Page 29 of A Perfect Devon Pub
‘Sorry to be a bore, but where can I find a bottle of Krug?’ asked Ivy.
Fiona groaned. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed, and she wasn’t sure she even had the energy to manage that unaided. She lifted a hand – it felt as if someone had attached one of those ankle weights people used in gyms – and pointed at a drawer. ‘Cellar key is in that drawer, Ivy,’ she whispered. ‘The Champagne is near the door, clearly labelled on the bin. There’s a fast chiller behind the bar.’
‘What do we do about Table 5’s wine?’ asked Kim.
‘I’ll deal with it,’ said Ruben, pushing Fiona upright. ‘George, if you can cope on your own for five minutes ...? Kim, let’s go and talk about fine wines, then I’ll help you locate their choice.’ As Josh helped Fiona onto her feet, she replayed the last few moments, drinking in the sensation of being cradled in the arms of the man she still – despite her best efforts – loved.
Thirteen
In her bedroom, Fiona lay propped up against a wall of pillows, her head heavy and her nose stuffy. It was difficult to concentrate on different wine scents with her nose swamped with the smell of menthol, eucalyptus and camphor from the rub slathered onto her chest. She lifted her eyes from her book. An early dusk seeped through the window, cold and damp. Outside, the countryside was awash with autumn’s rich colours. She could see a mature acer tree, its delicate leaves a stunning shade of deep red, almost purple, and nearby a beech tree surrounded by a carpet of rusted leaves. She pulled the quilt tighter around herself, the soft fabric deliciously cool against her flushed skin, making her shiver.
The book lay open across her lap, but each word on the page seemed to blur. ‘Tannins,’ she murmured aloud, her throat scratchy and hoarse. ‘High tannin wines ... High tannin wines can taste ... What?’ She shut her eyes, picturing herself swirling a slither of wine around a highly polished tasting glass while customers waited with bated breath for her verdict. But tonight, the thought of a complex rich Bordeaux blend made her feel queasy.
Her mind wandered to Josh. He’d made it pretty clear in their lessons that he was interested in more than just wine. At first, despite their age gap, she’d felt a thrill of something in return, but then his eyes had roved over Kim as well, and she’d realized he was just one of those people who flirted with everyone.She smiled ruefully at herself now, wondering if her fever was making her overly sentimental.
Josh was good looking, but he wasn’t a long-term prospect. ‘A charming rogue,’ is how her Aunt Ivy would describe him. He wasn’t looking for a relationship, he was looking for a holiday fling before he headed on somewhere else to try out the surf. She thought of Ru – so full of charm, laughter and a natural charisma that drew everyone to him. The chemistry between him and Fiona had been like lighting a match; it crackled and surged. In comparison, Josh was more like a shaft of warm sunshine on a cold day. She sighed, feeling her eyelids grow heavy.
But maybe, to move on from Ru, and for him to understand it was really over, a holiday fling was just what was needed. She reached for the mug of hot toddy – a soothing blend of lemon, honey and whisky – which her aunt had left by the bedside. Wrapping her hands around its comforting warmth, she felt the heat seep into her aching fingers, easing the stiffness. Fiona took a sip, the tartness biting at her sore throat, though the honey’s sweetness soothed a little. She hoped her aunt had used a cheap blended whisky in this concoction and hadn’t sacrificed a malt.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the cottage’s windows. Fiona closed her eyes, trying to picture Josh at her side. She imagined him strolling in, pulling the curtains, plumping up her pillows, then explaining he would be back later – ‘Surf’s up’. She winced. He wouldn’t know how to reach her, to pull her from this melancholy like Ru would.
Ru would nurse her with food. Right now, Fiona couldn’t imagine a single thing she wanted to eat, but he would think of something to tempt her with. He would have burst in, bringing with him tantalizing smells, and presented her with a tray of something irresistible. There would probably have been a rose in a bud vase on that tray. There would certainly have been aneager look in his eyes, waiting for her to congratulate him on his efforts.
