Chapter 4 Jemma
Jemma
‘I thought we’d be having a quiet dinner in,’ Jemma said as she embraced Samantha in the kitchen of the riverfront cottage.
She liked Dad’s partner but was perplexed by their relationship.
Her father had never seemed the type to fall for earthiness, yet Sam displayed a simplicity—or perhaps a moral decency—that was lacking in Jemma’s world.
‘Sorry.’ Sam returned the hug unstintingly. ‘Your dad’s keen to take you to the new restaurant in Settlers.’
‘He did mention that. Turkish, isn’t it?
Seems random for a country town. I was really hoping for pasta.
’ Dad had a knack for taking something relatively mundane to the next level, slow-cooking red meat or flash-frying succulent seafood to add to the perfect handmade pasta.
‘And Pierce’s been raving about some feijoa dessert you made? ’
Sam chuckled. ‘It was just a crumble. We’ve had a feijoa glut—thanks to my brother, Jack—so we’re all getting creative.
If you’d been here yesterday, you’d have found feijoa and ginger cake taking prime spot on the CWA trading table.
That’s my favourite.’ She slapped her stomach.
‘Though I do need to find a healthier version.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Dad said, setting Jemma’s suitcase down on the tiled floor.
Obviously, she could have brought it in herself, but Dad was old school.
Plus, the case was stuffed. She had no idea what clothes were required for a country weekend and her dad had complicated the choice by texting his suggestion of going out for dinner.
Though, as she’d followed the narrow, winding track from the clifftop down to the river flat and through the grounds of the magnificent old Wattle Seed Inn, the seclusion suggested that all she needed were comfortable lounging clothes.
After the past week, the idea of hiding out from everything and everyone for a few days held unprecedented appeal.
The small cottage Dad and Sam rented was one of three on the riverbank, an easy stroll across a few hundred metres of manicured lawns to the inn where Dad worked part-time.
Further up the river, hidden by the drooping, winter-black branches of willow trees, was the landing where they moored their pride and joy, the restored paddle-wheeler Pelicanet.
Dad wrapped his arms around Sam from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. ‘You’re perfect. We’re perfect. Life is perfect.’
Sam leaned back into his embrace. ‘That is so not what you were saying last night: Gabby told me there was some pot banging and pan crashing happening in the inn kitchen.’
Dad grinned. ‘Well, the weekend menu revolved around fresh rock lobster, so when they didn’t turn up, a small-scale tantrum was warranted.
On the upside, I’ve already prepped pork belly and slow-cooked brisket, and no crayfish means that Gabby now doesn’t need me for the rest of the weekend.
So, Settlers Bridge for Turkish tonight, then I thought we’d see if the captain can take Pelicanet out for a brunch run tomorrow. ’
Jemma vaguely recalled her father mentioning that a mechanic moonlighted as the riverboat captain when he and Sam were hosting at the high-end restaurant they ran aboard the vessel.
‘I have work to do, remember,’ she cautioned, flicking a hand toward the smaller suitcase she’d rolled into the cottage.
Stuffed with files and case notes, it weighed almost as much as her clothes.
The possibility of no internet horrified her, so she’d printed out everything she could need, including copious precedents and case studies that might prove useful.
There were hours’ worth of reading and annotating to be done.
‘Aw, no,’ Sam remonstrated. ‘You need to relax a bit, Jemma. Sleep in, take it easy.’
Dad snorted. ‘Even as a teenager, Jemma never slept in.’
He was right. The only way she’d ever found to shut down her overactive brain was by physically exerting herself to the point where her consciousness was focused entirely on snatching the next breath.
But the last three days, even running wasn’t working, as, with each pounding step, she rehashed Rohan’s latest dirty move.
‘I’ve put you in the guest room, Jem, but Pierce and I are sleeping on Pelicanet tonight anyway.’
‘You don’t need to do that,’ she protested as Sam led her down the short hallway.
Sam pushed open a door into a cosily furnished bedroom. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, your dad’s totally driven. But he’s also big on insisting we remember our passion—’
Jemma chortled. ‘Oh, I bet.’
‘—for Pelicanet.’ Sam blushed. ‘It’s easy to get caught up in running the restaurant and forget to take the time to simply enjoy her as the beautiful old boat she is. You staying here will force us to relax.’
‘Nice oxymoron,’ Jemma murmured.
