Emily returned his smile, moving through the lounge room to warm herself by the flickering flames. ‘The camera crew and producers were up way later than you. If they’d put a log on before they went to their trailers to sleep, like you’d asked, it’d be toasty warm this morning. You were out for the count when I crept into your room to steal an extra layer at 4 am. I hope you don’t mind?’
That explained the wardrobe door. Emily was the oldest contestant, with an ingrained passion for farming that traced back to her soldier settler roots. And although she was the most direct, she seemed intent on earning his respect and building a rapport instead of chasing his affections. Or maybe she’dlearned from the first farewell dinner, when he eliminated the contestant who’d made a beeline for his bed.
Crossing the kitchen, Spencer made them both a cup of tea. Dolly perched herself on the hearth, gazing up at Emily in an open invitation to be patted. The dog had warmed to each of the five contestants he’d brought home, but like Louisa and Ian, she seemed to have forged a particularly close bond with Emily.
‘Help yourself to whatever you like while you’re staying here. I’ll put out more blankets tonight. Though the other girls might think there’s something going on when they see you wearing my robe.’
Emily held his gaze, a zing passing between them as he handed her the mug and their fingers touched. ‘I’m not worried about what the other girls think. I’m here to find a husband, and as far as connections go, I think ours is pretty good. Don’t you?’
Rain peppered the kitchen verandah as Spencer considered his answer. The longer they filmed, the harder it was to discern honesty and diplomacy, to know what was real and what was orchestrated for the cameras.
‘We’ve got plenty in common,’ he admitted. ‘I think there’s chemistry, for sure, and I want to get to know you more.’
‘Look at you two, all cosy and cute so early on a winter’s morning.’ Dana, the producer, strode inside, knitted beanie pulled down low over her ears and a puffer jacket zipped up to her chin. Like Spencer, she was fully dressed and ready for the day. She took in Emily’s megawatt smile and wagged a finger.
‘I hope you’re not discussing anything juicy. You know the rules, save that jazz for the mikes, cameras and action.’ She grabbed her Nespresso pods from the pantry. ‘Thank God for coffee. How does anyone sleep with all this silence? Giveme a rattling train line, a busy highway and the soothing sounds of early-morning street sweepers and garbos any day. It’s like the white noise playlist I never knew I needed until coming out here.’ She laughed, looking out the window where slivers of gold were creeping through the dark clouds. ‘Our plans to film at tennis will be pushed to next weekend if this wet weather sets in. We’ll film a bake-off between the girls instead and get some four-wheel driving footage while those paddocks are slushy. Are your sister and her family still travelling down from Adelaide today, Spencer?’
Dana’s ever-present notepad appeared. She scribbled notes as coffee spurted into her mug, noting Spencer’s confirmation.
Addison’s impending arrival, and her opinion of the four remaining ladies, was both a relief and a worry. What if she was Team Ginger, or if she had a soft spot for the funny and hardworking FIFO worker, Madeleine from WA? Louisa and Ian had already ear-marked Emily as the frontrunner, and Spencer wondered if that had coloured his judgement. It was confusing enough trying to work out his own feelings, but Spencer knew one thing for sure: Addison wouldn’t be afraid to speak her mind. And at this stage in the contest, perhaps her judgement would be more impartial than his.
‘What do you think of the baklava donuts?’ Clem had been watching the Brealys sample the dish, and they’d been deep in conversation, with much head shaking and chin tapping. ‘Are they a keeper, or just a seasonal special for winter?’
Since opening the cafe, Clem had made it her mission to seek feedback from her regular customers on the range of menu items. Although right now, as Ian and Louisa Brealy shuffled their morning tea plates to make way for a fresh potof Darjeeling, their thoughtful pause felt like the harbinger of bad news.
‘If I wasn’t a beekeeper, I’d probably have a whole different stance,’ Ian said, offering an apologetic smile.
Clem pulled a face. ‘The majority of the topping’s still on your plate; it’s clear this is gonna hurt. Go on,’ she said, rolling her shoulders. ‘Rip the bandaid off. Tell me what’s wrong with it.’
Louisa rested a hand on Clem’s arm. ‘Nothing at all, Clem. It’s sweet, nutty and delicious. Ian’s just pedantic.’
Clem laughed as Ian raised his hands in mock outrage. ‘She asked for honest feedback, Lou, and you know I’ve never been one to beat around the bush. As an apiarist, I think the honey’s all wrong for this dish. You’ve put so many beautiful flavours in there, delicate notes of almond and pistachio and rosewater, but the honey dominates. At a guess, it’s probably come off stringybark scrub? Or maybe Tassie Leatherwood? A gentler variety wouldn’t overpower the whole thing.’
Louisa busied herself with the teapot, pouring the fresh brew into the mugs, and for Clem, that was evidence enough that she tasted it too.
The stringybark honey was from a friend near Wattle Range. His wholesale quote had come in cheaper than the other apiarists in the district, including South Giddi Giddi, but now that Ian had pinpointed the problem, Clem understood exactly what he meant.
She glanced across at the mothers’ group warming up by the open fireplace, feeding their toddlers cake and babycinos after being caught in the rain. They were the only other customers in the cafe, and they were happy for now, so she urged her favourite Canadians to elaborate.
Constructive feedback is as important as five-star reviews,she told herself. And while she didn’t want to ask how theBrealys were handling the reality TV filming, she certainly wouldn’t object if the conversation headed that way.
‘I’m not tooting my own horn, but let me drop a sample bucket around and you can see for yourself. Our last harvest came from canola paddocks, it has a lighter taste, lighter colour, and would suit that recipe down to the ground.’
It was only after the Brealys left, and the mothers’ group strolled out with their sleepy babies, that Clem realised they’d never broached the topic ofLove on the Land.Spencer had been surprisingly sympathetic about the guinea-pig incident, and she’d reflected on their school car-park conversation more than once since then. It was the longest they’d spoken in the three years she’d known him.
Had he been brushing up on his rusty conversational skills, ready for the television program? He was probably gallivanting around the countryside with the contestants at this very moment, whispering sweet nothings and rolling in the hay with the women who were clamouring to be his bride.
She wasn’t sure why, but the image didn’t sit well.
Clem did another sweep through the cafe, polishing water glasses and cleaning up after the last customers when Sebastian hung up the phone. Across the room, she could see him reaching for the reservations book.
‘Tell me Kathy West has started another craft group, or a walking group, and they’re making this their regular watering hole? Or is it a massive order for fresh produce?’ Hazel’s mum had been another strong advocate for the farm gate cafe since its doors had opened.
‘Courtney just cancelled their Wednesday table.’
‘Again?’ The ladies had cancelled two coffee catch-ups in a row, and Clem missed their friendly faces and cheerful chatter, not to mention their patronage. ‘You don’t think we’ve given one of them food poisoning or offended them somehow?’
Sebastian shook his head. ‘She told me to assure you it was a temporary thing, and absolutely nothing to do with the food or the service. Apparently they’re either sick or away, but they’ll be back after the school holidays.’
