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  Their business finished, Eric held the gym door open for Tim and watched as he propelled himself awkwardly down the walkway towards his cottage, glad it wasn’t him in the wheelchair. Although the undivided attention of the young physiotherapist every day would be a bonus.

  *

  Tim wasn’t the only one struggling with a disability that afternoon in Queenstown. Lizzie had slid herself to the edge of the sofa, clutching her drooping skirt to her ever-diminishing girth and tucking it into the waistband. She used both hands to put her weight onto the walker and pull-push herself up. Taking one tottering step after another, she swung her damaged leg in front of her with each painful step. She was breathless and sweaty by the time she reached the door. Determined, she leaned heavily against it to get her breath back, then set off again. This was the fifth of the ten room circuits she had decided to finish that afternoon. Walking was much harder than she remembered.

  She could feel her heart thumping hard and fast deep inside her chest, and wondered if she might die there and then, while she was still too big to fit through the door. She’d noticed since stopping the coke that she had to pull her skirt tighter around her waist or it would fall round her knees when she stood up. Nick hadn’t said anything more about her weight loss, but she noticed the pizzas he brought were thinner, and skimpy on the cheese and meat. The other orders he’d brought were all half sizes, but she’d let it go until this morning, when he’d had the temerity to drop off only three vegetarian pizzas garnished with raw vegetables. This had been too much, and she’d rung the restaurant and complained to that poor knocked-up sister of his, Kate.

  Just one more lap to go and she’d allow herself rest and sleep. In the last week she’d slept more deeply than she had in the past ten years, and miraculously had stayed asleep for several hours. She was getting fit enough to die, and thin enough to fit in the casket Maggie had let her know had arrived, she thought blackly.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Maggie, Elka and Nick climbed out of the limousine at the front door of the Lodge. Nick, the first out, was feeling awkward and uncomfortable in the shirt and tie his mother had insisted he wear. He undid his top button and loosened the tie, shrugging his shoulders as if to shake off the invisible shackles of his mother’s old-fashioned standards.

  Maggie was wearing her usual black, but the dress was anything but dowdy as it flattered the slim body beneath and highlighted her hair worn loose on her shoulders. She’d thought it best not to repeat the mistake of the Jimmy Choos and had chosen heeled black boots, which gave height, but more importantly, stability. Her gold necklace and simple pearl and gold earrings complemented her overall appearance, making her look both elegant and beautiful.

  Elka was wearing a flowing robe of many colours, a dress she hadn’t been able to wear for years but now could, making the most of her slimmer figure, post surgery.

  Dressed up and being treated like celebrities, it was impossible not to be excited about the evening ahead. When Kate had talked to them earlier, she’d been unable to contain her enthusiasm for the menu. She’d worked day and night to create a very special dinner, every dish approved by Eric.

  A waiter with a tray of chilled champagne bubbling in elegant flutes met them at the door. Near the entrance hall fireplace, flanked by his mother and his wife in formal evening dress, sat Tim James. His dinner suit was loose on him, revealing the physical toll the last few weeks had taken.

  Maggie’s party was the first to arrive, and with champagne glasses in hand, Matt took them over and introduced each in turn to their host and his family, before leaving to welcome the next arrivals.

  As soon as he heard Nick’s name Tim beckoned him closer before reaching up and grabbing the boy, hugging him tightly and whispering a heartfelt thank you. Jenny and Sylvia followed suit. It was the first time the two men had met since the accident. Tim said he had no memory of being under the boat, but that he’d been told how Nick had saved his life at great risk to himself.

  Maggie and Elka stepped back, making way for others to be introduced. The room was lavishly decorated with huge arrangements of orchids, roses and peonies, lit by candles everywhere. In the middle of the hall, the table for fourteen was set with thick white linen, gleaming silverware and a glittering array of crystal. At each setting, marked with beautifully written place names, sat a small eggshell-blue box.

  When Ben arrived, Maggie had to turn away to admire the darkening view. He looked overwhelmingly, mouth-wateringly handsome in a tailored dinner suit. His appearance wasn’t lost on Elka, or on any of the other women in the room. Elka and Maggie exchanged looks over the rims of their champagne flutes, eyebrows raised, barely able to stop smiling let alone retain any semblance of dignity. Nick, catching sight of their schoolgirl silliness, grimaced.

