‘Works well enough for Greenpeace,’ Charlee argued.
‘Hardly. Do you have millions in your back pocket? Because I reckon that’s what they’ve been fined for illegal activity.’
‘Except what they did wasn’t illegal,’ Tara interjected.
‘I know a lawyer who would probably argue otherwise.’ He could imagine Jemma wading into the argument … and he realised he’d welcome her take on it. Didn’t matter that she wouldn’t necessarily agree with him; her opinion would always be entertaining.
This time, Tara definitely rolled her eyes.
‘So you’ve checked out this piggery’s socials?’ he asked, directing the question to Ethan.
His friend nodded. ‘So far they’ve only put up a post saying they have footage.’
‘They’re probably bluffing, then.’
‘Yeah, because they’re hoping we don’t have anything on them that we can put out there,’ Tara said. ‘Which, apparently, we don’t.’ She sounded sulky, but at least she’d realised the potential seriousness of the situation.
Hamish got up to check the fridge, to see if, by some unlikely chance, he had something to offer around. ‘Well, as long as you keep your nose clean, everything should be all right, Ethan.’ He was unspeakably relieved that the situation wasn’t as dire as he’d first imagined. ‘Ah, Tara, Jemma said that Evie Schenscher reckoned there was a ute involved in that duckling story. Does that jog your memory?’
A flicker of something crossed Tara’s face, then she shook her head, but the movement was more confused than adamant. ‘Utes aren’t exactly in short supply round here, are they? Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Does Evie still have the ducklings?’
‘Far as I know. She said you were going to hand them over to Charlee.’
Tara turned to her friend. ‘You’re still taking in animals for the travelling farm, aren’t you?’
Charlee nodded. ‘Amelia has her wildlife carer’s licence, so we’re expanding from farm animals to pretty much anything. I’ll head out to Evie’s later today and pick them up.’
‘I’ll come with,’ Tara said, pushing back from the table. ‘No point hanging around here,’ she added, with a dark look in Hamish’s direction.
He tried not to chuckle; he could definitely shoulder the rejection.
25
Jemma
Jemma considered calling off dinner with her grandparents, but the rumble of her stomach advised otherwise. She hadn’t eaten all day—evidence that she hadn’t persuaded Hamish to stay for lunch. But what he had stayed for—that kiss—had been enough to keep her distracted for hours. What did it mean? Or, more importantly, and assuming her brain still functioned well enough to correctly interpret the passionate embrace, what did it mean that he’d refused to stay? He had been laughingly adamant in his determination to head straight back to Settlers and, while she appreciated his concern for his obligations there, it wasn’t like his responsibilities were career-focused; the world wasn’t going to end if he blew them off for an hour. Or six.
Frustratingly, his not-quite-rejection meant that Hamish was now taking up far more real estate in her thoughts than was permissible. After calling Nonna to say she’d be over for dinner, she’d spent a couple of hours in front of her computer, trying to force herself to concentrate onwork. Realising that she’d actually spent the bulk of that time stalking regional law firms and trying to drill down on an approximation of their income, she slammed the laptop shut, yelled at Google to pick a soundtrack and headed for the bathroom. A full-size bath was one of the most attractive amenities of the apartment, though one she rarely found time to indulge in. But today, everything was out of kilter and odd, so she’d take a languorous bath—glass of wine in hand—while allowing herself to play an unfamiliar game of what if? in her head. Because what if there could be something more with Hamish than a quick fling? What if he was on to something with his talk of setting up a country practice?
The problem was, she was too pragmatic to let daydreams go far; Hamish simply wasn’t handbag material. Sure, he had the looks and the quick wit, but there was no world in which their lifestyles could be compatible.
Come to think of it, his wit might be a handicap. Where Kain could be relied on to not have an opinion about anything beyond whether he needed to add an SPF to his skincare regime, Hamish had proven he had a diabolical sense of humour, coupled with a ready mouth.
Something in her chest gave a flutter as she recalled the other things that mouth had been up to recently.
She set aside her glass with a sharp clink. Wine mixed with an overheated bath in the middle of the day evidently caused serious arrhythmia. That was another mistake she wouldn’t be repeating.
‘So?’ Nonna said, setting down her fork.
‘So, what?’ Dinner with her grandparents may not have been the best idea. Except for when it came to Uncle Dan, her grandmother was far too astute.
‘So what have you done with our Jemma? Who is this woman who is pushing her food around the plate and sighing every five minutes?’
‘I’m not … sighing,’ she said, realising that she couldn’t defend the other accusation.
‘I have to agree with your nonna on this one,’ Nonno said, as though he ever did otherwise. ‘Since you moved to the country, you are different,bella.’ He stood and took the pasta plates from the table. ‘I shall fetch thesecondo.’
‘I didn’t move there,’ she yelled after him. Although Sundays were the only day she ate at their house, rather than the trattoria, her grandparents didn’t believe in downplaying either the quantity or the quality of food. They’d already had an antipasto of prosciutto and melon, followed by a small plate of handmade ravioli.
