When Harriet Came Home (10 page)

He picked at a rust spot on the roof of her car for a few moments, then he straightened up, as if he’d come to a decision, and patted her car.

“Maybe you only think that because you’re so busy forging the path you’ve chosen you can’t see the other possibilities. And maybe there are possibilities you’ve never even dreamed of.”

He gave her a brisk nod, and strode off before she could reply.

Adam anticipated the last-minute rush to get every final detail organised, and as the Harvest Ball approached, his days were full. But something was wrong. It was like he was on auto-pilot—getting all the work done, handling a fresh crisis every day, smoothing over ruffled feathers—but his mind was largely occupied elsewhere.

Every time he saw Harriet a feeling of change overwhelmed him. He didn’t enjoy it, didn’t like the way his breathing tightened at the merest glimpse of her neat, curvy figure or the way he was aware of her every movement even when he wasn’t looking at her. What he’d said to her outside the high school stuck in his mind.

Maybe there were possibilities she’d never even dreamed of, he’d told her.

But what about the possibilities
he
had never imagined?

For the past few years he’d been so determined in following the path he’d chosen that he’d never stopped to consider the alternatives. Now, just as he was on the cusp of achieving his goals, came a possibility he had never in his life entertained.

It wasn’t a possibility he particularly welcomed, but neither could he ignore it.

Thank goodness for work. Harriet had always loved her job, had never minded the long hours, and she found herself even more grateful as the day of the Harvest Ball grew closer. Concentrating on the preparations kept her mind preoccupied, leaving her little time to dwell on Adam. During the week she was forced to see him in connection with the ball, but after the meeting at the high school, thankfully she didn’t have to be alone again with him.

The truth was, she didn’t know how to behave around him anymore. His kisses and the feel of his body against hers had turned her inside out, but what he’d said to her outside the high school had disturbed her just as much. He had planted questions in her mind, unwelcome, bothersome questions that wouldn’t go away, no matter how long or hard she worked.

Was she too caught up in the past? Had she let it dictate her life, restrict the possibilities? If she let go of all the hurt and petty humiliation, if she stopped thinking about herself and Adam in terms of what had happened in the past…where did that lead her?

She could…think about moving back to Wilmot. And do what here? Go into partnership with her dad at The Tuckerbox? He would love that, and maybe she wouldn’t mind. City life was exciting and stimulating, but every now and then yawning pits appeared out of nowhere, unexpected pockets of loneliness which she papered over by being extra busy.

If she moved back to Wilmot, she would see more of Adam, too. The prospect sent hot and cold waves through her. She couldn’t think about him without a knot forming in her stomach. She couldn’t talk to him without being reminded of how his mouth felt on hers. The only solution was to avoid him as much as possible.

Which was unfortunate, because she would have liked his advice on a few things. She knew she was a good cook and a competent manager, but the Harvest Ball was turning out to be more complicated than she’d anticipated. She worried about getting the food quantities right, the logistics of transferring food between The Tuckerbox and the church hall, the stubbornness of Tina, and the inexperience of the wait staff. It would have been reassuring to talk these things over with Adam, but the idea of approaching him casually made her go clammy with nerves. It was like being eighteen all over again.

She kept her worries to herself and spent long hours going over her schedules and double-checking everything. When the big day finally arrived she didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. It would be a relief to show everyone what she was capable of, but mortifying if anything went wrong. It would be wonderful to do something for her father, but it would also be upsetting to leave him the following Sunday. Both her parents had dropped broad hints that she should stay a few more days, but she had already been away two weeks. Her catering friends and colleagues had filled in for her, but she needed to get back to her business. For all sorts of reasons she was determined to return to Sydney.

The day of the Harvest Ball arrived. She rose at five in the morning and spent several painstaking hours making petit fours. At noon she was interrupted by Moira, who arrived at The Tuckerbox in a flap.

“You haven’t seen Adam, have you?” she said. “I’m in such a bind. I’m one prize short for my silent auction, and I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t suppose you have anything to offer?” She glanced around without much hope.

Harriet dusted some icing sugar from her hands. “I’m not sure. I guess I could cook something…”

Moira looked doubtful. “Cook something? Like a dinner party at someone’s home?”

Harriet hesitated for just a second before replying, “Yes, why not? I could cook a dinner party for, say, ten guests at the winner’s home.”

“Oh yes. That would be good. Problem solved.” Moira scribbled something on her clipboard. She tilted her head sideways and gave Harriet a speculative look. “You know, some people had doubts about you in the beginning, but you’re doing splendidly.”