  When all the guests had arrived, Matt discreetly called for their attention, and Jenny pushed Tim forward in his wheelchair. The room hushed and he raised his glass. “I’ve asked you here tonight to thank each one of you. Thank you for my life. Without you I wouldn’t be alive to be a husband to my wife, a son to mother and a father to my son. And the world would also have lost its greatest movie star!” He took a long drink, during which there was an embarrassed pause. Matt looked desperately at Sylvia.

  “Has George Clooney been in an accident too?” she asked, loudly. There was polite laughter, and everyone relaxed.

  “Thank you, Sylvia,” said Tim. “Seriously, I owe you all my life and as a token of gratitude I have a small gift for you, which you’ll find in the box beside your place name. Please take your seats and I’ll ask Matt to let the kitchen know we’re ready.”

  Maggie was seated between Nick and Ben, but wasn’t too worried about what to say to Ben, as he’d no doubt be distracted by the beautiful Jenny who was seated on his other side. She was dressed in a floor-length white designer dress complemented by the largest gold and diamond bracelet and matching earrings Maggie had ever seen. Maggie noted Jenny’s looks weren’t lost on the good doctor, and was relieved she’d have Nick to talk to.

  Mike’s widow, Susie, was seated between Sylvia and Matt, who’d been charged with helping her through the evening. Mike’s son, Haami, still grieving for his father, was next to Nick. They had known each other at school and there was much to catch up on. Maggie recognised Kate’s thoughtfulness in the seating plan.

  Encouraged by Jenny and Sylvia, the guests opened the little boxes beside their plates. The women had each been given an exquisite pair of enamel and gold earrings from Tiffany’s, and the men received cufflinks, also in enamel and gold.

  Jenny broke the silence. “I hope you like your gifts. I chose them, and had them flown down. I adore pieces from Tiffany’s, as you can tell,” she said, waving her wrist with its heavy bracelet.

  Tim turned pale green at the sight of the bracelet he had been planning to tell Jenny to return. Mentally he totted up how many significant occasions this gift could possibly cover, adding their upcoming anniversary, to the birth of Isaac and contrition for Auckland. He also made a mental note to himself to cancel the account at Tiffany’s at the earliest opportunity, but when he looked at his mother he realised it was too late. She was wearing earrings, and a necklace and a bracelet, all from Tiffany’s. He wondered when the tiara would be brought out.

  Taking a long, deep draught of champagne to steady his bank-balance phobia, he raised his glass and announced, “Tonight we have a special dinner for you, prepared from the finest ingredients to be found in Aotearoa/New Zealand and matched with your finest wines. This dinner has been created for you by Eric Mansfield, a three-star Michelin chef, author of best-selling books and the owner of Eric’s in London and New York – a man I have known for many years.”

  Nick saw Maggie’s and Elka’s eyes meet. No mention of Kate. He squirmed in his chair at the omission of his sister’s name. He knew how hard Kate had been working, and the amount of preparation she’d done for tonight’s dinner.

  “But first we will take
a minute’s silence to remember Mike. Haami and Susie,” continued Tim. “I only came to know Mike the week before our terrible accident, but I was, and I can say this sincerely, looking forward to getting to know him better. I share only a small part of your grief, but I can share a large part of the celebration of the man you loved. He was a fine pilot, a good man and I’m deeply sorry for your loss. We all are, so I ask you to stand and observe a minute’s silence for Mike, or Mikaere, as he was known to his family.”

  During the silence, Matt and Sylvia supported Susie between them. As the others sat down again, Susie remained standing, proudly looking around the table.

  “Mikaere spoke about you, Tim,” she said. “He spoke of you as a friend, a man from another world who he’d not liked at first. No, really,” she said, looking at the genuine surprise on Tim’s face. “He thought you were a bit stuck up, and that’s the polite version.”

  “Appreciated, Susie,” said Sylvia.

