As Fiona explained the basics, Josh leaned forward, the chair legs hitting the floor with athunk.
‘Fancy grabbing a glass sometime? For educational purposes, of course.’ He winked.
Fiona felt herself blush. Were all Australians this forward? It was flattering to be flirted with, but she had no intention of reciprocating. She decided to change the subject.
‘What part of Australia are you from? And how did you end up working in Brambleton?’
‘Sydney. My gran used to live in Brambleton, before she came to live with us in Aus. She was a dinner lady at the local school. She told me a lot about the place, and I’ve always wanted to visit, try out the surf.’
‘And does the surf live up to expectations?’
‘I can see you’re warming to the idea of a surf lesson.’ Hechuckled. ‘It’s not Snapper Rocks or Bells Beach, but it’s fun. You can get good days, but it’s no match for Australia’s top spots. Easy place to learn.’
Though she couldn’t help smiling, she steered the conversation back to wine. ‘Let’s focus on wine.’
‘Right then, teach,’ he said, but his grin suggested he’d caught her earlier blush. ‘How do you decide what to recommend to a customer? Or do you just flog them the most expensive wine on the list? Some of the Barossa Valley wines cost more than a decent surfboard, don’t they?’
She stiffened. ‘And they’re worth every penny, but no, that’s the last thing a good sommelier does. It’s kind of personal preference—’
‘Like dating,’ he interjected smoothly. ‘Gotta know what suits, yeah?’
She pressed on, fighting to keep her voice steady. ‘Pairing wine well with food can enhance both. I try to match the intensity: rich foods go well with full-bodied wines, whereas lighter dishes suit more delicate wines. For example, a classic claret ...’ She caught herself, glanced at him with an inquiring expression then asked if he was familiar with that term.
‘George drinks claret,’ Josh said. She noticed he was actually taking notes now, despite his flirting. ‘Red wine from France. Though personally, I prefer Australian reds – bold, intense, not afraid to make a statement.’ His eyes met hers meaningfully.
Through the open window Fiona heard a van screech to a halt, prompting her to wrap up the lesson. She glanced at her watch, then at Josh, who was watching her with undisguised interest.
‘You really love this, don’t you?’ he said, his voice softer now, genuine. ‘Is that what makes you such a good sommelier? Or is it just that you’re passionate about everything you do?’
Laughing, Fiona brushed a lock of hair back, acutely aware of his gaze following the movement. ‘Yes and no. I’m enthusiasticabout wine, sure, but there’s more to it.’ She tapped her notes, trying to maintain a professional distance even as something warm and dangerous flickered in her chest. ‘Being a good sommelier is about learning enough that I convince the Court of Master Sommeliers that I belong in their ranks.’
Their eyes met. His interestwas obvious, and she felt her breath stolen. ‘Well,’ he said, standing and letting his hand brush hers, ‘reckon you’ve got at least one person convinced already.’
‘Thanks for that,’ she replied, her smile widening. ‘I have to convince them; prove I’m one of them. But I will if I study hard enough. I’m living with my aunt to save money and spending every spare minute studying.’ She gathered up her notes, tucking them into her bag and stowing it beneath her raincoat. ‘So do you think this sacrifice you’re making to join this court of experts is worth it?’ he drawled.
‘Of course!’
‘Just testing,’ he said, jumping upright. ‘But it seems to me you get enough joy out of your job already. Why not have some fun alongside it, instead of stuffing that pretty nose of yours in a book?’
Was he teasing her? She decided not to rise to the bait. ‘Come on we need to clock on. I don’t want George blaming me for making you late for work.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ groaned Josh, thrusting his chair back under the table. ‘Pat’s a dear, but I can see her solid methodical approach to prep is driving George nuts ... I gather they’ve finally found someone ...’
‘Someone experienced?’
‘Supposedly’ Josh smirked. ‘George insisted on a Zoom interview – swore half their CV was pure fiction.’
Fiona laughed, familiar with her share of embellished résumés. ‘Standard practice these days. A weekend washingdishes magically transforms into “culinary experience” at some trendy bistro.’
‘Exactly. But at this point, anyone who can hold a knife without slicing their finger off will do. It’s like waiting for the storm clouds to part when you know there’s a rescue ship somewhere on the horizon.’
As they stepped into the quiet of the reception area, Fiona’s mind lingered on a vision of joining the CMS. That was her own rescue ship, a vessel she’d tried to board once before, only to find her sea legs unsteady. But this time, she would study the charts more carefully. This time, she would prove herself seaworthy.
‘And the great news is,’ said Josh, ‘this guy wants to be in Devon like me, Rose reckons it’s ‘cos of the quality of the local produce, but I reckon he’s a surfing dude.’
Seven
On the Friday evening when George’s new junior was set to arrive, Fiona set off for the pub, expecting the atmosphere in the kitchen to be more relaxed. She reached the harbour, where cottages with pastel coloured façades stood in cheerful contrast to the deep blue of the sea. Flower boxes overflowed with late-blooming geraniums, pansies and violas, a riot of purples and vibrant yellows. In one doorway stood a tub of lavender. It was her favourite flower and made her think of the pots growing on the balcony at the London flat. She hoped Ru was taking care of them.