Harriet tensed. “Doubts?”

“We don’t have to mention it. I know it all happened years ago, but some folks have long memories around here and like nothing better than to gossip. Not me, of course. Oh no. Forgive and forget, I always say. What you did is all in the past, and I’m just thrilled to see you pitching in.” Moira gave her a florid smile.

Forgive and forget? Is that what Moira was doing here? She wanted to slap the smile off Moira’s face, but the woman was already bustling away, satisfied her mission had been accomplished.

With frightening speed, evening approached. Harriet returned home to shower and change. Her stomach churned and she couldn’t quite steady her hands. She was nervous, she realised, not just about the Harvest Ball, but about seeing Adam again. Especially about seeing Adam. There was no reason to get uptight, she told herself. She would be stuck out the back, while he would be centre stage in the church hall. In all the hubbub they probably wouldn’t even exchange more than a few hurried words. Really, there was nothing to worry about.

Who are you kidding?
The niggling voice in her head taunted her. She sighed. She just had to put Adam out of her mind.

She finished dressing and ran downstairs.

“Knock ’em dead, pumpkin.” Her father aimed a fake punch at her.

“Dad, you look so dashing.”

“Don’t I just.” He struck a pose in his natty, old-fashioned navy suit, still jaunty despite his crutches and cumbersome plaster cast. “Ah, and here she comes—the belle of the ball.”

Her mother floated down the stairs dressed in a peacock-blue frock. She beamed at Ken and brushed an imaginary hair from his lapel. “Hi there, handsome.”

An unexpected lump rose in Harriet’s throat. Her parents looked so right together, despite all their differences. She put on her coat and slipped out the front door. Would she ever have that kind of deep understanding with someone? She shook her head—it wasn’t something she could dwell on right now—and hurried on.

Twenty tables draped in starched linen met her at the church hall. She looked in approval at the glittering glassware, the polished cutlery, the fresh flowers and greenery. She crossed the dance floor and skirted the baskets of pumpkins, apples and pears which decorated the stage where a four-piece band tested their equipment.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” the guitarist said to Harriet.

“It looks wonderful.” Harriet nodded in agreement. “This is probably the only time I’ll get to admire the place. I’ll be out the back most of the night.”

The first guests began to arrive. Harriet darted around the kitchen glancing out the small window above one of the kitchen counters every few minutes. It was a prime spot for viewing the arrivals. Without exception every attendee was dressed for the occasion, the men in suits or tuxedos, the women in evening gowns and jewellery. A small place like Wilmot didn’t hold black-tie events very often, and it seemed everyone was determined to make the most of the opportunity to glam up.

Harriet caught sight of Adam. Her heart stood still and her mind went blank for several seconds. In his sleek, black tuxedo he looked devastating. Gone was the rugged carpenter. Tonight he was debonair, elegant, every inch the member of the illustrious Blackstone family, from his spruce dark hair, to his smooth square jaw, to the tips of his polished shoes. He looked so confident and suave that she felt the differences between them yawning wider than ever. Despite everything that had happened in the past few days, it still seemed impossible to her that Adam might be interested.

Her attention snagged on the woman sauntering beside Adam, and a chill ran through her. She’d recognise that raven hair and supercilious expression anywhere. Adam had come to the Harvest Ball with Erin Grayson, Portia’s best friend and the bane of Harriet’s schooldays.

Harriet’s lips tightened at the sight of Erin’s svelte figure swathed in a daringly low-cut satin gown. Why her? Of all the women Adam could have chosen…

“Don’t they look made for each other?” Tina edged up beside Harriet.

Harriet didn’t answer. She watched Erin turn to Adam and clasp his arm in a way that said “Mine.” Erin had always considered Adam her property, though he’d gone out with plenty of other girls. He smiled down at her. They made a striking couple, equally matched in height, looks and cool assurance. And pedigree. Erin’s family owned a famous horse stud and were friends of the Blackstones.

“Not many men get the nod from her,” Tina said.

True, but not many men were like Adam.

Harriet turned away from the window. Adam hadn’t told her he was taking Erin to the ball. Why would he? It was none of her business. Heck, who was she kidding? He had kissed her senseless and put his hands under her shirt. Of course it was her business. Unless… Her face grew hot with chagrin. Oh, what a fool she’d been. How could she imagine he’d be interested in her? He had Erin Grayson, for heaven’s sake. She’d been right all along—she had just been a diversion to Adam, a bit of unexpected fun to while away an idle afternoon. He’d only been intrigued by her transformed appearance, not by
her.

