Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
A t work, the conversational buzz in the kitchen was deafening.
‘What’s up?’ I asked Coco.
‘Mara’s taken trauma sabbatical. No one knows when she’ll be revisiting.’
Sharp as a needle, deciphering all of Coco’s words, I responded. ‘Really? Why?’
‘Well, inmates are cogitating, as you do,’ Coco said, toying with me. ‘Graeme. Who else could it be? The intimidation, the skirmishes, the perpetual petty piddling.’ She took a breath, possibly exhausted by her words. ‘Something might have happened at the pub the other night.’
‘Really?’ Panic set in. This wasn’t going well at all. It was one thing to gossip. It was an entirely different story if the gossip involved me. I feared the worst.
‘Yeah. There’s a whisper going about but it can’t be factual. It just can’t.’
‘What? Tell me!’ As the words left my mouth, I attempted to remove the end of sentence exclamation to salvage a calm I didn’t feel .
‘Scuttlebutt, but some of us think Graeme and Mara are having a liaison, and the combat’s part of their insane fervour.’
‘What? Graeme and Mara are having an affair?’
Coco hesitated. ‘Could be. But I reckon something happened to change all that. We’ll find out soon enough. Meanwhile, I’ll keep my investigative ear to the ground. Let me know if you hear anything.’
‘Sure, okay.’
In the studio, I stood at my table, staring at the blinding white wall. Thinking. Coco had spilled the speculative beans on Mara and Graeme, and those beans didn’t include me, so was I obliged to report to her anything new I heard? Was I in gossip debt?
Fern stopped by the studio barely five minutes later.
‘HaveyouseenGraemethismorning?’ she asked without taking a breath.
I shook my head.
‘Well, that’s great. I suppose you’ve heard.’
‘Mara’s taken stress leave? Is it true?’
Fern nodded. ‘Those spats I thought were all part of the flow of creative energy are apparently real. They hate each other.’
‘But I heard…’
‘What? What did you hear?’
‘Nothing. Just that Graeme and Mara…’
‘Oh, the affair? Graeme assures me they’re not. Besides, he’d be stupid to do it, here of all places. He told me there’s nothing going on between them, and I believed him. But now I think… well, I guess it could be true. Regardless, we’re in trouble. I need Mara. Almost as much as I need Graeme.’
It occurred to me that maybe Mara and Graeme could be having an affair, and Mara had seen Graeme and me together at the pub. There was something about the night I couldn’t put my finger on. It was at the back of my head hiding in an alcohol- induced haze. Or was it? My real and fantasy lives seemed to be colliding. One minute, I’m imagining cavorting with Arnaud in the Turkish bathhouse down the corridor, the next I’m remembering kissing Graeme at the pub.
‘Graeme. Thank God.’ Fern grabbed Graeme’s arm as he arrived beside us.
‘Whoa, easy girl.’ Grinning, he shook himself free.
‘Haven’t you heard?’
‘About Mara?’ He shrugged. ‘She’s pissed at me. She’ll come around. Always does.’
‘Maybe not this time. I think you’ve pushed her too far.’
‘So? Get another editor.’
‘Hell, Graeme, it’s not that easy. Mara is more than an editor. She’s as beloved as Steve Irwin and Dame Edna.’
Graeme coughed. ‘Both dead.’
‘People adore her, Graeme. She has cachet. We can’t just replace her.’ Fern snapped her fingers and looked genuinely concerned. She was flappable after all. ‘Besides, Mara’s scheduled to appear on MasterChef in February.’
‘How could I forget? You bang on about it all the time,’ Graeme huffed.
‘Think of the publicity!’
‘The magazine gets enough publicity because of who I am.’
I took a tape measure and checked the distance from the bowls to the camera and the edge of the carpet to the tripod, then looked at them through the viewfinder in the hope I would magically disappear. Then I stared out the window across the road to the entrance of Tribeca café at the only greenery I could see – a lone rubber plant, spindly and in desperate need of water.
‘Kate,’ Fern said, jolting me to attention. ‘Graeme and I were going over the preliminary shots for February’s print issue last night. ’
He held up several proof sheets in his hands. ‘I don’t often compliment anyone, but I couldn’t think of anything negative to say about these.’
‘You’re a natural. Always have been, Kate.’ Fern looked over to where Mara was normally stationed and shook her head. ‘Some problems are more easily solved than others.’ She turned and walked out of the studio with Graeme trailing close behind.
A while later, Coco asked me again if I’d heard anything new. I told her I hadn’t.
‘I still can’t credit she’s nailing him.’
I winced. ‘It might not be true.’
