One Winter's Sunrise. Alison Roberts
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wicked grin. ‘He’s quite well padded and would make a wonderful Santa—no pillow down the front of his jacket required.’
‘Don’t mention that in the email or all hell will break loose,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry; I can be subtle when I want to,’ she said, that grin still dancing in her eyes as they neared the restaurant.
In Dominic’s experience, some restaurants were sited well and had a good fit-out; others had excellent food. In this case, his favourite place to eat near the office had both—a spectacular site on the top of a heritage listed building right near the water and a superlative menu.
There had been no need to book—a table was always there for him when he wanted one, no matter how long the waiting list for bookings.
An attentive waiter settled Andie into a seat facing the view of Sydney Harbour. ‘I’ve always wanted to eat at this restaurant,’ she said, looking around her.
‘Maybe we should have our meetings here in future?’
‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘Though I’ll have to do a detailed site inspection of your house very soon. We could fit in a meeting then, perhaps?’
‘I might not be able to be there,’ he said. ‘I have a series of appointments in other states over the next two weeks. Any meetings with you might have to be via the Internet.’
Was that disappointment he saw cloud her eyes. ‘That’s a shame. I—’
‘My assistant will help you with access and the security code,’ he said. He wished he could cancel some of the meetings, but that was not possible. Perhaps it was for the best. The more time he spent with Andie, the more he wanted to break his rules and ask her on a date. But those rules were there for good reason.
‘As you know, we have a tight timeline to work to,’ she said. ‘The more we get done early the better, to allow for the inevitable last-minute dramas.’
‘I have every confidence in you that it will go to plan.’
‘Me too,’ she said with another of those endearing grins. ‘I’ve organised so many Christmas room sets and table settings for magazine and advertising clients. You have to get creative to come up with something different each year. This is easier in a way.’
‘But surely there must be a continuity?’ he asked, curious even though Christmas was his least favourite topic of conversation.
‘Some people don’t want to go past traditional red and green and that’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’ve done an entire room themed purple and the client was delighted. Silver and gold is always popular in Australia, when Christmas is likely to be sweltering—it seems to feel cooler somehow. But—’
The waiter came to take their orders. They’d been too busy talking to look at the menu. Quickly they discussed their favourites before they ordered: barramundi with prawns and asparagus for him; tandoori roasted ocean trout with cucumber salsa for her and an heirloom tomato salad to share. They each passed on wine and chose mineral water. ‘Because it’s a working day,’ they both said at the exact time and laughed. It felt like a date. He could not let his thoughts stray that way. Because he liked the idea too much.
‘You haven’t explained the continuity of Christmas,’ he said, bringing the conversation back to the party.
‘It’s nothing to do with the baubles and the tinsel and everything to do with the feeling,’ she said with obvious enthusiasm. ‘Anticipation, delight, joy. For some it’s about religious observance, spirituality and new life; others about sharing and generosity. If you can get people feeling the emotion, then it doesn’t really matter if the tree is decorated in pink and purple or red and green.’
How about misery and fear and pain? Those were his memories of Christmas. ‘I see your point,’ he said.
‘I intend to make sure your party is richly imbued with that kind of Christmas spirit. Hannah told me some of the kids who will be coming would be unlikely to have a celebration meal or a present and certainly not both if it wasn’t for your generosity.’
‘I met with Hannah yesterday; she mentioned how important it will be for the families we’re inviting. She seems to think the party will do a powerful lot of good. Your sister told me how special Christmas is in your family.’ It was an effort for him to speak about Christmas in a normal tone of voice. But he seemed to be succeeding.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Andie. ‘Heaven help anyone who might want to celebrate it with their in-laws or anywhere else but my parents’ house.’
‘Your mother’s a marvellous cook.’
‘True, but Christmas is well and truly my dad’s day. My mother is allowed to do the baking and she does that months in advance. On the day, he cooks a traditional meal—turkey, ham, roast beef, the lot. He’s got favourite recipes he’s refined over the years and no one would dare suggest anything different.’
Did she realise how lucky she was? How envious he felt when he thought about how empty his life had been of the kind of family love she’d been gifted with. He’d used to think he could start his own family, his own traditions, but his ex-wife had disabused him of that particular dream. It involved trust and trust was not a thing that came easily to him. Not when it came to women. ‘I can’t imagine you would want to change a tradition.’
‘If truth be told, we’d be furious if he wanted to change one little thing,’ she said, her voice warm with affection for her father. She knew.
He could see where she got her confidence from—that rock-solid security of a loving, supportive family. But now he knew she’d been tempered by tragedy too. He wanted to know more about how she had dealt with the loss of her boyfriend. But not until it was appropriate to ask.
‘What about you, Dominic—did you celebrate Christmas with your family?’ she asked.
This never got easier—which was why he chose not to revisit it too often. ‘My parents died when I was eleven,’ he said.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said with warm compassion in her eyes. ‘What a tragedy.’ She paused. ‘You were so young, an only child...who looked after you?’
‘We lived in England, in a village in Norfolk. My father was English, my mother Australian. My mother’s sister was staying with us at the time my parents died. She took me straight back with her to Australia.’ It was difficult to keep his voice matter of fact, not to betray the pain the memories evoked, even after all this time.
‘What? Just wrenched you away from your home?’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t my call to say that. You were lucky you had family. Did your aunt have children?’
‘No, it was just the two of us,’ he said and left it at that. There was so much more he could say about the toxic relationship with his aunt but that was part of his past he’d rather was left buried.
Wrenched. That was how it had been. Away from everything familiar. Away from his grandparents, whom he didn’t see again until he had the wherewithal to get himself back to the UK as an adult. Away from the dog he’d adored. Desperately lonely and not allowed to grieve, thrust back down in Brisbane, in the intense heat, straight into the strategic battleground that was high school in a foreign country. To a woman who had no idea how to love a child, though she had tried in her own warped way.
‘I’d prefer not to talk about it,’ he said. ‘I’m all grown up now and don’t angst about the past.’ Except when it was dark and lonely and he couldn’t sleep and he wondered if he was fated to live alone without love.
‘I understand,’ she said. But how could she?
She paused to leave a silence he did not feel able to fill.
‘Talking about my family,’ she finally said, ‘you’re my mother’s new number one favourite person.’
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