The Winter Sea (18 page)

‘So your family was in the fishing industry? Geoff was telling me about its downturn. Sounds a bit complicated, hard to know who’s to blame.’

Before they could continue the conversation, the entrees they had ordered arrived.

‘This looks marvellous!’ Cassie exclaimed.

‘Steve’s French onion soup is a winner. I have it a lot,’ said Michael.

‘Steve is the chef here?’

‘Yes. A nice bloke,’ said Michael.

‘The menu and this presentation show a lot of experience. Where’d he train, I wonder?’ mused Cassie. ‘How’d he end up here?’

‘He’s from Sydney. I think he got fed up with the city pressure, and he’s a surfie. He’s a bit younger than me and he likes to stay close to a beach and the coast, and around here is an affordable place for him to live.’

‘Any ambitions to move on?’ wondered Cassie. ‘I know what you mean about the pressure, it’s not easy being a chef. My parents owned a restaurant for years, so I know how it is. There was a young chef working in our family’s restaurant, he seemed good, but the pressure in the kitchen got to him and he started drinking, and after work he hit the party drugs pretty hard. When he was on top of things he cooked brilliantly, other days he was totally out of it. My mother had to fire him in the end.’

‘You know a lot about restaurants.’

‘I suppose I do. I’m not a chef, but I do know the business side of running a restaurant. I understood how it all works. I enjoyed helping Mum and Dad. But Dad died and Mum sold the business. She’s taken to travelling. She’s climbing Mount Kinabalu at the moment.’

Michael laughed. ‘How great. My parents aren’t quite so exciting. They left Whitby Point when they retired and moved to the Blue Mountains, which surprised me. They said they wanted a change of climate. They certainly got that, but they like it in the mountains – it’s quite different from living by the sea.’

‘Do you like living here?’ asked Cassie.

‘Yes, I love this area. It’s where my sisters and I grew up. It’s special and relatively unspoiled. I’ve been around a bit. Did a stint as a vet out in Moree and I’ve done my city slicker scene with an upwardly mobile wife, as well as a six-month locum in beautiful but wet Wales. The climate there was really hard to take and I was glad to get back home. After my divorce I headed back to Whitby Point to lick my wounds. Then my grandfather’s old home came on the market and it seemed like fate, so I bought it and set up my practice in it.’

‘Hmm, I can understand that,’ said Cassie thoughtfully. ‘I love my parents’ home but I don’t plan on living there. It’s a great location, and I enjoy being with my mum, but I’ll move on.’

‘But you do like being there?’

‘Yes, in a way. Mum’s house is near the beach and I love that, but Manly’s always crowded. Not like down here. I’m beginning to think I could get used to the south-coast lifestyle.’

After the waitress brought them their main course, Cassie looked at Michael and shook her head. ‘This is amazing. I never for one moment imagined food like this in such a tumbledown place like this pub. Sensational.’

Michael looked pleased. ‘I knew you’d like it. It is good. Look, even Bill is impressed.’

Bill had moved from under the table to sit expectantly at Cassie’s knee, his nose quivering in the direction of the inviting smells of their lunch.

‘Later, mate. We’ll take you for a run before we get home. Okay?’ said Michael.

‘I’m trying not to feed him tidbits when I eat,’ said Cassie. ‘But it’s hard, he always looks so pathetic. And with just the two of us, I’m treating him like my best mate. I’m so glad you found out his story, so I can officially adopt him. For better or worse.’

‘His loyalty to you will be absolute,’ said Michael. ‘You’ve got a new best friend.’ He lifted his glass. ‘To you and Bill.’

They finished the meal and then, at Michael’s suggestion, they shared a dessert.

‘I need the walk on the beach now, not just Bill,’ she exclaimed. ‘Thank you so much, Michael. This meal has been an unexpected revelation.’

‘I’ll take us back via a different route, there’s a spot where we can let Bill run to his heart’s content.’

Before they reached Whitby Point, Michael parked near some trees on a wide stretch of grassy verge to let Bill take off across the unfenced land. In the distance they saw a tin roof glinting in the sunlight. It was open land of rich grass, which had once been part of a dairy farm. Bill streaked ahead, nose to the ground, sniffing out rabbits. Cassie and Michael wandered down to the bottom of the slope, where there was a narrow dirt road.

‘This track winds around the corner and back up the hill so we can do a circuit back to the car,’ said Michael.

