Meant To Be (11 page)

Part of her wanted to stay and start sorting through the rocks, but there was no point going at it like a bull at a gate, as Gran would say. As a professional, Jake would want to formulate a sound, workable plan. Slow and steady wins the race. If it was meant to be, it would be.

Back inside, Jake strode up the long enclosed verandah to the room he was using as his office before returning to the kitchen. He dumped his laptop and a few pads of paper, loose sheets, pens, pencils, and erasers on the table. Emily stood by, feeling a little dazed and a lot useless.

‘It might help to have your photos of the cottage,' Jake suggested.

Emily went to the bedroom and got her folder out from under the bed; the scrapbook of ideas she'd put together for the original cottage, which contained notes, photos, fabric samples and paint charts, and old magazine clippings of furniture, interiors, exteriors, and landscaping ideas. On the way out, she also grabbed her selection of glossy new house magazines, despite knowing it was way too early in the process for interior decorating. She added her contribution to the now cluttered kitchen table.

‘You look over all this while I make your coffee,' Jake said.

Looking at the rough sketches he had laid out for her, Emily was impressed at how much work Jake had already put into the project. Clearly he'd been thinking about it for a while. No wonder he'd been spending more and more time up in the office.

‘It's more cost-effective to go bigger to start with than having to add on later,' Jake explained, as he put down their mugs. ‘I've done what I think will give the most options,' he added.

‘Hmm, looks great,' Emily said, nodding in agreement. Not knowing what all the little symbols and abbreviations meant, she struggled to follow the plans beyond where the doors, window, fireplaces and other features were. She turned to a list of projected figures.

‘Without knowing exactly how you want to fit out the interior of the cottage, they're pretty rubbery' Jake explained. ‘And they're just my suggestions; it's your project.'

‘It's
our
project.'

The figures were mainly rounded to the nearest five thousand, and when she looked at the total at the bottom she was neither shocked nor disappointed. When John's estate was settled she would have plenty of money to play with. Not that she wanted to be silly about it; that just wasn't in her nature. Emily Oliphant was conservative through and through, and proud of it.

The lease on the farm would pay for most of her living expenses for the year, considering there was no rent or mortgage. David had assured her that the troughs, fences, and sheds looked pretty good and that she shouldn't be up for any major maintenance bills for the next few years. Though there was always the chance of the unforeseen cropping up, he'd hastened to add. Emily had experienced plenty of unforeseen events in recent times, but she chose to trust that all would be okay.

Anyway, if she was smart about the cottage she could make money from it. She'd have to do something with it or else in twelve months – or however long it would all take; they hadn't got to that bit yet – she'd have an empty cottage instead of a pile of debris and still be wondering what to do with her life.

She was sure she didn't want to run a B&B. After spending ages thinking about it, she'd concluded that she didn't want to cook and clean for other people and have to deal with potential complaints, mucked-up bookings, and non-payers and no-shows.

Emily loved to cook. It was a release and a great form of relaxation, but she suspected that that would all change when she
had
to do it, and under pressure. She'd always coped okay with the pressure of feeding the masses during shearing, but that was only for a week or so each year. If the business was successful – which, obviously, she hoped it would be – she'd be under that sort of pressure every weekend.

Maybe she could open a shop? Selling jam was a totally different proposition to running a B&B, because she could cook at her leisure. But she wasn't convinced a viable business could be made, despite all Barbara's protestations and encouragement that she could be the next Maggie Beer. It was sweet that her friend believed in her, but there was no getting around the fact that there was no fruit in season during certain times of the year. And even if she planted an orchard, it would be years before the new trees fruited.

No, what she needed was something simple where she could make some money without actually making the product herself. Of course she'd sell jam when she had it; it would be a nice country touch for city visitors travelling through.

Emily was startled when Jake spoke. ‘Where were you just now?'

‘Sorry?'

‘You were lost in thought,' Jake said.

‘I'm just wondering what to do with the cottage when it's done. What does the district need? We've got enough cafés and small restaurants with the new wineries, and I think there are plenty of shops selling furniture and homewares,' she said, thinking aloud.

