Cyclone Season

by Victoria Gordon

  She took one look at the carcass, which arrived first thing on the Friday morning complete with head, tail and trotters, and shudderingly left the kitchen to Holly and Jessica.

  ‘I’m sure you can manage,’ was Ramona’s departing comment as she cast a hateful glance over one chic shoulder before going out to finish her flower arrangements.

  ‘I know we could manage — especially if it was her on the spit instead of this splendid fellow,’ Jessica muttered. ‘Couldn’t you just see her with an apple in her mouth, turning gently over the flames?’

  Holly had to laugh, although her feelings were quite in harmony with Jessica’s.

  ‘It’s tempting, but Wade would never forgive us for maybe poisoning his guests,’ she muttered as they struggled to fit the clamps that would hold the four-foot-long beast to the spit. The fire in Wade’s huge spit-roast had been going for several hours, so as to provide a deep bed of coals for the roasting of the pig, but keeping the fire going was the least of the work.

  They first washed the pig, then spent a long time slicing intricate designs through the skin to provide the crisp but juicy crackling that would surround the tender meat. After the apple-and-raisin stuffing was correctly positioned, the pig was wrapped in a layer of chicken wire, then several layers of foil, and a final wrapping of wire to keep the foil in place.

  Only then could it be placed over the fire and the electric spit turned on to begin its six-hour rotating journey, timed to finish at approximately seven o’clock that evening.

  ‘It could be an hour either way, or worse,’ Jessica muttered. ‘I’m positive that beast was bigger than the last one we did, but that was nearly a year ago, so I can’t be sure. If there was only Wade to please, it probably wouldn’t matter, but I expect dear Miss Mason will go all strange and excitable if dinner isn’t ready precisely on time.’

  The heat of the day, combined with the heat created by the enormous roasting apparatus, made it impossible for Jessica to supervise the spit-roast except by coming out occasionally for a check on the fire. It was left to Holly to keep the flames at just the right height to make sure the pig was cooking at the proper speed. Ramona managed to stay as far away from the fire as possible, although she managed one or two caustic comments about the operation from a careful distance.

  As the afternoon wore on, the temperature rising into the high thirties, Holly wished desperately that she could retreat to the coolness of the air-conditioning, or at the very least take time out for a shower. She was wearing only a light cotton blouse, now so damp with perspiration it might as well have been worn in the shower, and a pair of old shorts that looked little better.

  Through the glass patio doors, she could see Ramona, looking as cool as Holly was hot, swanning about in a light, swirling gown with a tall, cool drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Jessica, at least, was able to retreat to the sanctuary of the granny flat, and Holly was tempted once or twice to just walk away from the rotating spit and join her.

  Whenever Ramona chanced to glance outside, her very expression made it clear what she thought of Holly’s outfit. And, indeed, of my presence here in the first place. Holly thought, barely resisting at one point the urge to stick out her tongue at the chilly blonde.

  She had thought that during the final hour of cooking she might be able to slip in, have a shower, and change into something more appropriate for the party, but it was not to be. That last cooking period turned out to be the one in which the pig began to drip small quantities of fat, fat which would immediately flare up into tiny volcanoes of sizzling heat from the lava-like bed of coals.

  Instead of going to change, Holly found herself constantly busy with the garden sprayer, using it like a water pistol to control the flare-ups, to keep the flames from scorching the slowly rotating animal.

  To make matters worse, the aroma of the roasting pork was increasing, clawing forth groans of agony from her own empty stomach,

  ‘We’ll have to have that foil off, I reckon,’ Jessica said during a brief visit. ‘Usually, that’s Wade’s job, but as he isn’t here. I guess we’ll just have to manage it by ourselves.’

  By the time that was accomplished, Holly was just as glad she hadn’t taken time to shower and change. She was pork fat from finger-tip to elbows, and had it splattered liberally along her thighs and across her blouse and shorts.

  It took all of both their strengths to lift the spit and its burden away from the fire, cut away the wire and foil, and then replace the pig once again over the fire.