Fiona allowed two tears to escape from her eyelids and snake down her cheeks. Then she snuggled down beneath the blankets. Each limb felt too heavy to move. The door opened and Ivy’s voice drifted in. ‘How are you, love? I’ve brought you another hot toddy for that throat.’
The soft shuffle of slippers on the hardwood floor, followed by the clink of a mug setting down on the bedside table signalled Ivy’s approach. A chair scraped quietly against the wooden floor. Fiona wiped her eyes and heaved herself upright. Ivy clearly had something she wanted to discuss. She hoped it wasn’t Ru.
But the chosen topic was worse. Without preamble, Ivy launched in. ‘When did you last speak to your parents? I think you really should call them, tell them what you’re going through with Ru and your studies.’
Fiona shifted on the bed, the sheet sticking to her damp skin. Call them? The thought left a sour taste in her mouth. She couldn’t remember when she had last spoken to either of her parents. Her mother’s voice had always been a strange thing – so formal, so distant, like they were two people in the same room but not quite sharing it. Fiona dredged around in her memory, deciding it was two years since she’d last spoken to them. Two years of WhatsApp messages with pictures of glorious sunsets, two years of dwindling invitations to visit Melbourne. That phone call had been to share the news she had passed her last wine exam.
‘Mum, I passed,’Fiona had announced, trying to keep her voice light, hiding the triumph she secretly harboured.
‘Darling, that’s wonderful news. Your father will be so pleased! You worked hard, and it paid off. A structured approach always yields results.’
Fiona closed her eyes, replaying her mother’s words. Astructured approach. Not pride, not love – just scientific cause and effect.
‘I presume this puts you on a good trajectory?’her mother continued.‘It’s fascinating how mastering a field is so often about disciplined study rather than innate talent. Though, of course, you have both. Darling, can I call you back? I’m late for a lecture.’
Fiona had carried around her mother’s last words for days, trying to decide if that was her mother’s way of telling her she was proud of Fiona’s achievements, but concluded it was just her mother wanting to end the call so she could get back to work.
No, the last person Fiona wanted to speak to about Ru, or about any aspect of her life, was her mother.
‘Ivy, please,’ Fiona mumbled, her throat raw. ‘I can’t ... I don’t need to talk to them. Not now.’ Perhaps not ever. It was always to Ivy she had turned to stitch together the parts of her life that felt too frayed. Fiona had the support of the relative she relied on. Why would she lean on her parents, when they had abandoned her?
‘You need your parents, Fiona. That’s what you need after a big break-up. Motherly love,’ Ivy said, her tone both kind and insistent. ‘I know you think you don’t, but—’
Fiona exhaled a sharp breath, her hands clenching the sheet beneath her, the fabric cool against her feverish skin. ‘Motherly love?’ she repeated bitterly, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘As if she knows what that is.’
Ivy’s sigh came, heavy with years of history. She sat down on the end of the bed, her presence warm and familiar. ‘She’s my sister. I know she’s not great on big shows of affection, but theyareyour parents, Fiona. You can’t keep pretending they don’t care.’
Fiona’s chest tightened. Her parents wouldn’t relish being disturbed from their academic worlds to discuss the mess theirdaughter was in. Anyway, Fiona knew what the solution was, and it wasn’tmotherly love. She turned her head towards the window, the blurry world outside her vision spinning gently. ‘You’ve always helped me. Always. What do they even know about my life? They’ve never been here. Never helped me when I was struggling.’
The silence stretched out, a thick pause that drifted between them like smoke. Then Ivy’s voice, softer now, but no less insistent: ‘What you need, love, is someone who truly cares. Someone who’s there. You need—’
‘No,’ Fiona interrupted, her voice sharp and desperate. ‘What I need is to rely on myself. I need to study, and then I need to pass my exam. I don’t need some ... virtualstrangerfrom Melbourne checking up on me. I’m fine. I don’t need whatever they have to offer.’
Ivy didn’t reply right away. Fiona could hear the faint rustle of her aunt’s hand in her lap, the slight creak of her fingers tightening around a mug. After a long pause, Ivy whispered, ‘Get some rest, but think about what I said.’