‘I suppose you get to know all these back roads when you treat animals out here?’

‘Yes, I do come out here occasionally,’ said Michael. ‘There’s a small vet practice a bit further south of Whitby Point but the vet’s only part time. The next big practice is nearer Bateman’s Bay, but I help out if I’m needed.’

As they rounded a bend Cassie called Bill, who took no notice until Michael gave a piercing whistle, which brought him running to their side. He was panting and excited.

‘If a dog could smile, Bill would come pretty close,’ said Cassie, laughing and giving him a pat. ‘Walk nicely now. Heel.’

‘He’s smart,’ said Michael as Bill obediently trotted at Cassie’s heel.

‘There’s a small farm down the bottom of this dip, then the road curves up to where we parked,’ said Michael.

‘I think I’ve walked off my lunch, but I won’t bother with dinner,’ said Cassie as she spotted a handwritten sign tacked to a wooden fence bordering a farm. ‘Vine-ripened tomatoes. I bet those are good. Can we pop in and see?’

‘Of course,’ said Michael and they turned down the rutted dirt driveway.

Cassie spied a large shed, a tractor and a couple of large glasshouses. ‘This all looks very neat and tidy,’ she said. ‘I suppose the tomatoes are grown in the glass houses. I wonder what else they’re growing?’

‘There’s the shed, I bet that’s where we’ll find the tomatoes. You plan on taking some home?’

‘You bet. Can’t beat fresh, just-picked tomatoes.’

A grey-snouted dachshund waddled to the entrance of the shed and gave a perfunctory bark. Bill returned with a low growl but stopped when Cassie said, ‘It’s okay, Bill, we’re on his territory.’

Inside the shed, which was filled with farming equipment, several tables were set up, one covered with bags and baskets of tomatoes in various stages of ripeness. Two men were seated at a separate table enjoying a glass of red wine and playing cards. One of them, who was wearing navy shorts and a T-shirt, got up to greet them. He was rotund, balding and short, and spoke with a thick accent.

‘Come in. The dogs they are good. My dog, she is very old.’

Bill and the dachshund circled each other, sniffing at tails.

‘Hello. I saw your sign about the tomatoes,’ said Cassie.

‘Help yourself. These green, good for chutney; these soon ripe, good now; and these very ripe, good for passata – tomato sauce.’

‘
Da quanto tempo sei stato qui
?’ asked Michael. ‘
Siete una famiglia locale
?’

Cassie stared in surprise at Michael, as the farmer answered Michael, also in Italian.

Michael grinned at Cassie. ‘He tells me that his family wanted to start a vineyard but it didn’t work out, so now they grow vegetables.’

‘You speak Italian very well. At least it sounds as though you do,’ said Cassie in admiration.

‘Thank you. Actually I learned Italian only recently. Thought I could get closer to my Italian heritage if I did.’

Cassie sniffed the ripe tomatoes. ‘Wow, these smell so rich and full of flavour. Two dollars a bag, I’ll take three bags, please. I’ll find some use for them.’

Michael strolled over to the table where the farmer and his friend had been playing cards. A loaf of bread, torn into chunks, lay on a plate beside a bowl of olive oil. He picked up the dark green bottle of oil, took off the lid and inhaled. ‘This smells really good.’

‘You’re not wrong,’ said the farmer’s friend with a strong Australian accent. ‘Never thought I’d be telling someone bread and oil are a good feed. But my mate has got me hooked on the stuff. He cooks a mean risotto, too. It’s our Sunday lunch thing, y’know.’

‘Charlie brings some of his lamb and I cook the stew,’ said the farmer.

‘You should open a restaurant,’ said Michael. ‘Where’s this oil from? It smells great.’ He peered at the label.

‘It’s made by my friend in Victoria. He brings to me when he comes and I sell it to my friends. Like the tomatoes.’

‘Can I try some of the oil?’ asked Cassie.

‘Sure, sure, take some bread and dip.’

Cassie and Michael tore off small pieces of the thick bread and dipped them into the green olive oil.

Cassie raised her eyebrows and looked at Michael. ‘This tastes great.’

‘I have plenty bottle. You want some? I sell for my friend. Fifteen dollar flagon.’

‘I’ll take one. Twenty-one dollars for the oil and the tomatoes – what a bargain. What a fabulous foodie day!’ She smiled at Michael.

‘You’re easily pleased. You’ll like it around here. There are a lot of local organic farms and people are starting up all sorts of gourmet enterprises around the coast. One of my clients has started growing truffles, and she has trained her pig to find them.’