Take that as a lesson, she grimly told herself.

She would not let her feelings affect her performance tonight. She would be professional from start to finish. Whatever Adam thought of her, he would not be able to fault her catering skills. She would treat him like any of her clients, and not let her personal feelings interfere.

An hour later she had the first courses all ready to go out. She pushed past the line of waiters and peeked through the swing doors. The hall was now filled to capacity, the lights twinkling down on beaded gowns, glittering jewellery and silver cufflinks. Everyone’s attention was focused on the stage where Adam stood at the microphone. He’d just delivered the punch line of a wry joke, and the crowd laughed with appreciation. Harriet scanned the smiling, nodding crowd. She could almost feel the tide of approval flowing toward Adam.

He belonged here. Here, in the heart of his community. He had always belonged here, regardless of this Harvest Ball. He didn’t need applause or recognition. He had earned everyone’s respect simply by returning to Wilmot.

She heard her own name being mentioned, and her breath caught.

“…wouldn’t have been possible without the heroic efforts of Harriet Brown,” Adam said, his voice echoing across the hall. “Harriet has stepped in at the last minute for her father, Ken, and without her we’d all be eating cheese on crackers tonight.”

Harriet darted a glance at her father seated on the far side of the hall. Even from a distance she couldn’t miss the glowing beam which lit up his face. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated pride, and it made her chest ache with love. Her father was proud of her, and proud to show off that pride. As the crowd clapped, he wiped the corners of his eyes and whispered something to her mother, who also looking unusually flushed.

“Way to go, Harriet,” someone said behind her, and the waiters around her grinned and clapped.

Astonishment washed over her. All the applause around her and in the hall was for her. It was incredible and terrifying. All these people here, they didn’t blame her anymore for what she’d done to Adam’s father. Maybe they had forgiven her a long time ago, and she’d been the only one holding on to that guilt. Her and Adam. But Adam had publicly acknowledged her, thanked her. He had forgiven her. Maybe it was time she forgave herself too. She glanced back to her family, and her chest panged again. Her father was cheering the loudest.

The applause faded and Harriet returned to the kitchen to battle a growing crisis. The first course had gone out without too much trouble—only two plates dropped and one plate returned untouched with a complaint that the diner was allergic to hazelnuts, a fact that hadn’t been conveyed to Harriet. She’d soothed the tearful sixteen-year-old who’d broken the plates and quickly assembled another starter without hazelnuts.

But complications began to arise as she started to plate up the main course. She had Dave and Tina helping her, but they weren’t half as quick as she was, and Tina was being far too generous with the blue-cheese sauce. The waiters were supposed to have cleared the used starter plates fifteen minutes ago, but somehow they’d been tardy to start, and now they milled around the kitchen with their crates of dirty dinnerware, jabbering at the tops of their voices as only teenagers could.

Perspiration broke out at the back of Harriet’s neck as the narrow work space quickly became log-jammed with people.

“Boys! Why aren’t you taking care of the dirty dishes?” she yelled, plating up another main course.

“Does this piece of meat look okay to you?” Dave asked.

“The dishwasher’s broken.”

“Do we have any more sauce?” Tina barked out. “I’ve almost run out.”

“Where do these forks go?”

Two boys horsed around and snapped their dishcloths at the girls, who squealed in annoyance.

Harriet shut her eyes and counted to three. Her head was pounding, her back aching, the back of her mouth dry. She sorted out the dishwasher, gave Dave some advice and pushed another bowl of blue-cheese sauce at Tina.

“Go easy on the sauce,” she told her as the schoolgirls shrieked again in the background.

Tina splatted her plate with sauce. “I wouldn’t have to go easy on the sauce if you’d made enough of it!”

Several retorts flashed through Harriet’s brain, but she pushed them all aside and concentrated on the plate in front of her. A gangly teenager squeezed his way to her side.

“People out there want to know when the main course is coming out,” he said.

Harriet glanced back to check Dave and Tina’s progress. They seemed to be going even slower now, and Tina was still dolloping out the sauce with a heavy hand. The narrow confines of the kitchen seemed to shrink even further, until she felt as if she were stuck in a tunnel. Stuck in a tunnel with people shrilling at her from all sides. The perspiration on her nape gathered into a string of cold beads which slid down her spine.

What a fool she’d been to think she could pull this off! The kitchen was descending into chaos, and it was all her fault. She could sense the restlessness growing outside in the church hall, the impatient shuffling of chairs, the mutters going round the tables.