‘So how do you elucidate the aggro?’
‘Maybe they really do hate each other.’
‘Conjecture,’ Coco replied, eyeing me suspiciously.
What had happened to the woman who used to be Kate Cavendish? The woman who was strong, independent, feisty and determined?
There was a time when I aspired to rule the world with my great photography, the exhilaration of holding a camera, focusing in on my subject… the freedom. Elation. I might have only been in my early twenties, but I was ready to take on the world. Even after Lexi was born, I was gung-ho.
There was no doubt in my young mind I was on track to becoming one of the few independently successful photographers in the country. I had all the prerequisites. I’d completed my degree at the right institution, and I was fearless and fast.
The old me would never have put up with Graeme; I’d have knocked him out at our first meeting. But I hadn’t been in the workplace for eight years. I’d forgotten the rules and now I was beginning to remember them, I didn’t have the nerve.
What I needed to do was take some astounding shots, get my confidence back and leave Delicious Bites on a high note. That Katie Cavendish, now there’s a genius. A whiz with the camera, truly breathtaking. Have you ever met anyone like her? And the magic she can weave with potatoes? Brilliant. Something along those lines anyway.
But the main problem with food photography was the food. We’re talking groceries – pumpkins, risotto, pears. How did anyone expect to get mind-blowing shots working solely with foodstuff? Thank God Katie Cavendish’s gone. You should have seen her behaviour at the pub. We were all watching her, such a slut. And her photos? Ugh!
‘Kate!’ I blinked; Fern’s loud voice pulling me from my daydream. ‘Meet Dana. Dana, Kate,’ Fern enthused, as she and Dana arrived at my workbench. ‘The plan is to showcase a themed festive photo montage, say ten pics, on the digital edition every day of December. With me so far?’
Dana and I nodded.
‘Cool. I’m thinking it will be a combo of archive photos and new photos that Kate—’ Fern looked at me. ‘You’ll snap, using your distinct flair and creativity. Every day, there should be several cuisine items incorporated into the theme. So, while food will feature, it doesn’t have to be the focus. Okay?’
‘Great,’ I said.
‘Good,’ Fern continued. ‘Kate, you’ve access to our complete photo library from past editions, so use them where you see fit rather than take photos of the same scenes. Dana, regarding the accompanying food items, please include recipes so readers can recreate your delicious biscuits, desserts and such. You know the drill.’
Dana smiled. ‘It’ll be fun. ’
‘I know you guys will work well together.’ Fern checked her watch. ‘And now, I’ll leave you both to it.’
‘I don’t know how she does it,’ I said, watching as Fern flew down the corridor.
‘Yep, she’s a dynamo.’
‘I’ve thought about the first few days,’ I said cautiously.
Dana grinned. ‘Glad to hear. I’m totally happy for you to tell me what to do. I’m very good at following orders!’
‘And an excellent chef by all accounts.’ Dazzle her with flattery, Kate. ‘I thought that day one could simply be Tis the season . I can take the best ten photos from the first Christmas edition of Delicious Bites .’
‘Fabulous. I can add simple but universal festive treats like chocolate-dipped marshmallow pops, Christmas balls, coconut ice, and maybe some gingerbread reindeer faces and stars?’
I nodded. ‘For day two’s theme, I thought Red ?’
Dana clapped. ‘Candy canes, toffee apples, cherries, that sort of thing?’
‘This really is going to be fun,’ I said. ‘Day three, Summer Fun featuring beaches, surf?—’
‘Prawns and sausages on the barbie,’ Dana finished.
‘And the great part about the digital magazine is you can take the food home after it’s been shot.’
‘Really?’ My eyes widened. ‘Won’t I have to inject everything with artificial dye and lacquer?’
‘The rules for online spreads are much more relaxed. We don’t tamper with the food too much.’
We chatted animatedly for the next fifteen minutes, before Dana left for her next meeting, and I promised to email her the final four themes for the first week of December, by the end of the day.
I searched the archives, selecting photos, and placing them in appropriately named files. Day four’s theme would be Favourite Ornaments , including edible Yuletide shortbreads. Day five, Gold ; day six, Festive Drinks ; and day seven, Pets in Christmas Sweaters . I’d rope Cleo, Bugs and Rupert into posing.
It was three o’clock before I remembered today was Angus’s athletics carnival. I made it in time to hear the team war cries and school song. But I took lots of photos. In years to come, Angus would believe I was there for the whole day. I congratulated him on his two second-place ribbons.
‘Did you see me, Mum? I rocked.’
‘Sure did, sweetheart,’ I lied. ‘You were brilliant.’