When Harriet Came Home (13 page)

“It’s my fault,” Adam broke in as Harriet hurried away. “I’ve been singing Harriet’s praises to Joanne.”

Harriet dived back into the kitchen, her ears still burning.

Adam rolled his shoulders and flexed his legs as Harriet retreated. He was dying to leap up and follow Harriet out of the room, but instead he had to sit and make pretence of eating even while his left knee wouldn’t stop jiggling up and down.

For Christ’s sake, he wasn’t some tame poodle. Why didn’t he just go with his instincts and leave the table? It wasn’t as if he cared about anyone’s opinion here. And it wasn’t as if he had come here tonight with any purpose except to see Harriet again.

He scowled down at his plate of fish. When he’d caught his first glimpse of her tonight, his entire body had constricted, and he hadn’t been able to breathe for several seconds. All the days and nights of wondering had culminated in that one dizzying moment.

“Delicious,” Joanne said from across the table. “I have to get Harriet’s business card. She must be in demand back in Sydney.”

A cold breeze blew across the back of Adam’s neck. He knew why he hadn’t followed Harriet into the kitchen. How could he when a few weeks back she’d shot out of Wilmot without saying goodbye? When tonight she’d tried to avoid his eye and practically blanched when he smiled at her?

Adam’s attention had flustered Harriet. She found his praise disheartening. Adam had been so enthused about her catering business in Sydney. Almost as if he wanted to find her as many clients as possible, so that she would stay put in Sydney. He needn’t worry about that, and he needn’t concern himself with building up her business. She’d managed perfectly well on her own; she didn’t need anyone trumpeting her skills.

She worked alongside Mrs Carson cleaning up in the kitchen, all the while listening to the hubbub of conversation which drifted down the hallway from the dining room, every now and then punctuated by bursts of laughter. The sounds of merriment did nothing to lift her spirits. Usually she loved hearing the sounds of a successful party when she was catering, but this time she felt mean-spirited and resentful.

Was it because they were all so glamorous and beautiful out there in the lavish dining room, while she was stuck here in the kitchen slaving over her pots and pans? Or was it because Adam was out there where he belonged, and she was here, where she belonged? He might smile at her and put in a good word for her, but the fact remained that she was in love with him, and he was beyond her reach. His life, his future, all lay here, without her, and the thought depressed her more than she wanted to admit.

Mrs Carson yelped as she dropped a hot pan and clutched her hand. Harriet went to her aid, wincing at the red burn mark across the housekeeper’s palm. She ushered the poor woman into the adjoining laundry, turned on the cold-water tap and ordered her to hold her hand under running water for fifteen minutes.

“But I need to clear the dinner plates,” Mrs Carson protested.

Harriet pressed her lips together. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll do it.”

Feeling rather belligerent, she marched into the dining room and began to clear away the used plates. The guests had been eating and drinking for almost an hour, and the noise levels had risen. Harriet’s temples began to throb. This night couldn’t end fast enough for her.

“Oh, Harriet. Tell us what you’re serving us for dessert,” Joanne called out with a bright smile.

At least she was friendly and unaffected, Harriet thought. She couldn’t be a close friend of Erin’s. “I’m making a crêpe cake with Suzette sauce,” she replied. “It’s easier than fiddling with individual crêpes, but it tastes just as good.”

“Will you flambé the sauce? I love seeing that happen.”

“Yes, but I’ll be doing that in the kitchen, not out here.”

“I’ll just have to come into the kitchen and watch you. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Well…I guess not.” Harriet studiously avoided Erin’s eyes, though she could sense her listening in on the conversation.

Joanne clapped her hands. “Great. We’ll all come and watch. It’ll be fun.”

Like a hole in the head
, Erin’s expression read when Harriet finally glanced at her. Erin opened her mouth, but no one appeared to pay any attention to her as they pushed their chairs back and stretched their legs. There seemed to be a general consensus that going into the kitchen and watching the cook set a pan of alcohol on fire was standard dinner entertainment.

“Here, let me get that.” Adam brushed past Harriet and took hold of the trolley laden with dirty dishes. He began to wheel it down the hallway, leaving her no choice but to hurry after him.