‘I'm sure you'll come up with something. You've got plenty of time to think about it. Maybe Simone might have an idea?' he offered, as he went back to scrutinising his plan and making notes.

‘Yes, she's bound to have some great ideas,' she mused.

And then it came to her. Of course! She'd been thinking about Simone from totally the wrong angle.

‘I've got it!'

Jake looked up at her in surprise. ‘Sorry, what's that?'

Emily shook her head and opened her mouth to speak.
I know what I want the cottage to be!
But no words came out. She closed her mouth and then opened it again.
Stop it, Emily, you look like a bloody goldfish!

‘Are you okay? Do you need water or something?' Jake said, starting to get up.

‘No, I'm fine,' she finally said with a laugh, her voice suddenly working again. ‘I've just realised what I want the cottage to be. Of course it's just an idea. I'll have to make sure it can be viable and…'

‘Well? Come on. I thought you were having some sort of seizure. Just tell me! What is the cottage going to be?'

‘A gallery! To exhibit Simone's paintings, and your photos, and sell my jam, and whatever else I like. It'll be called The Button
Jar, because what's inside will be an eclectic mix. Obviously I wouldn't sell buttons; that would be silly.' She chuckled. ‘And, anyway, there are plenty of places to buy buttons. No one would want to by buttons from me. But no one's selling good-quality art around here, are they? Ooh, I can see it so clearly…'

Emily was suddenly aware that she was becoming a little out of breath. And Jake hadn't said a word. Well, she hadn't exactly given the poor bloke a chance.

‘So, what do you think?' She said almost inaudibly, afraid that saying it all out loud might mean it sounded ridiculous.

‘Well, I do feel very flattered, but I'm not sure I'm good enough to exhibit,' Jake said, blushing slightly. ‘Simone certainly is, though.' Emily was surprised at how shy Jake had become. Staring down at his almost empty plate, he was like a little boy.

Not good enough to exhibit! Are you mad?
The shots she'd seen – especially the photos of specific architectural features taken from unusual angles – were incredible. She'd put money on people lining up to buy them. Well, she would be, literally, if she went ahead. She almost giggled, but managed to turn it into a gasp.

‘And I love the name,' he said, deflecting the conversation away from him. ‘The Button Jar. It's perfect. That would give you leeway to stock whatever you wanted to. Aren't you clever?' he said, leaning over and kissing her.

‘And it'll be a tribute to Gran,' Emily declared, the idea dawning on her. ‘It's thanks to her wisdom that I'm here, like this, now. I know some of her clichéd quotes seem quite silly – even irrelevant – but some are actually quite profound.'

‘I think it's a lovely idea,' Jake said, kissing her again. And I know she would be very proud of you.'

While Gran had never directly said, ‘you should do this' or ‘do that', Emily was seeing more and more that the old lady had gradually been setting her up to deal with the hard knocks in life. If only

she'd had the courage to leave John when Gran was still alive. Then she'd have known her granddaughter would be okay. But it was the way it was meant to be. Perhaps Gran had known she'd be okay because she'd been carefully and surreptitiously steering her right.

Unlike her own mother. Shouldn't that have been Enid's job? Emily almost snorted aloud. From the age of around ten, Emily had realised that no matter what she did she would never gain her mother's acceptance or approval. But despite knowing this, she'd continued to try.

She'd married the richest, apparently best catch in the district, despite reservations – yes, she could admit that now. She'd stayed at home and played wife, thrown the occasional elaborate lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner party. But every time Enid would find fault. And Enid was always invited, because if she wasn't she would sulk and subject Emily to the silent treatment and whatever other emotional blackmail tactic she could use. It was easier just to invite her and for Emily to accept she wouldn't be nearly as free to enjoy herself as if she were just amongst friends.

There would be that slight edge to her mother's compliment, ‘Yes, Emily, it was a very nice meal,' that really meant, ‘
but not as nice as one of mine
.' And that was a spoken example. There had been plenty of down-the-nose looks over the years too.