  ‘I think I’ll have to clean up my act,’ Holly remarked at that point. ‘If hell’s anything like this, I doubt I could stand it.’

  The answer came not from Jessica, who stood silent from the strain of lifting, but from the strident voice of Ramona Mason, who had chosen that particular moment to emerge on one of her periodic tours of inspection.

  ‘My goodness,’ she remarked caustically. ‘Whatever are you planning to do with all this wire and tinfoil? It’ll have to be disposed of, you realise, and quickly! The first guests are due any minute.’

  Holly refrained from telling the blonde what she might do with the rubbish, and instead lifted it herself, carrying the mess around to where she could deposit it in rubbish bins out of sight of the party.

  Only to find herself dashing back to man the sprayer as hot pork drippings flared up into a minor bonfire beneath the succulently browning pig.

  Moments later, the chiming of the door bell announced the first of their visitors, but Holly, by this time, was past caring. ‘I’d feel like Cinderella, if I had the time,’ she muttered, jetting another shot of water to where dripping fat was creating yet another flare-up.

  Ten minutes later, it was definitely too late. She looked round to find three distinguished-looking

  Japanese gentlemen watching her performance with apparent interest. Holly froze, at first, then remembered her manners and in a slightly dizzy state, managed to bow deeply to her audience.

  All three men bowed equally deeply, and only then did the eldest approach and speak, to her.

  ‘That is ... a ... garden sprayer?’ he asked, gesturing towards her pump-up sprayer. ‘Surely you do not apply weed-spray to this?’

  ‘No,’ she chuckled. ‘It’s just water. To keep down the flare-ups. So the skin doesn’t become charred.’ And then had to demonstrate immediately just how the spray worked.

  ‘Ah,’ said the man. ‘Very ingenious.’ Whereupon all three approached more closely, drinks in hand, and stood there watching a much-bedraggled Holly as she supervised the final cooking of the pig.

  It was only when Wade Bannister himself, obviously fresh from the shower, approached, that they broke off and moved forward to greet him. Leaving Holly only too aware of her grimy condition, but unable to do anything but turn her back on the whole affair.

  That only lasted until a hand rested gently on her shoulder and a familiar voice rumbled in her ear. ‘Are you enjoying this? Or is there some other reason for this ... rather unusual party gear?’

  ‘Which would you rather have: tidy Holly and scorched pig or something fit for your guests to eat?’ she muttered between gritted teeth, half inclined to turn the spray on Wade himself and walk off in a huff.

  Obviously he’d returned late, and slipped through to his own room to shower and change into the casual but tidy blue denim outfit he now wore. His hair was still damp, and the denim clung to his body like a second skin, outlining the hard musculature, the erect bearing.

  ‘I think I’d rather have a tidy Holly and properly cooked pork,’ he grinned, teeth gleaming against his tan. ‘So I’ll take over here, if you don’t mind, while you run off and get cleaned up. But first — how’s Jessica? I couldn’t find her when I came in, and I didn’t want to knock at the flat in case she’s resting.’

  ‘I imagine she’s resting; I haven’t seen her for nearly an hour,’ Holly replied. ‘But why don’t you ask your hostess? I’m sure she knows everything that’s relevant.’


  Bitchy, she thought as she wound her way through the growing throng of guests, practically running in her bid to reach the privacy of the granny flat, but not angry enough to risk offending anyone.

  Damn Wade Bannister anyway! How dare he just walk out of the bush like that, expecting everything to be done just right and not even think of the work that was involved? For just a moment. Holly thought of ignoring the rest of the party. She could quite happily curl up with a good book, or just go to sleep, for that matter. She was tired enough, after two days of Ramona Mason’s commands and counter-commands and dithering.

  Jessica’s voice forestalled that particular desire.

  ‘My goodness, look at you. Really, Holly, I thought you’d have gone and changed long ago. You haven’t been out there looking like that with guests already here?’

  ‘I have. And what’s more, 1 don’t care a fig,’ Holly said in reply. ‘In fact, I’m tempted to stay like this. No sense in getting all gussied up just so I can get filthy again when it comes time to carve that damned pig.’