The Graysons’ kitchen was spacious, but still Harriet felt hemmed in as she moved toward the gas cook top set into the centre island and the dinner guests arranged themselves around her on bar stools. Erin sauntered in last of all holding on to her wineglass, a bored expression not totally masking her exasperation. Harriet knew she wasn’t pleased at her dinner party being hijacked by the cook, but Harriet couldn’t see how she could be blamed.

As she gathered her ingredients, a sheen of perspiration broke out on the back of her neck, causing her hair to stick to her skin. She’d never given a cooking class before, yet here she was on show, in front of Adam, and Erin, and all these other strangers. Her fingers trembled as she set a large pan on the stove and began making her sauce. She’d made this recipe many times before, and her hands moved instinctively, reaching for the butter, tossing the pan, pouring out a generous amount of Cointreau. When she lit the pan, the blue flames leaped upward with an impressive whoosh, and Joanne clapped her hands as if Harriet had just performed a magic trick.

She drizzled the sauce over the two stacks of crêpes and pushed the plates toward the crowd.

“Ooh, yum! Let’s dig in.” Joanne seized a knife and advanced on the crêpes.

Erin pushed her way forward. “If we all return to the dining room, Harriet can serve us. After all, it’s what she’s paid to do.”

A shocked silence splintered across the dinner guests. Adam stepped forward, his eyes like granite as he faced Erin. “Harriet isn’t getting paid for tonight. She volunteered her time, and she’s driven all the way up from Sydney just for you. You might try being a bit more gracious.”

Erin gaped at him before her mouth snapped shut like a trap. “I paid the winning bid, so it’s the same difference to me, and I have to say I’m disappointed with what I’ve gotten tonight.”

“How can you say that?” Joanne broke in. “The food has been just fantastic.”

“Oh, please.” Erin sniffed. “Cheese soufflé, poached fish, crêpes Suzette? It’s all so outdated.”

Indignation heaved through Harriet—after all, Erin had insisted on the menu, not her—but before she could protest, Erin wheeled on her.

“And here’s another tip for you. Don’t make sheep’s eyes at the guests. It puts them off their food.”

“Sheep’s eyes?”

Erin smirked. “Look, we all know you’ve been harbouring a crush on Adam ever since high school, but leave the poor man alone. It’s so embarrassing. Can’t you see he’s just not interested in you? Even if you have managed to drop forty kilos.”

Blood pounded in Harriet’s ears. She could feel herself vibrating as a deep fury welled up in her, but she couldn’t move a muscle. It was as if Erin had cast a spell on her.

Adam rounded on Erin. “Stop now before you embarrass yourself any further.”

Erin let out a snicker. “Oh, of course. Sticking up for her again. You were always sticking up for her, feeling sorry for little Hamster Brown.” She swilled down some wine. “Jeez, even after what she did to your father you can’t say a bad thing about her.”

“You’re making a fool of yourself.” Adam’s face had darkened to teak. “You’ve had enough to drink for one night.”

Erin drained her glass. “Who’s going to stop me? You?”

“If I have to.” The look on Adam’s face made Harriet quail. He gripped Erin by the arm and marched her out the kitchen. Erin squealed and tried to fling him off, but he ignored her.

No one in the kitchen moved or spoke. Portia, looking shamefaced, mumbled, “I’d better see if I can help,” and hurried off after Adam and Erin.

Joanne cleared her throat and lifted her knife again. “Crêpes, anyone?”

After a moment’s hesitation, the guests gathered round Joanne, who began to serve up the dessert. In the muted hubbub Harriet took a deep breath and fell back a few steps. Her body was cold and clammy. She turned away and began to wash up some cooking utensils, hoping she’d regain her composure soon, but a minute later she felt Adam hovering behind her.

“Here, take a load off your feet.” He dragged over a stool for her. “You deserve it after all that.”

His solicitude made her throat sting. Didn’t he know he was only making it worse for her? She really didn’t need to read the sympathy in his eyes.

“I’m fine.” She pushed away from him, hating to sound so ungrateful but desperate for some space between them. “I need to clean up. Where’s Erin?”

“Sulking in the den with a club soda. Portia’s with her.”

