A Taste for It

by Monica McInerney

  She spoke briefly to a food writer from one of the Dublin newspapers, who in turn introduced her to a magazine editor over from Glasgow. Cormac had arrived again unexpectedly, with a young woman who was obviously much more responsive and interested in his flirtations than Maura had ever been. He was slightly less attentive to Maura this time, but still managed to overload her with outrageous compliments.

  Following the format of the previous evenings, Maura gave a short speech explaining a little about Australian food and outlining the night’s menu, before inviting everyone to move into the dining-room.

  She and Bernadette had decided on a different approach for the last two nights – rather than three distinct courses, they were serving five smaller courses, allowing the diners to try even more flavours. This style of dining was hard work for the waitresses, who had barely taken one course out than they were collecting the plates, but it was a great way of demonstrating the wide range of Australian cooking styles.

  As she spoke, she noticed Carla whispering away to one of her friends, pointing to Maura as she spoke. The friend giggled at Carla’s words. Maura felt uncomfortable for a moment, feeling self-conscious about the way she looked compared to all their style and glamour, until the thought of Dominic’s intentions that night calmed her. All day she had let thoughts leap into her head about him, about their night together and the possibilities of what would happen between them now. Carla was the least of her concerns.

  The guests moved through into the dining-room, the lively buzz of their conversations drifting through to Maura in the kitchen, where the preparations were in full swing.

  There were five helpers, each working away setting up the array of dishes.

  The first course was a choice between an Asian-style sweet-potato soup or a rich, intensely flavoured fish soup, served with wattle-seed rolls, baked fresh that evening and still warm from the oven. This was followed by an artistically arranged selection of seafood, each prepared by a different method – salmon with an Australian native spice and black pepper crust, grilled prawns, satayed scallops, freshly made seafood spring rolls and a morsel of smoked salmon. Each plate also held a selection of dipping sauces made using the Australian bush herbs Maura had brought with her.

  The next course was entrée-sized chicken pieces, which Maura had marinated in soy and ginger, then quickly grilled. It was served on wilted spinach and bok choy, nestling on a bed of sesame-oil-flavoured Hokkien noodles.

  The Lorikeet Hill wines were perfectly matched to each dish too. Through the course of the evening, her guests would enjoy the whole range of Nick’s winemaking skills, from the light fresh Riesling he was becoming known for, right through to the rich, fruit-filled Shiraz that was almost a meal in itself.

  The final savoury course was what she had dubbed the Lorikeet Hill Platter. Each round white plate had six different tastes beautifully arranged upon it – marinated local lamb, fillet of beef cooked with Australian native pepperberries, poached salmon in coconut milk, a tiny smoked chicken pie, just a taste of lemon myrtle pasta in olive oil and a wild mushroom tart baked with light, crispy pastry. A mixed salad of greens flavoured with a delicate dressing added colour.

  Just before the platters were served, the mushroom tarts would be coated with a rich sauce from a pan bubbling on the stove, a heady mix of garlic, olive oil and herbs. She would pour the rich mixture over the mushrooms, sprinkle with local vintage cheese and give the lot a blast under the grill to half-melt the cheese and allow the garlic and olive oil to run through the mushrooms.

  The platters were almost ready – only the mushroom tarts were needed now. As Maura stirred the garlic and olive oil concoction, she realised parsley was missing. Damn. She looked around but there was only a sprig or two left on the wide counter. She remembered there was a large tub of it growing in the greenhouse at the end of the garden. She had a few minutes and dashed out to pick some, asking Shona, her kitchen assistant, to keep stirring while she did so.

  It was a beautifully clear night, cold but crisp and as Maura walked quickly down to the greenhouse she breathed in the fragrant air, feeling the tremble of excitement in her again. Dominic would be here soon.

  As she entered the kitchen again, a large bunch of fresh parsley in her hand, she was surprised to see Carla leave through the door back into the dining-room.