Thank goodness her father was completely different. Whilst he didn't gush the words, Emily knew he adored her, no matter what mistakes she made in life. The bottom line was he just wanted her to be happy.

‘Are you okay? You're suddenly very quiet?' Jake asked.

‘I'm fine. Just thinking about stuff.'

During lunch, Emily's phone rang and Barbara's name was on the screen.

‘Hey, what's up?'

‘I totally forgot to tell you. About tomorrow. Are you okay to feed the guys? Sorry about the short notice.'

‘God, did you do all the catering in time to pick me up at eight yesterday? Jesus, how did you manage to do a whole day shopping, including all the driving, and not collapse? Are you Wonder Woman or something? You should have asked me to help.'

‘What, and ruin the surprise? Not bloody likely!'

‘Well, thank you so much. I owe you big time.'

‘I'll remember that,' Barbara said with a laugh. ‘We couldn't have your reputation for fine food tarnished. You know Steve and Grant only agreed to do the work because they've heard shearers rave about your catering.'

‘Oh ha ha, Barbara. You're hilarious, but I'll take a compliment any way I can get it.'

‘Hey, I'm not lying. You ask David next time you see him. They don't say a way to a man's heart is through his stomach for nothing, you know.'

‘So, now I have to live up to
your
even higher standards tomorrow? Please don't tell me you served them homemade Kitchener buns or anything too elaborate,' Emily said with a groan.

‘Damn, wish I'd thought of that,' Barbara said, and laughed. ‘No, I just did chicken and salad sandwiches and apple teacake for morning tea, and meatloaf and salad and stewed nectarines with cream for lunch. Actually, you'd better check your ice-cream supply. David mentioned they had that as well.'

‘Okay, thanks. Sounds like I'll be doing a big shop this afternoon now anyway. What did you give them for afternoon tea? I don't want to serve anything the same and blemish this reputation I supposedly have,' Emily said.

‘Carrot cake, and ham, cheese and mustard sandwiches for the non-sweet tooths. You know, every time I do this sort of catering, like for shearing, I can't get over how much food they put away. All David brought home was empty dishes.'

‘Well, Grace probably demanded her share as well.'

‘Probably. So I hereby hand catering duties over to you,' Barbara said. ‘I look forward to wonderful reports tomorrow night from David.'

‘No pressure! Let's hope there's still some fresh fruit and veg left in town. And seriously, thanks again. For everything.'

‘My pleasure. I actually really enjoyed it. It took my mind off… you know.'

‘You're going to be fine, you know. Hey, why don't come down and cook with me this afternoon and/or tomorrow if you want,' Emily said. She loved it when the two of them cooked together.

‘Not a chance! I'm on strike. I've even got David cooking tea tonight.'

Emily laughed. ‘Fair enough. I'll let you go. Someone has a menu to go off and plan!'

‘Good luck.'

‘Thanks. See ya.'

‘See ya.'

‘Looks like my afternoon is spoken for,' Emily said to Jake as she put the phone back on the table. ‘I'm going to be cooking for you guys tomorrow.'

‘Do you want some help?'

‘Thanks, but I'll be fine. It's not hard, just takes time. But first I've got to go and do a big supermarket shop. Thank goodness they're opening to take advantage of everyone being in town for the big Australia Day breakfast and award ceremony.'

‘Oh, how come we're not going?'

‘Um. Sorry. I didn't want to go, but I should have mentioned it. I used to go with John, but he always drank so much, and…'

‘It's okay. It doesn't matter, Em,' he said, touching her arm. ‘The different shopping hours are something I still have to get my head around,' he continued, changing the subject. ‘Most things in Melbourne tend to be open all day every day – including public holidays. So, do I get to come with you to the zoo, I mean, Wattle Creek?' he said with a cheeky grin.

‘If you're very, very good,' Emily said, laughing. Although he'd been staying with her for more than three weeks, they still hadn't been into town together. ‘I'm sure you'll be spending a lot of time there over the next few months if we go ahead.'