  ‘Wade will be carving the pig, I’m sure,’ Jessica replied calmly, seeming to ignore Holly’s fractious temper. ‘Presuming he gets back in time, as I’m sure he will."

  ‘He’s already back; couldn’t you tell by the sound of Ramona cooing?’ Now that, she realised, was totally bitchy, but for some reason, Holly just didn’t care.

  ‘He is? Well then, everything will be all right, won’t it?’ Jessica replied. ‘So you whip into the shower and then put on something appropriate.’ She, herself, was tidily dressed in a light hostess outfit that was both cool and stylish.

  ‘Have we got a maid’s uniform handy? That’d be just about appropriate,’ Holly retorted, only to have her aunt reply: ‘And try to do something about your temper, while you’re at it. This bitchiness doesn’t become you, my dear.’

  Neither, thought Holly, does being treated like a kitchen drudge, but I can see that’s in store before this party’s over. Still, I suppose there’s nothing to be gained by falling in with dear Ramona’s plans.

  So when she emerged from the shower, feeling quite remarkably refreshed. Holly chose a light blouse and wrap-around skirt in pale green tones that highlighted her hair colour, and a pair of comfortable but stylish sandals to complete the outfit.

  It wouldn’t match Ramona’s elegance, but at least she’d be comfortable, she thought.

  The bulk of the guests had arrived in the interim, and Holly took some vague pleasure in the fact that most were dressed as casually as she and Wade. Ramona’s outfit, while certainly elegant, was distinctly too formal for the tone of the party.

  The blonde was playing the hostess role to the hilt, and Holly and Jessica, in silent agreement, left her to it. Jessica obviously knew many of their guests as friends, and Holly was quite content to busy herself making sure the canapés got round and that no one’s glass was empty for too long.

  As might have been expected, the rotating spit with its porky burden was the focal point of the party, and it wasn’t long before Holly found herself holding an enormous serving tray as Wade slid heaping slices of succulent pork on to it for distribution to the eagerly waiting guests.

  ‘You’ve done a marvellous job with this. Wade,’ said the first recipient, who in turn was a sort of celebrity as the others watched that first, tantalising taste. ‘Absolutely perfect.’

  ‘Not my doing,’ Wade replied easily. ‘All the credit for this little fat fellow belongs to Holly. I only came in at the last minute to give her time to change.’

  And Holly, both hands fully occupied in balancing the huge tray, could only nod as guest after guest expressed their pleasure. Her attempts to pass along the credit to Jessica, who’d supervised the preparation of the popular stuffing, went unnoticed by everyone but Jessica herself, who toned down the compliment considerably, and Wade, who grinned his own acceptance of it. And Ramona, of course, whose expression of scarce-contained fury left nothing to the imagination.

  When Holly had delivered the first platter to the row of trestle tables and was about to return to have a second one loaded, it was snatched from her fingers by Ramona without a word.

  Holly stood there, shaken by the violence and the abruptness of the gesture, but after a moment she relaxed and went in search of a drink for herself. What did it matter, she thought, if Ramona found it necessary to hog the limelight? Wade’s compliment echoed in her ears, and his smile came easily to memory. He’d been pleased; nothing else mattered.

  Inside of an hour, there was nothing left of the pig but a few bones and infinitesimal bits of crackling that had somehow been missed. ‘I’ve never seen food disappear like that in my entire life,’ Holly muttered to Jessica as they stood in a corner and watched. ‘Did these people starve themselves for days before coming, or what?’

  ‘It was just enough,’ Jessica replied as if she hadn’t quite heard Holly’s remark. ‘There’ll hardly be enough left for a pork sandwich for lunch tomorrow.’

  ‘And just as well; I don’t think I’d want to see such a thing in any event. It may be three weeks before 1 can face bacon and eggs, let alone roast pork,’ Holly replied. In keeping with the guests, she’d done credit to her own work by eating what seemed to her to be an enormous amount, but had to admit that not only had she been hungry, but the roast pork had been very, very good.