They thanked the farmer and headed back up the hill to the car with Cassie’s purchases.

It was late in the afternoon when Michael dropped Cassie back at her cabin. She offered him a drink but he shook his head.

‘No thanks, I have some animals to check on now and an early start in the morning, but enjoy your week.’

‘I can’t thank you enough. I’ll save you some of my tomato sauce.’

It had been a long day. Cassie and Bill stretched out on the porch to watch the sunset through the trees. The temperature began to drop as the sun sank. Cassie wished she could contact her mother as she wanted to share the day with her. She wanted to tell her what a lovely person Michael was and about the ramshackle old pub where she’d had lunch. The more she thought about the food they’d eaten the more impressed she was with it. She’d definitely go back, especially if her mother came to visit. Suddenly she realised how much she’d love her mother to come and experience this place. It would be fun. Bill stretched and came and sat in front of her.

‘What? What?’ teased Cassie.

Bill cocked his head, looking hopeful, and gently put a paw on her lap.

She laughed. ‘Okay. Just because I can’t eat a thing doesn’t mean you want to skip dinner too, does it? You were very good today. Let’s see what we can rustle up.’

She fed Bill and went to check that her car was locked before settling down for the night. There was a note under her windscreen.

Trixie and I are going fishing about 7 tomorrow morning just before high tide if you want to join us. We’ll be across from the lagoon on the beach. I have some gear for you. Cheers, Geoff.

‘Sounds like a plan, don’t you think, Bill?’

*

The sun was obscured behind some cloud, but there was no wind and they had the beach to themselves. Trixie, Geoff’s wife, was a tiny ball of energy and Cassie liked her immediately. She’d already caught a tub of long sandworms by dragging a smelly bait tied in a stocking along the sand and then grabbing the head of each sandworm as it appeared in the wash of the receding waves, then pulling it out.

Geoff was using a big surf rod, walking along the beach and trawling his line as the surf was still not up. The tide was rising and Cassie thought that it looked nice and ‘fishy’.

‘Cast your line out into the gutter where it’s deeper. You can tell where the gutter is by the colour of the water,’ said Trixie. ‘Or am I teaching my grandmother how to suck eggs? You seem to know what you’re doing.’

Cassie dipped her hand into the bait bucket, pulled out a strip of sandy worm and attached it to the hook. She had added an extra sinker to her line to anchor her bait in a hole in the seabed or the gutter. ‘A flattie or a jewfish would be nice,’ she said.

‘I’m after tailor. The cat loves ’em and they’re good for bait for bigger fish. If you bleed them straight away they’re okay to eat. Does your dog eat fish?’ asked Geoff.

‘Haven’t tried him. I’d have to pick out the bones. Sounds like a bit of a hassle.’ She glanced back at Bill. ‘Keep away from the bait,’ she told the dog as it bounded away to chase seagulls.

Although the three of them were separated along the beach looking for the best spots, they were united in their pleasure of wading into the edge of the surf to cast their lines, or walking along the beach with their lines dragging behind, then winding in and landing a fish.

After three hours the sun finally appeared from behind the clouds. They’d each caught several fish, lost several others, and were wet and pleased with their morning’s effort.

‘Have you had breakfast?’ asked Cassie.

‘A cup of tea or coffee wouldn’t go astray,’ said Geoff. ‘I’ll clean your flathead in exchange.’

‘It’s a deal,’ said Cassie. ‘It’s only ten-thirty. What a great way to start the day.’

After they’d washed the fish and the saltwater and sand off themselves, Cassie carried mugs of coffee out to the porch. Trixie was carrying a plate from their car.

‘I made a cheesecake if you’d like some.’

‘Wow, that looks good! How nice of you.’

‘Trixie’s the dessert queen around here,’ said Geoff proudly.

As Trixie cut slices of the perfect-looking cheesecake, Cassie said, ‘I took a drive out of town to Blue Crane Lake. It’s a beautiful spot. What’s the fishing like down there?’

‘You need a boat to get to the good spots in the lake. But the place gets plenty of people in the summer. Did you see the glamorous condo complex that’s just been built there? Very upmarket, but low-key, if you know what I mean.’

‘Some famous architect designed it,’ added Trixie. ‘It certainly blends in with the surroundings.’

‘I love the old boatsheds. I think I’ll go back and browse around.’