Valerie Parv – With A Little Help (страница 2)

Cherie all but wrinkled her nose. “People come here to eat?”

“Among Sydney foodies, the inner west has a reputation for innovative cuisine,” Emma pointed out. “Lewisham’s still making its mark.” That was why she’d chosen to buy in the suburb. With help from the bank, she’d been able to afford the ten-foot-wide single-story cottage that had been squeezed into the garden of the neighboring home several decades ago. The expenses gave her nightmares, but the place itself gave her nothing but satisfaction. And she needed somewhere to live. Besides, this way she only had one mortgage to support.

The previous café had gone broke, but the basic structure had made it easy for Emma to set up her business. After the redecorating she and a group of friends had done, the former café now provided an ideal venue for small dinners, and the sensational food and subdued lighting distracted diners from any flaws in their surroundings. The kitchen was functional enough for these occasions, but wasn’t equipped for more ambitious events.

“I don’t understand why you’re so touchy,” Cherie complained. “I’m only trying to help.”

“I know, and I appreciate the support.”

“Then why react as if I have no right to my opinions?”

Perhaps because there are so many of them? “I know you mean well, and I appreciate it. If it wasn’t…” that the client is Nathan Hale? “…too soon for me to take on big jobs, I’d jump at the chance.” Emma crossed her fingers under the desk.

Cherie gestured around them. “You’ll never grow by limiting yourself. I was so pleased when you bought this place.”

Emma masked her astonishment. “You were?”

“You finally seemed to be getting a sense of direction.”

One should always strive for the next goal, Emma had been reminded frequently when she was growing up. And what had been wrong with her sense of direction up to now? Wasn’t gaining her diploma in commercial cooking an achievement? Or winning a scholarship to an international food festival in Singapore where she’d worked with world-class chefs? That distinction had earned Emma a job as a junior chef, then she’d skipped a couple of levels to become demi-chef at the Hotel Turista in Sydney’s Rocks area. There she’d worked her way up to sous-chef, before deciding to open her own place. “One day I’ll get my life on track,” she said with an exaggerated sigh.

“Now don’t sound so sarcastic. Just because I think your talents could be better utilized doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate that you have them.”

Emma didn’t bother trying to unscramble the compliment. Her mother cared about her and her brother, even if she had an annoying way of showing it. “I know, Ma. You and Dad should come to one of my chef’s dinners and see how I do things.”

Cherie gave her a bright smile. “We’ll see.”

Code for a snowball’s chance, Emma knew. What else did she expect? “I’ll email you the next few dates.”

“Thank you, darling. But we really should discuss Nate’s dinner party.”

Over her dead body, Emma thought. “Can I get you some coffee and cake? Sophie’s baking mini Bakewell tarts with wild huckleberry jam.” Distraction didn’t only work with customers. She could smell the delicious aroma from here.

Evidently so could her mother. “I’ll have a tiny taste,” she conceded. “I can work it off at the gym later. Then I want to talk about Nate.”

That made one of them.

When Emma went into the kitchen, Sophie shot her a concerned look. “Everything okay?”

“Tell you later,” Emma mouthed as she arranged some of the medallion-size tarts on a white plate. She walked over to the commercial coffee machine which came with the building and made two macchiatos, then carried the lot to her office.

Cherie was on the phone and looked up as Emma placed the tray on her desk. “Ah, here she is now. You can talk to her yourself, Nate.”

Before Emma could shake her head in protest, the BlackBerry was thrust into her hand. She pulled professionalism around her like a cloak. “Hello, Dr. Hale.”

“It was Nate last time, Emma.”

No man should have a voice as rich as triple-chocolate fudge brownies, she thought as a shiver of response slid down her spine. And there was a last time? Who knew? “Ah, yes, Nate, we have met.”

“And how.”

The insinuation sent heat arrowing from her head to her stomach. No, no, this had to stop. Head agreed, body didn’t get the memo. “I’m afraid my business isn’t fully operational yet,” she said. “My mother tells me your birthday is in three weeks, but catering large-scale events isn’t an option for at least another three months.”

“Saying no isn’t an option.”

