Chapter 3 #2
Constructive feedback is as important as five-star reviews, she told herself. And while she didn’t want to ask how the Brealys were handling the reality TV filming, she certainly wouldn’t object if the conversation headed that way.
‘I’m not tooting my own horn, but let me drop a sample bucket around and you can see for yourself. Our last harvest came from canola paddocks, it has a lighter taste, lighter colour, and would suit that recipe down to the ground.’
It was only after the Brealys left, and the mothers’ group strolled out with their sleepy babies, that Clem realised they’d never broached the topic of Love on the Land.
Spencer had been surprisingly sympathetic about the guinea-pig incident, and she’d reflected on their school car-park conversation more than once since then.
It was the longest they’d spoken in the three years she’d known him.
Had he been brushing up on his rusty conversational skills, ready for the television program? He was probably gallivanting around the countryside with the contestants at this very moment, whispering sweet nothings and rolling in the hay with the women who were clamouring to be his bride.
She wasn’t sure why, but the image didn’t sit well.
Clem did another sweep through the cafe, polishing water glasses and cleaning up after the last customers when Sebastian hung up the phone. Across the room, she could see him reaching for the reservations book.
‘Tell me Kathy West has started another craft group, or a walking group, and they’re making this their regular watering hole? Or is it a massive order for fresh produce?’ Hazel’s mum had been another strong advocate for the farm gate cafe since its doors had opened.
‘Courtney just cancelled their Wednesday table.’
‘Again?’ The ladies had cancelled two coffee catch-ups in a row, and Clem missed their friendly faces and cheerful chatter, not to mention their patronage. ‘You don’t think we’ve given one of them food poisoning or offended them somehow?’
Sebastian shook his head. ‘She told me to assure you it was a temporary thing, and absolutely nothing to do with the food or the service. Apparently they’re either sick or away, but they’ll be back after the school holidays.’
The phone rang again. I hope that’s a reservation, not another cancellation.
Much to Clem’s relief, it was a new customer, a lady called Dana. ‘I’m desperate. And I know it’s way past lunch, but I need catering within the hour if possible.’
Clem looked at the large wall clock above the fireplace and then the glass-fronted display cabinet that was still frustratingly well-stocked.
They were just minutes from closing, and the opportunity felt amazingly timed, especially when her bottom line was already so low.
‘I’ve got a generous budget and my crew will start throwing tantrums soon. I need food for eight regular humans, three fussy vegetarians and two extremely hungry vegan TV cameramen. It’s a big ask, I know, and late notice, but can you help?’
‘Television camera men?’ Clem’s hope burst like a cheap pinata and she frowned into the phone. Just last year a friend’s sister had been caught in a tractor scam; Clem wasted no time telling this Dana she wasn’t falling for something similar.
‘Please, don’t hang up! Brew Haven in Penwarra have been catering to date, but they’ve burst a sewerage main and their commercial kitchen is out of action for the rest of the week, maybe longer.
We’ll make it worth your while, and it’s only a short drive out of town.
Have you heard of a property called South Giddi Giddi? ’
Clem stood up a little straighter. After the foot-in-mouth incident, she was sure Spencer wouldn’t have put her name forward, but maybe Ian and Louisa had?
Or was it the social media campaign and snazzy flyers that Isobel had designed?
Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip through her fingers.
After confirming the details, Clem hung up the phone, dazed by the impromptu request and Dana’s generous budget, then began jumping up and down on the spot.
‘How about that, Seb?’ Clem grinned, relaying the unfortunate event that had catapulted a Brew Haven catering contract right into their hands.
‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke,’ Sebastian said, retying his apron and setting aside the mop bucket. ‘I wouldn’t send a hungry dog in Marco Grubb’s direction.’
‘Maybe if we knock their socks off, the producer will ask us to cover the rest of the filming. From what she said, it’s only while the full crew’s on set, but every dollar would help right now.’
As Clem scrubbed up and started preparing Dana’s order, she wondered whether her delight was strictly to do with taking the contract from Brew Haven. Or was it the chance to get a firsthand glimpse behind the scenes of the show?
A third explanation popped into her mind. Nope, she thought, that’s crazy. There was no way this excitement bubbling in her belly had anything to do with seeing Spencer Hawkins again …
Maybe all three ideas were ridiculous, and it was just indigestion from the self-saucing pudding she’d sampled during Kev’s test-baking session, instead of stopping and making herself a square lunch.
