Chapter 22
The following morning, Issy sat at the desk Warwick had cleared for her in the site office.
She’d had a productive few hours. Since they’d made the decision to put the apartments on hold, the whole site felt different.
With major construction halted, the bobcats and piles of timber and steel were gone for now and it felt a lot less like a building site.
She’d had to negotiate a temporary rent reduction with the retail tenants, given there would be some inconvenience when construction upstairs resumed, but they’d all been more than happy with what she’d suggested.
She should feel pleased, but irritation thrummed in her chest. She reached for her phone, even though she’d checked it only five minutes ago, if that. Still nothing from Hugh. She exhaled loudly and tossed it onto a pile of papers.
‘Everything okay, Is?’
Warwick had started calling her ‘Is’ now, as though ‘Issy’ was too much of a mouthful. She usually disliked it when people took the liberty of inventing their own names for her, but from Warwick, it was strangely endearing.
She smiled. ‘Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just … Hugh’s meant to be coming down this weekend, but I haven’t heard from him.’
Warwick frowned. ‘He’ll just be caught up with work. I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Issy said, but she’d felt troubled ever since their conversation the night before.
Maybe she should have just gone ahead with the meeting with Cecily whatshername.
It would probably have been easier than upsetting Hugh.
She wanted to spend the weekend with him to get everything back on an even keel.
She’d told him that in a text message last night, but he hadn’t replied. Was he giving her the silent treatment?
‘Why don’t you go ahead and make some plans?’ Warwick suggested, as though he was reading her thoughts. ‘You can always cancel them if he doesn’t come down. Or take someone else.’
There wasn’t anyone else, but she didn’t tell him that. Instead, she smiled. ‘Good idea, I think I will. I’ve heard good things about the Asian fusion restaurant on the road to Windsor Falls. It has a chef’s hat. Apparently the sommelier is amazing. Have you been?’
He looked at her as though she was speaking another language. ‘Can’t say I have. I’m more a chicken parma kind of guy, myself.’
Issy laughed. ‘Fair enough.’
He was right. She should book something. She searched for the restaurant and clicked the Book Now button, but there was nothing available. I’ll see about that, she thought, picking up her phone.
‘Ah, hello, I wonder if you can help me,’ she said, when someone answered. ‘It’s Isobel Ashworth. I’d like to book a table for two on Saturday night, but it looks like everything’s booked?’
The receptionist cleared her throat. ‘Did you say Isobel Ashworth?’
‘That’s right, yes. I wanted to come with my fiancé to celebrate
our recent engagement.’
‘Let me see what I can do,’ the woman said slowly, clicking her tongue a few times. ‘Yes, I’ve got you a window table at seven thirty. We’ll see you then, Ms Ashworth.’
Issy hung up. She was about to message Hugh and tell him—it might incentivise him to get his arse into gear and come down— when her phone rang. Heather.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Darling, how are you going in Hartwell? Is it dreadful?’
Bloody hell. ‘No, it’s fine. It’s actually going really well. I’m loving it.’
There was a long pause. ‘Hmm, well, that’s lovely, darling.
Listen, about Christmas …’ They always had Christmas at Kilmore, which was usually punishing, but this year was very convenient.
‘I’ve decided we won’t be doing a lot of presents.
It’s just excessive and wasteful. Think of the landfill!
’ Her mother had only recently become aware that the planet was doomed and was taking it upon herself to single-handedly avert disaster through minor household initiatives.
She seemed to think recycling her soft plastics was akin to volunteering for Sea Shepherd.
‘Fine with me,’ Issy said, who hadn’t given a moment’s thought to Christmas shopping.
‘Instead we’re doing a Kris Kringle.’ She pronounced the words as though Issy would be unfamiliar with the concept.
‘We each get one person to buy for, one hundred-dollar limit. Cathy says there’s an app you can use so no one knows who got who.
I’ve delegated that to her. You’ll get an email soon, apparently. ’
‘Cathy’s coming to Christmas?’ Issy asked, irritated at the thought.
‘What else is she meant to do? Sit alone in her hotel room? Oh,
and I need you to do something for me.’
Issy felt the sense of dread she always felt when her mother said those words.
‘You’ll have to step in for me at the fundraiser on Saturday night.’
Issy closed her eyes. The annual Ashworth Christmas Gala was held every December at the Ashworth Park Hotel to raise money for children with rare diseases. The guest list was loaded with wealthy Sydney socialites and politicians.
‘This Saturday?’ she said.
‘Yes, darling. You’ll do it, won’t you? I think I have long covid—’
Issy suppressed a snort. Long covid was Heather’s most recent explanation for the depression she’d been pretending not to have
since Issy was born.
‘I just can’t seem to get myself into the zone for it. I might still attend, depending on how I feel on Saturday, but I can’t face the hosting role. I’ve lost my dazzle just now.’
Issy swallowed. ‘I can’t, Mum. I already have plans.’
‘Plans? You mean you’re going out for dinner or something?’ Heather replied, disdainfully. ‘Isobel, think of the sick children. Honestly, it’s the least you could do!’
No, Issy thought, the least I could do is go out with Hugh for the degustation meal I literally just booked.
She sighed. There was no point arguing with her mother. It never ended well. ‘Okay.’
‘Wonderful! I think you’ll really enjoy it, darling. It’s a lovely feeling, giving back.’
Issy bristled. How did her mother make it seem as though she was the one doing Issy the favour?
‘So do you think you’ll come down?’ Issy asked.
‘Down? To Hartwell? I’m already here. I’ve been here since yesterday.’
‘Oh.’ Issy frowned. ‘Nice of you to let me know.’
‘Don’t be silly, Isobel. You’re far too busy to have your mother getting in your way.’
‘I suppose so,’ Issy said, wondering what she would wear to the fundraiser. She’d have to get her stylist to courier her some evening options.