  And now that the serious business of eating was done with, Wade’s guests shifted to what seemed an equally serious business of partying. In the lounge room, the tape deck roared into life, the music conveyed to the patio by extension speakers and so loud that Holly hoped the neighbours were at the party. If not, she rather feared complaints.

  People were dancing both inside the house and out, while those who weren’t dancing were clustered in small groups from which erupted animated conversations.

  Wade, needless to say, was being monopolised by Ramona, but Holly didn’t concern herself with that. She drifted from group to group, occasionally allowing herself to be caught up in the dancing, occasionally hanging back to listen in on conversations so filled with technical jargon she could barely understand what they were about.

  And she kept a weather-eye on Jessica, concerned that too much excitement might put a severe strain on her aunt. By ten o’clock, it was apparent that her concerns weren’t totally without justification. Jessica approached Wade and a few minutes later advised Holly she was retiring.

  ‘But not to worry. I feel fine, really I do. I haven’t been overdoing things, and making a relatively early night of it is just a precaution. You stay on and enjoy yourself.’

  Holly tried. She really, honestly tried. But with her aunt’s departure, she found her attentions increasingly drawn to the mountains of dirty crockery and glassware that seemed to be growing in every corner.

  ‘1 don’t fancy tomorrow,’ she muttered to herself, and a moment later was surreptitiously involved in a campaign to get the dirty dishes out to the kitchen and at least sorted for the next day’s clean-up campaign. There was a dishwasher, of course; Wade’s home seemed to lack no single modern amenity. But the enormous amounts of crockery and cutlery would take three days to clean up using the dishwasher, so Holly chose instead to run through a load of glasses, just in case they were required yet that evening.

  For the rest, it would be a long stint at the kitchen sink, and she was standing, drink in hand, contemplating that eventuality when she became aware of a new presence in the room.

  ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding. You’re a glutton for punishment, young Holly; this is no place to be during a party.’

  Wade stood just inside the door, arms folded casually across his chest, his pale green eyes surveying Holly as she turned, startled, to meet his gaze.

  ‘I … I thought we might be needing more glasses, that’s all,’ she said, unaccountably aware that the music outside had changed, was now being played more softly and instead of being fast and vibrant it was slow, mellow. Waltz music, lovers’ music.


  ‘Uh-huh. And of course you weren’t hiding or anything like that,’ he said. Not making a question of it, except by the look in his eye.

  ‘Of course not,’ Holly replied. Why should she be hiding, after all? She’d done her part and more to make the party a success, and any damned fool could see it had been. Not that she’d be able to take much credit, of course, because there’d be precious little left after Ramona Mason claimed her giant’s share. But hiding? Not at all.

  ‘Well, I’m glad of that, because there are several people who wish to compliment you before they leave, and 1 was afraid I’d have to tell them you’d gone off to bed like some modern-day Cinderella,’ Wade grinned, taking her by the arm as he strode back towards the lounge.

  ‘As I thought. She was hiding in the kitchen,’ he said with a wider grin to the Japanese trio who’d been among the first arrivals. Holly had spoken to them during the party, and had even danced several times with the youngest, but she was quite unprepared for the sincerity of their compliments and their obvious insistence on personally telling her how much they’d enjoyed themselves.

  Surely it should have been Ramona’s place to receive such comments, she thought, but was secretly pleased with herself.

  ‘Wade has promised us ... genuine bush barbecue,’ the youngest Japanese was saying. ‘And when we arrived, well, I thought this must be so. But now I think he was perhaps joking with us. All ... much too civilised to be proper bush barbecue.’

  Holly was immediately aware of two things: Ramona’s spiteful glare from across the room, and Wade’s half-amused grin beside her. But there was little she could reply to either circumstance.

  ‘I’m only pleased you enjoyed it,’ she replied graciously, matching the Japanese deep, polite bows. And would have taken leave of the situation right then, except that Wade still held her by the arm, and kept hold of her as he walked towards the front door with his guests. There was nothing for it but to go with him and try to ignore the feeling of intimacy that the gesture conveyed.