  People looked down at their glasses, not wanting to catch the other guests’ eyes for fear of their smiles being caught by their host.

  Susie continued. “That morning when he left for work, he told me how he’d got to know you better. He said what a strong man you were, and how day after day you bore the load of everyone’s expectations for the film. He told me he liked you, and deep inside, underneath the Hollywood stuff, you were real. Being ‘real’ is the highest compliment Mikaere paid to anyone, isn’t it, Haami? So thank you, Mr James – Tim – for being a friend to my man and for making his last day on earth ‘real’. And thank you for tonight. He’s with us as we celebrate your recovery and life. The best thing we can do to remember my Mikaere is to eat, drink and enjoy each other’s company.”

  Susie sat down to a round of soft applause, and on cue the doors from the kitchen swung open and a stream of six waiters brought out the first dish. Two wine waiters whisked away the champagne flutes, and another two waiters filled glasses with a crisp New Zealand sauvignon blanc.

  Course after exquisite course followed: venison; racks of wild rabbit baked with central Otago wild thyme; fresh goats’ cheese drizzled with manuka honey flown in from the Bay of Plenty; dark paua meat from Fiordland; fresh crayfish from Kaikoura; salmon from the Southern Alps served with fennel and chives; marbled Angus fillet steaks from Hawke’s Bay served with the soft round flavours of a Martinborough pinot noir. Fruit sorbets, perfect crème brûlée, baked fruit possets contrasting with homemade pomegranate ice cream set with golden kiwifruit candies. Boutique cheeses made from sheep and buffalo milk, served with freshly baked crackers and bread and accompanied by a cold dessert Riesling, followed by liqueurs, coffee, hand-made chocolates and petit fours.

  Kate’s talent, skill, imagination and execution was obvious in every course, every dish. She’d barely slept for two days as she did the preparations, driven by her need to prove to Eric that she was the better chef and always would be, even if she was confined for the time being to a resort town at the bottom of the world. Having the dinner to focus on had helped her cope when he’d told her he was leaving. In her head she knew he could do nothing else, but the way he’d told her made her finally understand and accept that he had never cared for her. She was just another notch on his belt, another kitchen romance, and she cursed herself for her naivety. She had barely listened when he’d offered her work at any of his restaurants, regardless of his wife’s objections, but only if she left her baby with her mother – not our baby, her baby. Stupefied by the dawning realisation of her own foolishness, believing his lies when he’d wanted to be her lover, she closed off a large part of her heart. She had done this to herself. Her romantic belief in the honesty of her love had brought her to this place, with this man who had stolen her integrity as well as her recipes, heartbreakingly and with her total complicity. Kate felt the door close in her soul and she knew what she had to do. She cooked.

  The dinner was over and the waiters were serving final coffees, port and liqueurs.

  Matt had arranged for photographs to be taken of everyone together, and individually with Tim and his family, the smiles genuine and broad.

  “We need a photograph with the chef,” said Tim. “We should drink a toast to him and the wonderful meal. He outdid himself this evening. The food tonight was even better than at our wedding, Jenny, wasn’t it?”

  Reluctantly, Jenny turned her attention away from Ben. “Sorry, Tim, I didn’t hear you.”

  “I said Eric outdid himself and the food was even better than at our wedding.” Tim held out his hand for her to come to him, away from the handsome doctor.

  “I think you’re right. Tonight was fabulous,” agreed Jenny, moving to his side.

  “I wouldn’t know,” said Sylvia. “I wasn’t invited to my son’s wedding. Go figure.”

  Susie patted her hand comfortingly.

  “Matt, bring out some Krug,” called Tim.

  The waiters reappeared with fresh glasses and several bottles, just before Eric made his grand entrance in his spotless kitchen whites.

  Tim raised his glass. “To Eric. My friend and the best chef in the world.”

  The photographer took photos of the two men shaking hands while raising their glasses to each other.

  “What about Kate?” asked Nick. “Doesn’t she deserve to be here too?”

  “It’s not usual for the sous chef to be included,” said Eric, before turning his back and talking quietly to Tim.

