I tried to stay cynical, but I admit, I had stars in my eyes.”
“That’s fair enough,” he said softly.
She put the bowl on the table and pushed it away. Picking up her coffee cup, she warmed her hands around it. “Some of the female staff who worked there tried to warn me off him. They said he was a womanizer, and that he had a track record. I have to say, I thought they were just jealous. And I didn’t care—I was so dazzled and he was so attentive that I thought none of his previous relationships could have been as powerful as ours. How naive is that?”
Sam’s lips twisted. “A little.”
“It was the first time I’d been a head chef, and I dealt with their attitude by being extremely hard on them. Few people liked me, but I told myself I didn’t care, because you have to be like that if you’re in charge.”
“It’s one way of coming at it,” he said, putting down his bowl and picking up his coffee. “So, what happened?”
“Eventually, I decided to end it. He refused to accept it was over, though, and said he wasn’t going to let me go. We had a huge argument.” Her voice wavered at the memory. “And then he turned nasty. He was so horrible, Sam, I couldn’t believe how vitriolic he became. I thought he loved me. But he went to his mother and told her he’d caught me stealing, syphoning money off the restaurant. She came into the kitchen and confronted me, then sacked me on the spot, in front of everyone. I denied it, of course, and tried to tell her he was lying, but she wasn’t going to take my word over his. I’ve never been so humiliated. As I walked out, I saw several of the staff laughing at me. Nobody was sorry to see me go.”
“Ah Ginger, I’m sorry.”
“I took the hotel to court, and I won, and they had to pay damages, but of course they can’t give you back your pride.”
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
“The worst thing is, I can’t believe I did the same thing when I came over here. I’ve been so arrogant, telling everyone how to run their businesses and being so sure I’d win the award. It’s like I could hear myself talking, and inside I’d think: shut up! For God’s sake, you’re making an idiot of yourself again. But I couldn’t stop. I just kept on boasting and strutting like a peacock, and hating myself for it.”
“You really haven’t been that bad. You have to stop beating yourself up about it.”
She just shrugged.
Sam frowned. “You skipped right over the part about why you decided to break up with him,” he said. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She was quiet for a while. Then, finally, she said, “It’s complicated.”
At that moment, the flashlight went out.
“Shit,” Sam said as they were plunged into darkness.
“Batteries must have run out,” she said. “Holy crap, that’s dark.”
“Do you have any more?”
“Er, somewhere.” She shivered and slunk further into the duvet. “I’m too cozy to get up.”
“Want me to get them?” he asked.
“You’d risk getting cold feet for me?”
He chuckled. “I would.”
“It’s all right. I don’t mind the dark. It’s easier to talk.”
“Okay.” He propped his feet on the coffee table and made himself comfortable.
The rain continued to thunder down. They could doze here on the sofa, he though
t. Although he didn’t want to sleep yet. He was enjoying talking to her, and he wanted to find out what secret she was hiding. Now his eyes were adjusting to the dark, he could just make out her outline.
“So?” he prompted.
She hesitated. “I’ve never told anyone about this,” she said. “Not even Fred and Sandi.”
Sam had a sudden, horrible thought. “Oh Christ, please don’t tell me he hit you.”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Jesus, thank fuck. I’d have flown over there and beaten the shit out of him.”
She chuckled and poked him. “You would not.”
“Damn straight, I would have.”
“You’re quite the bruiser beneath the surface, aren’t you? Well, he wasn’t violent. But he was controlling.”
“In what way?”
She shifted, suggesting she was nervous about telling him. “In the beginning, things were fine. He was courteous and attentive. He was very smooth—he knew how to handle people, and he was great socially, so I enjoyed getting out more, and going to functions I’d never been to before. He was possessive—always had to have a hand on my arm or in the small of my back—but I didn’t mind, to start with. I thought it was cute.”
She sighed. “Gradually, though, he got worse. He didn’t like me going out without him, with friends, or even with Fred and Sandi. He got very jealous. Until then, I’d never understood why women put up with that sort of thing, but now I realize it’s because it happens so gradually. You love the other person, or think you do, anyway, and you want to please them, even though deep down you know it’s going too far. Sometimes, I argued with him, but he was a smart man, very clever, and his job involved an element of talking people into doing things. He knew how to play the cards right. He’d say, ‘I don’t want us to be apart because I miss you and I love you, how can you think of that as a bad thing?’ He always made me feel as if I was the unreasonable one.”
As Beautiful as the Bay Page 6
