Jemma chortled. ‘Oh, I bet.’
‘—forPelicanet.’ Sam blushed. ‘It’s easy to get caught up in running the restaurant and forget to take the time to simply enjoy her as the beautiful old boat she is. You staying here will force us to relax.’
‘Nice oxymoron,’ Jemma murmured.
‘Nothing beats waking up on the water,’ Dad said, manoeuvring Jemma’s case down the hall.
‘I’d think this place could be marketed as on the water.’ Jemma pointed out of the window to where the river glinted in the illumination of the verandah light.
Sam shook her head. ‘There’s nothing like having the boat moving beneath you as though it’s a living beast.’
‘Sounds slightly terrifying.’
Sam grinned. ‘Besides, this way you’ll have the bathroom to yourself. And a bit of space to spread out in,’ she added as Dad pushed the large suitcase into the room. ‘You might want to leave your work case in the lounge. I don’t think you’ll fit it in here.’
As Jemma had brought three laptops along, preferring to work across them rather than splitting a screen, she’d definitely need more space.
‘We’d better make tracks,’ Dad said, glancing at his watch. ‘I thought Italians were known for making long dining an art form, but it seems the Turkish elevate it to a whole new level.’
‘I’m surprised there’s a market for fancy cuisine out here,’ Jemma said.
‘Not so much fancy as different,’ Sam replied. ‘In a good way,’ she added, as though there might have been rumblings about the alternative.
‘I’ll warm up the car.’ Dad retreated as Jemma unzipped her case. But fighting her way through the contents seemed too hard. The fitted cashmere knit dress she’d travelled in would do fine for dinner, she decided.
‘There’s been a little pushback to the restaurant—well, to newcomers in general,’ Sam said. ‘But most people are thrilled to have a bit of choice.’
‘A person can only eat so many schnitzels, I guess.’ Jemma recalled that Settlers Bridge had two pubs, which seemed overkill for such a small place.
‘Not true,’ Dad called down the hallway.
‘Thought you were supposed to be a foodie?’ she yelled. ‘Shame on you!’
Sam looked startled at their volume and Jemma chuckled. ‘You need to come hang out with the family more, Sam,’ Jemma said kindly.
Sam held up both hands. ‘One passionate Italian is generally enough for me. I’m still scarred from last Christmas.’
‘Lucky you were working over Easter, then. Though I don’t think Nonna is ever going to forgive you for that.’ Even Jemma was dragged to church for the annual celebration, the ceremony a small pre-emptive penance for the feast that followed.
‘We had to catch the last of the decent cruising weather,’ Sam said. ‘It’s harder to get diners out for a meal on the water once it turns cold. Honestly, they don’t know what they’re missing—winter is the best time on the river. You’ll see why tomorrow.’
Not if she could come up with any kind of excuse. It should be enough that she’d left both the office and her home work station for the weekend; surely Dad and Sam didn’t expect her to socialise the whole time? ‘Realistically, Nonna probably owes you for not turning up,’ she said as she ran a comb through her hair. ‘She got to gripe very dramatically to about a hundred aunties and cousins about how you and Pierce are so focused on your new business, you don’t have time for family.’
‘Yet your grandparents are the ones who won’t visit,’ Dad called.
‘Yeah, because you live way beyond the streetlights,’ she yelled back, then grinned apologetically at Sam. ‘Sorry.Italians live loud, even those of us from the city. Or perhaps it’s just my family. Probably shouldn’t set us loose in all this open space.’ She indicated the window, where droplets of condensation attested to the chill rolling in from the river.
‘No, it’s not that,’ Sam said. ‘I was just being jumpy.’
Too late, Jemma recalled Sam’s history of domestic violence. That was the problem with working in law: empathy burnout was a very real thing. She witnessed the repercussions of so many tragedies, and delved into the detailed reports of so many horrors, it was easy to become hardened, inured to people’s emotions and feelings. That was probably Tien’s biggest failing: he didn’t have the requisite thick skin to handle the job. Jemma grabbed her leather jacket from the bed. ‘Let’s go, before Pierce starves. I’ll unpack later.’ The sooner they got dinner over with, the sooner she could hit her files.
Even in the dusk, Settlers Bridge was much as she’d remembered—a blink-and-miss-it kind of place straight out of a sepia-toned postcard. If she stood in the middle of the wide, empty, main street—shop windows hidden beneath curved verandahs and hand-painted signs dangling from undoubtedly rusty hooks—she’d be able to see anything worth seeing. The new restaurant was a surprise, though. The owners had replaced the traditional bullnosed verandah with a turquoise and white striped awning. Jemma could only imagine the ruckus that move had caused in a town that was stubbornly resisting progress.
Dad pulled the car in to the kerb near the restaurant. As Jemma stepped from the vehicle, she zipped her cropped jacket. Damp flurries gusted along the road so she scurriedto the restaurant, drawing her long, dark hair forward over one shoulder as Dad and Sam caught up with her. ‘Sorry, but if you had any idea how long it takes to straighten this lot, you’d know I’m allergic to rain.’
Dad rolled his eyes, but Sam chuckled. ‘Hang around here a bit longer and in no time flat you’ll end up living in jeans and with your hair in a ponytail. Like the rest of us,’ she added as another couple made a dash for the door. The guy’s surfer-blond hair was pulled into a ponytail. He held a little girl’s hand and the woman with them—whose short, dark hair sported a surprising splash of neon blue beneath the top layer—carried a baby.
Jemma smiled at the misguided naiveté of Sam’s comment. Everything Jemma did had a purpose, a reason. She didn’t dress, date or speak without a plan. Life had to focus solely on the endgame—making partner at GB&A.