  “What was she doing in here?” she asked Shona, who was still stirring the saucepan, quite red-faced from the steam and heat rising from the stove. Since the time Bernadette had chased her out with a threat of enforced carrot peeling, apart from attending the course Carla had avoided the kitchen. “She said she needed a few bottles of mineral water for her table and asked me to get them for her from the coolroom, was that all right?” the young girl asked anxiously.

  “Of course,” Maura answered quickly. “It’s just you have to make sure you keep stirring this sauce, it sticks so easily,” she said, taking over quickly and checking that the garlic hadn’t stuck to the bottom of the pan.

  “Oh, it’s okay,” Shona said, smiling nervously. “She stirred it for me while I got her the water.”

  “Oh, good,” Maura reassured her helper, looking into the pan. Carla cooking, now there was a novel thought. Maybe the course had taught her something. As she looked into the pan, she noticed a strange greenish film forming on top of it. That was odd. She took a spoon and had a quick taste, nearly gagging at the flavour.

  “Shona, did you see Carla add anything to this?” she asked quickly.

  Shona shook her head vigorously. “No, of course not. Well, I was only in the coolroom for a moment, but I don’t think she did.”

  Maura felt a rush of sudden anxiety. A moment would have been all Carla needed. She looked around quickly. Under the sink counter beside the stove was an opened bottle of industrial strength disinfectant, which they used each night to scour the floor. Maura had a sudden feeling of foreboding. She carefully tasted the sauce again, nearly choking.

  “She wouldn’t have,” Maura said softly to herself. Then she thought again. Yes, Carla would have.

  Maura quickly called Bernadette over, from where she was supervising the assembly of the last of the platters. The trays of mushroom tarts were ready for the grill.

  “Smell this,” Maura asked her urgently.

  Bernadette pulled a face as she sniffed the sauce. “That’s disgusting, what is it?”

  “Carla’s specialty,” Maura almost hissed. “I think she’s poured disinfectant into the sauce.”

  Bernadette looked at her aghast. “When, just now?”

  Maura nodded. “I’ll explain later. We’ll have to forget about the mushrooms tonight. This could have killed someone, or made them very, very sick.”

  Maura spoke urgently to the kitchen staff. Without giving a reason, she explained that the platters would have to be hastily rearranged, to hide the gap where the mushroom tarts should have been. Luckily she always over-catered. There would still be plenty on each platter. She would just have to hope that four courses down the line no-one would remember her speech at the beginning of the evening previewing what tonight’s platters would contain.

  The staff moved quickly, as Maura poured the sauce down the sink to avoid the possibility of anyone accidentally having a taste. She kept a tiny bit in a jar. “Forensic purposes,” she said grimly to Bernadette. “God help me, I’ll kill her myself, if she doesn’t get me first.”

  The murmur of voices from the dining-room soothed her worry that everyone might be getting anxious, waiting for the next course. The Lorikeet Hill wine was obviously flowing freely. She still had a few more minutes.

  Looking out into the dining-room, she noticed through her anxiety that Dominic had arrived. She was too agitated at the moment to react as she watched him take his seat at Carla’s table. Carla had seemed almost glittering tonight, a strange nervous excitement surrounding her. Maura knew why now.

  The newly arranged platters were ready. With a deep sigh of relief, Maura watched as the
waiting staff moved efficiently to deliver the plates to all the tables. She heard the murmur of voices rise and fall again, as the diners started to enjoy the elaborate range of flavours.

  Bernadette touched her arm. “Are you all right?”

  Maura nodded, giving her a half smile. “Good thing she used green disinfectant,” she said with a small laugh. “If it had been one of the other clear bleaches I might not have noticed.”

  Bernadette shook her head grimly. There was no time to discuss it now, with the dessert plates still to be prepared. Maura was again giving each diner a selection of tastes, including a sharp citrus tart, homemade honey icecream, using blue-gum honey she had brought with her from the Clare Valley and a tiny chocolate truffle flavoured with macadamia nut. She also hadn’t been able to resist serving pavlova, a rich meringue dessert that had been invented in Australia, served with fruit salad and plenty of rich local cream.