  “It was Kate who created the recipes, and it was Kate who prepared and cooked them. She deserves to be acknowledged,” Nick said again, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

  The other guests stopped talking, turning first to look at Nick, and then to Eric to see what would happen next.

  Matt looked for guidance to Tim, who gestured to him not to interfere.

  Eric shifted uncomfortably and looked to Tim for support. Tim shrugged. Eric huffed, but realising he was fighting a losing battle, walked to the door and called for Kate and Pete, the chef at the Lodge to come out. They arrived looking dishevelled and tired, their kitchen whites stained with splashes of food and their hair plastered to their foreheads with sweat.

  Eric handed them each a glass of champagne and quickly asked everyone to toast his assistants.

  “Speech, Kate”, said Nick.

  “Do be quiet,” said Kate. She looked uncomfortable in the spotlight, and she tried to usher Pete back through the door with her to anonymity.

  “No, wait a minute,” said Pete. “I agree with Nick. I think everyone should know. It was you who created the menu, Kate. You who scoured the country for the ingredients and supervised the quality, you who did most of the prep work, with help from me. It was you who discussed the wine with the sommelier and you who cajoled the rare bottles from the vineyards. You created and cooked this meal. And this three-Michelin-star-chef Eric bloody Mansfield just sat on his British backside and has done nothing except take all the credit.”

  “So, ladies and gentlemen, I realise you aren’t here tonight to discuss the work etiquette of those who have cooked for you, and I sincerely apologise for the intrusion, but I do think if credit is to be given, it should be to the person who deserves it – Kate Potter.”

  The locals raised their glasses and cheered. Sylvia, who had had too much to drink, cheered the loudest, before the waiter refilled her proffered glass.

  And then, as captured by the photographer in a remarkable series of still shots which would be sold to newspapers all over the world, Eric Mansfield angrily launched himself across the room, arms outstretched, teeth exposed in a fierce grimace, eyes fixed firmly on his target – the throat of Pete, the honest chef at The Lodge, Queenstown, New Zealand.

  In the background of the photos, which would form an award-winning photo essay on the subject of human emotions, Tim James could be seen in his wheelchair laughing uproariously, looking genuinely happier than he had in years. Jenny, her hand resting lovingly on his shoulder, was clearly enjoying the moment with her husband, while
Sylvia was draining the last of the champagne from her upended glass.

  It was this photo which reassured the studios Tim James would soon be well enough to return to acting full time, and which meant he was sent a pile of scripts that would keep him booked for the next three years.

  As Eric landed spread-eagled on the floor, in the space left vacant by the nimble Pete, who had side-stepped neatly out of the way, Ben Goodman leapt onto him and pinned his hands behind his back, telling him this was enough and he should behave. “There are ladies present, old chap.”

  The photo of the handsome doctor in his immaculate dinner suit sitting astride the world-famous chef, exhorting him to behave, appeared on CNN News with the caption “First, Catch your Chef!”

  Chapter Forty-five

  Eric left town quietly the next morning, before the locals and the last remaining members of the press had woken up. Hidden behind dark Ray-Bans, and shrouded in a fedora and large black coat, he scurried up the steps of the jet kindly lent to him by Jenny James, who only informed her husband of his generosity after the plane had left New Zealand airspace.

  A week later it was Tim and his entourage who made a quiet exit from the country when he was finally allowed to fly, but not before Susie and Haami took them to Mike’s marae. Tim wanted to pay his respects to the man he had just been getting to know. This visit wasn’t made public, despite Matt’s recommendations.

  Winter seemed to stretch long into spring, with a late September snowfall crushing fruit blossoms and daffodils alike. The snow was welcomed by the ski field operators, but not by farmers on the surrounding stations, especially those with early lambs.

  Flu did the rounds again of the town’s rest homes, keeping Maggie busy as she arranged funerals attended by the vaccinated who would live to see another summer.

  Nick continued his deliveries and helped out in the restaurant when needed. Lizzie, his favourite customer, was fading away before his eyes. Unfortunately her mood hadn’t improved, and woe betide him if he forgot any of the three pizzas she now consumed each day, accompanied by salad and fresh fruit.