They both looked down, taking in his running gear, then back up, where their eyes met again. Gemma looked faintly amused.
“You’re okay. I’ve got one or two connections up there. And I’m pretty sure I owe you, anyway.” She turned, but not before Falk caught her smiling, just a little to herself. “You know, from last time.”
19
The caravan that served as the on-site headquarters was empty, Falk could see as he followed Gemma across the grounds. The lanterns in the large tree overhead bathed the area in a soft glow, and she nodded to the folding chairs underneath.
“Grab a seat.”
Falk settled into a striped fabric director’s chair that was surprisingly comfortable as Gemma unlocked the caravan and went inside. She reappeared in the doorway a moment later, holding up a range of drink options in turn. Falk’s earlier run was starting to catch up with him and he could feel the pleasant warm burn building in his legs as he pointed gratefully at the cold water.
“Me, too,” Gemma said, coming out with two glasses and a filled glass bottle. She pulled up the chair opposite and then reached into her jeans pocket and put her phone on the table. “Sorry, I’m still on duty, so I have to keep an eye on it.”
“No worries, I know that feeling. Thanks,” he said as she poured the water for them both.
“Well.” She lifted her glass. “Welcome, Aaron Falk.”
“Thank you.” They looked at each other as they drank. He took along, deep swallow. Where to start? “Hey, I used the diary, by the way.” That seemed as good a place as any. He’d been kind of wanting to tell her that for a year. “The one you bought at the station.”
“You mean, the one I randomly forced on you.” Gemma laughed, a little embarrassed. “God, I couldn’t believe I’d done that later. The wine went to my head a bit. So how did you find it?”
“Useful,” Falk said truthfully. “For all those reasons you said. Made the work chaos feel a bit calmer. I bought a new one this year, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” she said lightly, but looked quite pleased. “And how is the task force going? Is the chaos manageable?”
“Just about.” Although Falk suddenly, maddeningly, pictured his phone. Lying on his bed back in the Racos’ guesthouse, heavy still with calls to return and emails to be answered. He gave himself an invisible mental shake to clear the image. “Speaking of work, though. Gemma, this festival is—”
He waved a hand effusively to indicate the entire complex operation. The night air was soaked with music and the steady hum of laughter and chatter from people enjoying themselves. Benefits for local producers, too, Falk guessed. Not to mention jobs created and money generated for the town. He could only imagine the amount of work it took to make the Marralee Valley Annual Food and Wine Festival a success.
“It’s a serious achievement,” he said. “Amazing. You don’t need me to tell you that, but congratulations. Really.”
“Thank you. Yeah, we’re all pretty proud of it.” She smiled. “I’m happy you got to see it.”
“Yeah, I am, too.”
Falk watched Gemma across the table. Her hair looked darker under the low light from the caravan and the trees. She hadn’t taken it down this time, he noticed. He’d vaguely wondered at times what it would be like if he ever found himself in this situation with her again. They’d spent one evening together sixteen months ago, and Falk was acutely aware that he’d probably airbrushed and edited at least some of it without meaning to. But here in the warm spring air, sitting in front of each other in the flawed flesh, he felt the same as he had on that cold,wet Melbourne night.Stay.She was watching him, too. He sat there in his running clothes and drank his water and tried to read her face. They both blinked as her phone suddenly buzzed loudly against the table. Gemma leaned forward.
“Joel’s home. Good.” She sat back, but her face showed a trace of tension now. “Listen, thank you. For helping him clean up the plaque. It means a lot to him. And me, as well.” She paused. “I guess Joel told you what happened to Dean?”
Falk nodded. “Shane McAfee brought it up as well.”
“Right.” Gemma sounded sad for a moment. “Yeah, they both find the festival difficult, with the anniversary of Dean’s accident.”
“Do you?” Falk asked, curious. “Being so involved here?”
“Well—” She hesitated. “The anniversary itself’s never my favorite day, obviously. But the festival, no. I don’t feel the same way they do. I don’t have that association, I guess, maybe because this is a year-round job for me. And…” She glanced out across the site. “I mean, we’d already lost Dean. Who was a huge important part of life for me and Joel. I really didn’t want to lose this as well.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I can understand that.” Grief hit people in different ways, though, and Falk found himself picturing Joel once more. Down there at the reservoir on a Friday night, a lonely figure with his cleaning cloths. From Gemma’s frown, he suspected she was thinking the same.
“Joel had actually been doing pretty well for a while,” she said. “I mean, it’s six years now since Dean died and he seemed to be going okay. But then last year—God, that whole nightmare with Kim.” Her voice was tight and she picked at her thumbnail.
“Were you and Kim close?” Falk asked.
Gemma’s nod was automatic, but then slowed. “We definitely used to be. When we were at school, and then again when I moved back. Dean and Charlie were friends, and Zara and Joel were around the same age. Did you know her?”
“No,” Falk said. “We never met.”
“Kim was the first one who said I should go for this job, as festival director.” Gemma smiled a little at the memory.