  They were halfway through the preparations when one of the waiters came running through the kitchen door.

  “Someone’s sick, quick, we have to call an ambulance!”

  Maura and Bernadette moved quickly out into the dining-room, half-knowing what they’d see.

  Carla was groaning and writhing in her seat. “I’ve been poisoned,” she was shouting. “It must have been a toadstool!” The other diners were twisting in their seats to watch the commotion.

  Maura felt a fierce coldness run through her. So that had been her game.

  She walked quickly towards Carla’s table, her anger increasing at the sight of Dominic, his concerned face close to Carla, his arm around her. His platter lay untouched in front of him.

  “What’s happening here?” she asked, icy calm.

  Carla looked up, a dramatic grimace on her face. As Maura came close, she gave another groan, doubling over and clutching her stomach.

  “It’s her fault,” she groaned, pointing at Maura. “She’s served us poisonous toadstools instead of mushrooms!” She gave another long groan.

  The other tables had gone quiet. Maura noticed through Carla’s fuss that the other diners were looking at their plates, wondering if they too were about to be struck down.

  “There weren’t any mushrooms on the platter tonight, Carla,” she said quietly.

  Carla groaned. “Yes, there were, and you’ve given me a poisonous one. I thought it looked like a toadstool. Ohhh,” she clutched her stomach again.

  “No, Carla, there weren’t any mushrooms tonight, I changed the ingredients at the last minute,” Maura said calmly. Her voice carried through the quiet dining-room and she half-noticed people around her looking at their platters. She heard one man say confidently to his partner that he certainly hadn’t seen any mushrooms on his platter.

  “Yes, there were, in those little tarts I saw in the kitchen,” Carla seemed to be recovering with amazing speed.

  Maura gestured toward Dominic’s untouched platter. “Perhaps you could show them to me,” she said, her voice now dangerously low.

  Carla looked at Dominic’s platter. Her expression changed to one of mutinous anger as she realised the truth of Maura’s statement.

  Maura looked quickly at Dominic, too preoccupied to take in the loaded look he gave her.

  Carla’s recovery was as sudden as it was miraculous. She swept her platter to the floor. “Your food is rubbish, anyway, mushrooms or no mushrooms.”

  There were shocked gasps from the other diners. This was becoming quite a floor show. They’d expected great food and wine, but this after-dinner entertainment was quite a bonus.

  Dominic suddenly stirred from his shocked amazement. “Come outside now, Carla,” he said, his voice dangerously firm. “That’s enough.”

  Carla was almost dragged by Dominic from the dining-room, followed by two of her friends who seemed as puzzled at her behaviour as everyone else.

  Maura took a deep breath and faced the dining-room, forcing a smile onto her face.

  “I do apologise, everyone,” she said, as confidently as she could manage. “I can assure you all there were absolutely no mushrooms, poisonous or otherwise, in your meal. Please enjoy the rest of this course, and in a little while I hope you’ll enjoy our selection of desserts.”

  The thought of the forthcoming desserts seemed to have an immediate calming effect. Maura was relieved to see the low murmur of voices and the clink of cutlery and glasses start up again almost immediately.

  Thank God the wine’s relaxed them, she thought to herself, as she helped the waiter quickly pick up Carla’s discarded platter from the floor. She saw with relief that Bernadette was moving around the dining-room, making light of Carla’s display and helping to soothe the patrons.

  The rest of the dinner passed in a blur. Maura busied herself in the kitchen, listening with relief to the enthusiastic compliments the waiting staff were bringing in to her.

  There was no opportunity to seek out Dominic, or Carla, though she noticed neither returned to their table. As liqueurs were served, she returned to the dining-room, stopping to talk briefly to the people at each table, and be introduced to the food writers and other influential guests, only half-hearing their remarks.

  It was past one before the kitchen was cleared. She sent the staff out to enjoy a drink in the now empty dining-room, and leaned back against the counter, closing her eyes.