What Dr. Hale wants, Dr. Hale gets. Emma felt a jolt of frustration. No wonder Cherie was so keen on having Emma work for him. Nate and her mother were cut from the same cloth. “Acknowledging limitations isn’t failure,” she said. “It’s a good business practice.”

“True, but overcoming those limitations is preferable.”

A vision flashed through her mind of Nate facing some huge challenge in the operating room, finding a way around it and saving the patient at the last minute. Wasn’t that what always happened with his type? Her father’s stories of his heroic interventions had been regular dinner table fare when she was growing up.

“I’ll keep your advice in mind,” she agreed crisply. “How many guests are you expecting?”

“Fifty at a minimum. I’m thinking of having the party on the terrace—sit-down, of course.”

He must have some terrace. A sit-down dinner for fifty would be way off her radar. “Look, Nate, I’ll gladly put together some options and email them to you to see if anything I can do meets your requirements.” Her tone told him she doubted it would.

“No.”

“Just—no?”

“I’d rather discuss this with you face-to-face.” She heard the tap of keys as he consulted his schedule. “How does Friday sound?”

“I’m committed on Friday.” She had a breakfast meeting with Carla Geering, a talented chef Emma had known since catering college, and Margaret Jennings, a self-taught cook who helped with the chef’s dinners once a month. Both were prepared to leave good jobs to join Emma as soon as she was ready. She looked forward to their meetings. All three of them came away inspired and excited about what lay ahead.

But Emma’s answer would have been the same whatever day he’d suggested, and she had a feeling he suspected as much.

“I’m sure you can uncommit yourself. I’ll see you at my place at eleven.”

Just time for her to keep her breakfast date before seeing him. He reeled off the address, which she scribbled down, aware of Cherie watching her keenly.

“Unless you’d like me to pick you up,” he added. “I remember the address.”

His tone suggested he remembered far more than she wanted him to. Was one impulsive action going to haunt her forever? “I’ll find my own way,” she said quickly. Meeting the lion in his den didn’t appeal, either, but it was better than a live-action replay of a night she would rather not think about. Maybe by Friday she’d have swine flu and be in quarantine, she thought. Or maybe she’d be at Nathan Hale’s house. Either way, his catering options wouldn’t change, so he’d have to accept what her business could provide or find someone else. She knew which she preferred.

Or did she? Wasn’t she the slightest bit intrigued at the prospect of seeing him again? Another thought struck her. “Will your partner want to participate in the discussion?” The idea of him living with someone was surprisingly unsettling.

“No partner, female or male,” he informed her, sounding amused. “Not that the question worried you last time.”

Last time was an aberration, she wanted to say, but was restrained by her mother listening across the desk. “We can discuss everything when I see you,” she said, hoping Nate would get the message.

In the background she heard him being paged. “I have to go.” He sounded reluctant. Imagination, she decided. “I’ll look forward to discussing—everything—on Friday.”

She handed the phone back to her mother. “Happy now?”

Cherie stood up. “Why shouldn’t I be? I’m trying to help your business. What made you ask Nate if he has a partner?”

Her mother was like a bloodhound when it came to her daughter and men. “If he’d had one, I’d rather meet with them together. Saves a lot of time and disagreements.”

“Not to mention ensuring you’re aware of any potential…um…obstacles.”

“Nate can have a harem for all I care. This is purely professional.”

“Pity.” Cherie sounded genuinely disappointed.

“Honestly, Ma, haven’t you given up matchmaking by now?”

Her mother’s shoulders lifted. “I didn’t make you go home with him.”

“I didn’t go home with him. He gave me a ride, that’s all.”

“In that case, why so defensive?”

Emma shot her mother a chilly glare. “Telling Dad that if I can’t be a doctor I can at least marry one might have something to do with it.”

Her brother had shared the information with Emma, saying he wanted her to be forewarned. Not that the news came as a surprise.

Her mother colored slightly, although media experience kept her body language in check. “Where on earth did you get that idea?”

“Then you don’t deny saying it?”

“I can’t deny that I’d be pleased to have you carry on the family tradition in some way.”