‘Nothing beats waking up on the water,’ Dad said, manoeuvring Jemma’s case down the hall.
‘I’d think this place could be marketed as on the water.’ Jemma pointed out of the window to where the river glinted in the illumination of the verandah light.
Sam shook her head. ‘There’s nothing like having the boat moving beneath you as though it’s a living beast.’
‘Sounds slightly terrifying.’
Sam grinned. ‘Besides, this way you’ll have the bathroom to yourself. And a bit of space to spread out in,’ she added as Dad pushed the large suitcase into the room. ‘You might want to leave your work case in the lounge. I don’t think you’ll fit it in here.’
As Jemma had brought three laptops along, preferring to work across them rather than splitting a screen, she’d definitely need more space.
‘We’d better make tracks,’ Dad said, glancing at his watch. ‘I thought Italians were known for making long dining an art form, but it seems the Turkish elevate it to a whole new level.’
‘I’m surprised there’s a market for fancy cuisine out here,’ Jemma said.
‘Not so much fancy as different,’ Sam replied. ‘In a good way,’ she added, as though there might have been rumblings about the alternative.
‘I’ll warm up the car.’ Dad retreated as Jemma unzipped her case. But fighting her way through the contents seemed too hard. The fitted cashmere knit dress she’d travelled in would do fine for dinner, she decided.
‘There’s been a little pushback to the restaurant—well, to newcomers in general,’ Sam said. ‘But most people are thrilled to have a bit of choice.’
‘A person can only eat so many schnitzels, I guess.’ Jemma recalled that Settlers Bridge had two pubs, which seemed overkill for such a small place.
‘Not true,’ Dad called down the hallway.
‘Thought you were supposed to be a foodie?’ she yelled. ‘Shame on you!’
Sam looked startled at their volume and Jemma chuckled. ‘You need to come hang out with the family more, Sam,’ Jemma said kindly.
Sam held up both hands. ‘One passionate Italian is generally enough for me. I’m still scarred from last Christmas.’
‘Lucky you were working over Easter, then. Though I don’t think Nonna is ever going to forgive you for that.’ Even Jemma was dragged to church for the annual celebration, the ceremony a small pre-emptive penance for the feast that followed.
‘We had to catch the last of the decent cruising weather,’ Sam said. ‘It’s harder to get diners out for a meal on the water once it turns cold. Honestly, they don’t know what they’re missing—winter is the best time on the river. You’ll see why tomorrow.’
Not if she could come up with any kind of excuse.
It should be enough that she’d left both the office and her home work station for the weekend; surely Dad and Sam didn’t expect her to socialise the whole time?
‘Realistically, Nonna probably owes you for not turning up,’ she said as she ran a comb through her hair.
‘She got to gripe very dramatically to about a hundred aunties and cousins about how you and Pierce are so focused on your new business, you don’t have time for family. ’
‘Yet your grandparents are the ones who won’t visit,’ Dad called.
‘Yeah, because you live way beyond the streetlights,’ she yelled back, then grinned apologetically at Sam.
‘Sorry. Italians live loud, even those of us from the city. Or perhaps it’s just my family.
Probably shouldn’t set us loose in all this open space.
’ She indicated the window, where droplets of condensation attested to the chill rolling in from the river.
‘No, it’s not that,’ Sam said. ‘I was just being jumpy.’
Too late, Jemma recalled Sam’s history of domestic violence.
That was the problem with working in law: empathy burnout was a very real thing.
She witnessed the repercussions of so many tragedies, and delved into the detailed reports of so many horrors, it was easy to become hardened, inured to people’s emotions and feelings.
That was probably Tien’s biggest failing: he didn’t have the requisite thick skin to handle the job.
Jemma grabbed her leather jacket from the bed.
‘Let’s go, before Pierce starves. I’ll unpack later.
’ The sooner they got dinner over with, the sooner she could hit her files.
Even in the dusk, Settlers Bridge was much as she’d remembered—a blink-and-miss-it kind of place straight out of a sepia-toned postcard.
If she stood in the middle of the wide, empty, main street—shop windows hidden beneath curved verandahs and hand-painted signs dangling from undoubtedly rusty hooks—she’d be able to see anything worth seeing.
The new restaurant was a surprise, though.
The owners had replaced the traditional bullnosed verandah with a turquoise and white striped awning.
Jemma could only imagine the ruckus that move had caused in a town that was stubbornly resisting progress.