  “What the hell was all that about?” she dimly heard Bernadette ask.

  “You tell me,” she said wearily. This was no time to explain all that had happened between her and Dominic. She had an inkling Carla had suspected something, and tonight’s action was her last-ditch effort to ruin Maura’s trip once and for all. “All I know is that if anyone had eaten that sauce there would have been a lot of very sick people here tonight. Maybe even worse.” She had inspected the bottle of disinfectant again. It was a lethal mixture.

  Bernadette looked at her closely. “You’re nearly asleep on your feet. I’ll finish up here. Go to your bed, girl, before you collapse in front of me. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  Maura nodded, too strung out to argue.

  This wasn’t the night she’d been hoping for. She hadn’t expected Carla to react delightedly to whatever Dominic was going to say to her tonight, but she hadn’t expected anything as bad as this.

  Up in her room, she showered and changed into a long black slip, the closest thing she had to something sexy. God knows she wasn’t going to put on the green pyjamas. She knew Dominic was just down the hall. Her hands were shaking as she waited for him to come to her room.

  By two, puzzled that he hadn’t appeared, she could wait no longer. She went out into the corridor and looked down the hall. Carla and Dominic used the main double suite of rooms whenever they stayed here.

  She tiptoed down toward their suite. The light was on, the door slightly ajar. Knocking quietly, she walked in silently. There was no-one in the sitting-room that adjoined the main bedroom. She moved almost in slow motion toward the main bedroom. The door was half-open. She could hear the rise and fall of voices. She was dazed with tiredness and an overwhelming feeling to get things out in the open there and then. She and Dominic could talk about it all in front of Carla if they had to.

  The plush carpet muffled the sound of her footsteps. She was in front of the open door, taking in the scene for a long moment before the sight fully registered in her tired brain.

  Carla was completely naked, lying on top of the bedcover. Dominic was naked from the waist up. Maura’s eyes took in the look of his naked back, glowing in the lamplight.

  He was leaning over Carla, gently brushing back the hair from her forehead. Maura’s skin tingled, as she remembered the feel of his fingers doing the same thing to her.

  She could hear his words clearly. “I promised your father,” he was saying to Carla in a soothing, low voice. “I won’t let him down, I’ll always be there for you.”

  Maura took a deep breath in shock. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her gasp made Dominic look up
and his eyes widened in surprise.

  “Maura,” he breathed.

  Maura suddenly came out of her stupor. Her eyes hardened as she took in the loving scene before her.

  “Now I’m the stupid one,” she said, coldly and clearly.

  Only a last shred of dignity stopped her from running out of the room. Ignoring Dominic’s harsh whisper for her to wait, she barely registered her journey as she passed through the sitting-room again, out into the corridor. She quickly found her room, pushed the door shut, and locked it with a quick movement.

  Only when she was inside did the real reaction set in. She leaned her forehead against the wooden panel of the door, feeling her breath come in short gasps.

  The word ‘fool’ kept going through her mind. Gone was the pleasure of the memory of her night with Dominic, which had been rippling through her all day, like a special secret. Instead she felt embarrassment and shame and anger. She’d been absolutely, completely taken in. He would never leave Carla. Whatever was between them was too strong.

  It seemed like hours, but could only have been minutes later, that she heard Dominic’s voice through the door.

  “Maura, let me in, let me explain,” he said urgently.

  She shook her head, not daring to answer. “Go away,” she whispered, so softly he couldn’t have heard. “Leave me alone.”

  She knew there was only the door between them. She could feel his hand against the door knob, hear his voice imploring her to listen to him. Her face still pressed against the wood, she just whispered again. “Leave me alone,” over and over.

  He finally went away.

  It was a long time before she straightened, her head spinning. She didn’t undress, didn’t wash. She just took a few unsteady steps and fell forward onto her bed. Something sharp pricked against her arm. She rose up and saw the London bus brooch lying on the bedcover, the clasp open. She picked it up and hurled it across the room.