Spencer barely spoke to her at the best of times, he sure as heck wouldn’t be thinking about her with a house full of beautiful women vying for his affections.
And even if she was looking for romance and prepared to squeeze a relationship in between work and motherhood, Clem certainly wouldn’t be looking for the kind of guy who went on reality TV.
No matter how handy he’d been in a guinea-pig emergency.
Spencer Hawkins closed the final zip on his beekeeping veil, glad for the additional protection between him and the eagle-eyed camera operators, the microphone that picked up his every word and the producers who ran Love on the Land.
‘Righto, Spencer, we’ll film a few cruisy scenes, get some closeups of you and Emily whispering sweet nothings as you potter around the hives,’ Dana said, looking up from her clipboard.
Spencer surveyed South Giddi Giddi’s boundary paddock.
Rows of pastel beehives and two open tanks of water for the bees were flanked by extra cars, a marquee and a handful of camera operators, handlers and assistants.
He’d never had so many people this close to the hives, and he didn’t like it one little bit.
‘Ready when you are,’ he said, grateful for the extra layer he’d donned this morning. Even with the fireplace roaring, the house had felt cooler than normal this week.
Sunday’s elimination dinner hadn’t helped; now there were just three ladies left—Madeleine the FIFO worker, who had cheered when Ginger left for the airport on Sunday night; Kyra, who showcased her veterinary nursing skills and animal know-how at every opportunity but had the worst table manners he’d seen in years; and the quiet, confident Emily, who he’d chosen for today’s solo date.
She’d won the muddy four-wheel-driving challenge fair and square, no matter what Madeleine and Kyra had said afterwards, and even Addison had admitted—albeit reluctantly—that Emily seemed like the best match for his personality and for life at South Giddi Giddi.
So why were the days passing so slowly, and why did all the ladies still feel like contestants, not women he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?
Emily’s assigned staffer jogged across, one arm loaded with pink, purple and aqua workboots all bearing a sponsor’s distinctive logo. The staffer was the nervous type, and Spencer watched him take a deep breath before addressing his boss.
‘You’re not going to like this, Dana, but Emily’s wearing her old boots and the spares are all the wrong size.’
‘Tough luck,’ Dana said, holding up a finger to silence him before cupping her earpiece and reaching for her clipboard.
She nodded, taking notes swiftly and talking quietly into her mouthpiece.
As producer, she kept her finger on the pulse of every interaction, and seemed as happy with drama as with the hints of affection.
‘We’re not going all the way back to the house for a fresh pair,’ Dana said.
‘Not when it’ll be raining and blowing even more of a gale this afternoon.
Tell Miss Brewington-Major she can wear those boots or go barefoot.
We’ve got sponsors to promote. Emily can change back into her old workboots after we finish filming if that makes her happy. ’
Spencer looked at the immaculate shoes, feeling a wave of sympathy. The boots he’d been given still rubbed, even after weeks of wearing them in. They’d be the first thing he threw in the bin once filming was done.
‘Wait a moment,’ Spencer said, jogging back to his ute. He pulled a pair of thick socks from the glove box and ferried them to the marquee that doubled as a producer’s studio, shelter and change room throughout filming.
‘Oh!’
Spencer gasped. His mouth went inexplicably dry and his aorta did double duty as Emily emerged in the pale-pink bee suit. Belle’s bee suit.
‘Where did you get that?’
The words came out sharper than he’d meant, and Emily’s face fell. It was only then he noticed that her eyes were already red-rimmed.
‘Great, so as well as wearing those clown shoes, where I’m likely to go arse up on national TV, now I’m in the wrong bee suit? I don’t know where Dana got it, I’m just doing what I’m told, which isn’t as much fun as it looks.’
Spencer took another breath through gritted teeth. He rarely spoke Belle’s name, and was adept at changing the topic whenever the producers or contestants pried in that direction, but seeing someone in his late wife’s clothing was next-level painful.
Even worse than seeing Clem Crossley at Jeff and Mia’s barbecues …
There was one consolation, in that Emily was distinctly taller and a different complexion to Belle, but that didn’t stop his brain from serving up memories of the last time he’d seen that same pink suit.
Emily studied him.
‘Hey, are you okay?’