He paused. She knew he was about to comment on what Erin had said, so she hurried on, “Why don’t you get some dessert while there’s still some left?”

He glanced behind them at the other guests crowded around the centre island. “I’m not in the mood. You’ve done more than enough for one night. Let the housekeeper finish the cleaning up.”

“Mrs Carson’s burnt her hand. She shouldn’t be doing any cleaning up.”

“Then I’ll help you.”

Weakness rippled through her. She rubbed the back of her hand across her damp forehead. “Please, Adam…”

He bent his head toward her. “It’s not you who should be embarrassed. Erin made a total fool of herself. I should have stopped her earlier. Much earlier. Like, back in high school.”

A lump rose in her throat. “There’s no need for you to feel bad. Especially about school. It happened so long ago it doesn’t matter anymore.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realised the fundamental truth of what she’d just said. What was the point in being forever hung up on what had happened in high school? High school had only lasted six years, whereas she had decades and decades of living still to look forward to.

“We all do things we regret,” she added, “especially when we’re young.”

“Don’t I know it.” His mouth lifted at the corners. “And if you don’t let me help you right now, you’ll make me feel bad all over again.”

Before she could raise another protest, he grabbed a pile of dirty dishes and began to stack them in the dishwasher. She shrugged and started to clean up. Together with Adam she tidied the kitchen while the guests demolished the crêpes Suzette. She repacked her box of cooking utensils and was about to lug it out to her car when Adam whisked it out of her hands. She knew better than to argue with him, so she simply led the way outside to her car.

“You’re still driving this junk heap?” he said when he had loaded the box into the back of her hatchback.

She lifted her shoulders. “It’s gotten me all the way from Sydney. It should make it back to my parents’ place.”

“Is that where you’ll be staying?”

“Just for tonight. I’ll be heading back to Sydney in the morning.”

He thrust his hands into his pockets and took in a long breath. The night air was crisp and cold, the sky above them clear, with a heavy quarter moon rising in the east.

“So soon?” he asked. “You won’t stay for a few days?”

The lights from the house cut slanting oblongs of illumination across the driveway, but it was too dark for her to make out his expression. Not that she wanted to; all she wanted was to get away as quickly as possible.

“Not this time.”

He nodded, a darker outline against the night sky. A burst of laughter drifted out from the house, but he seemed in no hurry to get back to the party.

“I’ll follow you back to your parents’ place,” he said. “Just to make sure you get there safely.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t have to do that. What about Erin?”

“Portia’s staying the night with her. As you may have guessed, Erin has a problem with alcohol, though she’d never admit it. But you’re changing the subject.”

“Not really.”

He ducked his head lower so she couldn’t look anywhere except at him. “I’m not taking no for an answer, so don’t waste your breath.”

She protested further, but it was no use. Adam had made up his mind and wouldn’t budge. Fifteen minutes later she found herself driving back to Wilmot with the headlights of Adam’s car shining in her rear-view mirror. The journey didn’t take long; all too soon she turned into the street where her parents lived.

Harriet pulled up at the curb outside her parents’ house instead of swinging into the driveway as she usually did. She didn’t know why, exactly. Adam pulled up behind her, got out of his car and loped toward her. She stepped out of her own car, and as his dark figure approached her, her heart started to race again, fluttering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

“Come for a ride,” he said.

That
was the last thing she’d been expecting. “Now?” she blurted out.

“It’s only ten-fifteen, or do you have a curfew?” She couldn’t make out his expression, but the smile in his voice brought a rush of blood to her head.

“No, but…” She glanced at the glowing curtained windows of her parents’ living room. They would both be there watching television and sipping cocoa. “My parents are expecting me home anytime now.”

“So give them a ring. Better yet, just send them a text message.”

Wow. Why did she feel like a juvenile breaking the rules? She was twenty-eight, for heaven’s sakes. She could go riding in some guy’s car if she wanted to. And not just any guy. Adam Blackstone. That was why she was heaving with nerves.

He took another step closer, and her breathing sped up. “You still owe me that talk. At the Harvest Ball I wanted to talk to you, but you ran out on me.”

She pressed her back against the cold metal of her car. “I didn’t run out on you.” She lifted her chin. “I do have other priorities besides talking with you.”