CHAPTER THREE

      ‘“FOOD, glorious food!”’ Sharon sang from the musical Oliver in a clear, high soprano.

      She was an enthusiastic member of the local operatic society, Rhiannon had learnt in the hours they’d worked together.

      She also put her height and lean, rangy build to good use on the basketball court.

      And she was nice. Sharon confessed to Rhiannon that she desperately needed the kind of input Margaret Richardson had given her now Southall was to be lived in again.

      ‘She always knew what to serve, she always did the flowers herself and decorated the tables, and the cleaning staff really cleaned while she was around. I don’t seem to have the same effect on them and neither does Mary,’ she’d confided ruefully to Rhiannon.

      Rhiannon had told her warmly that she’d done a great job nevertheless. And she’d opened her mouth to ask Sharon about Andrea Richardson, who seemed to have disappeared along with the yellow Lamborghini, but changed her mind.

      Then they’d started talking food, found they were kindred spirits and they’d set to work in great harmony.

      Sharon had dug out six big copper-based silver-lidded food warmers that operated on spirit lamps set into the base below them. They were old-fashioned perhaps but effective and stylish.

      What had prompted Sharon to burst into song was the fact that their efforts were all but complete and a marvellous array of dishes stood on counters and the kitchen table, all set to be refrigerated overnight when they’d cooled down then warmed in the copper-based servers tomorrow.

      From a previous job in the state, Rhiannon had discovered that Queenslanders really loved their seafood, and there was an abundance of it to choose from. The local shops had yielded a bonanza.

      Rhiannon had made a seafood casserole containing crab and Moreton Bay bug meat with fresh asparagus in a cream, herb and brandy sauce that smelled divine, and tomorrow she intended to assemble platters heaped with fresh peeled prawns and oysters, with bowls of lemon wedges and tangy dipping sauces.

      There were two large legs of ham that had been scored and pricked with cloves, all set to be basted with brown sugar and pineapple juice as they cooked tomorrow.

      Sharon had cooked three different rice dishes that only needed to be heated up in the microwave to be fluffy and perfect. She’d also concocted a chicken and Marsala casserole, as well as a beef and black-bean sauce one with Asian crisp vegetables. Rhiannon had made a potato frittata and tomorrow she would put Cliff’s fresh produce to good use as promised in a cauliflower au gratin dish, several salads and a ratatouille.

      And between them they’d baked four pavlovas to be heaped with strawberries and served with cream and ice cream for dessert.

      ‘There.’ Rhiannon stood back and looped her hair behind her ear. ‘Most of it only needs to be heated up just before you set it out, then we can keep it warm in the servers. Really, apart from the prawns and the vegetable and salad dishes, all that needs to be done just before time is the fried chicken legs so they’re nice and crispy, and carving the ham as well as buttering the rolls. We’ve done well!’ she added with a grin at Sharon.

      She’d already explained to Sharon that she wouldn’t be much help in the kitchen but she’d pop in as frequently as she could.

      ‘We sure have. Just one thing—what about snacks?’ Sharon replied. ‘Peanuts and so on.’

      ‘No snacks,’ Rhiannon said. ‘It’s so easy to fill up on nuts and things so that you’re not hungry for anything else that will soak up.’ She paused.

      ‘The alcohol? Too true.’ Sharon agreed.

      ‘OK.’ Rhiannon untied her apron and glanced at her watch. It was five o’clock. ‘Thanks, Sharon. Off you go and have a pleasant evening! I’ll see you tomorrow—don’t worry about being early, it’s going to be a long day. Who looks after your child, incidentally, when you’re working?’

      ‘My mother, so it’s no problem. Um—are you going to cook Lee’s dinner? He’s a big steak fan and—’

      ‘Actually, Lee has other ideas,’ Lee himself said as he strolled into the kitchen, ‘but I just wanted to give you this, Sharon, a small token of my appreciation of all your efforts, plus a little something for your mum.’ He slipped an envelope into Sharon’s hand.

      ‘Oh, you didn’t have to do that!’ Sharon looked all flustered.

      ‘Yes I did.’ He closed her hand over the envelope then gave her a little push towards the back door.

      ‘That was nice of you,’ Rhiannon approved once the door had closed on Sharon. ‘I would definitely recommend keeping her on. So, I take it you’re going out and don’t need dinner here?’

      ‘We are going out.’

      ‘We? Who’s we?’

      He looked around quizzically. ‘There’s only you and me left, Rhiannon, so it has to be us.’

      ‘But I don’t want to go out and you haven’t asked me!’ she protested.

      ‘Then I’ll ask you now, not that I intend to take no for an answer. Come and have dinner with me in the village, Ms Fairfax. For one good reason, I can’t imagine anyone who’s done as much cooking as you have today being remotely interested in more; and for another, I’d like to be assured you don’t still wish me dead.’

      Rhiannon ground her teeth. ‘I didn’t say that.’

      ‘Wishing I were six feet under has to be the same thing,’ he said gravely.

      ‘You were the one.’ She broke off. ‘All right, I may have—’

      ‘You did.’

      ‘I didn’t really mean it. Satisfied?’ She eyed him.

      ‘Not unless you have dinner with me.’ He’d propped himself against a kitchen counter with his arms folded.

      He’d changed into khaki trousers and a long-sleeved, light blue linen shirt. He looked big, relaxed yet entirely immoveable.

      Rhiannon made a kittenish little sound of frustration.

      He straightened, went to the fridge and brought out a bottle