Table For Eight Read online

  About the Author

  TRICIA STRINGER is a bestselling and multiple award-winning author. Her books include rural romances Queen of the Road, Right as Rain, Riverboat Point, Between the Vines, A Chance of Stormy Weather and Come Rain or Shine. She has also published a historical saga; Heart of the Country, Dust on the Horizon and Jewel in the North are set in the unforgiving landscape of nineteenth-century Flinders Ranges. Tricia grew up on a farm in country South Australia and has spent most of her life in rural communities, as owner of a post office and bookshop, as a teacher and librarian, and now as a full-time writer. She lives in the beautiful Copper Coast region with her husband Daryl, travelling and exploring Australia’s diverse communities and landscapes, and sharing her passion for the country and its people through her authentic stories and their vivid characters.

  For further information go to triciastringer.com or connect with Tricia on Facebook or Twitter @tricia_stringer

  Also by Tricia Stringer

  Queen of the Road

  Right as Rain

  Riverboat Point

  Between the Vines

  A Chance of Stormy Weather

  Come Rain or Shine

  The Flinders Ranges Series

  Heart of the Country

  Dust on the Horizon

  Jewel in the North

  Table for Eight

  TRICIA STRINGER

  www.harlequinbooks.com.au

  For Sian

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Tricia Stringer

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Acknowledgements

  One

  Paddington, Sydney, 2018

  The rain stopped as quickly as it had begun. A sudden thunderstorm in January wasn’t unusual, and Sydneysiders were used to it. On the corner of Mayfair and Third streets the white facade of number one gleamed in the sunshine, a beacon of brightness among the dull greys and terracotta colours of the old terrace houses stretching away on either side. Shoppers were out again, stepping over the puddles, and two joggers pounded around the corner, nearly colliding with a delivery woman who pushed open the door to number one.

  A bell tinkled, and the courier paused to take in the decor. The room’s discreet lighting added to the sunshine coming in through the large plate-glass windows. The walls were lined with racks of chic dresses, tailored jackets and stylish skirts, perhaps a little too crowded to show off their quality. Another circular rack in the middle of the room drooped under the weight of formal wear – long dresses, silk creations, laces and chiffons in colours from the brightest scarlet to the softest blue. The delivery woman strode forward.

  The young assistant at the counter looked up expectantly, her ready smile creasing into a frown as she noted the wet footprints being left across the whitewashed wooden floor of the main entrance to Ketty Clift Couture.

  “Deliveries at the side entrance.”

  The courier plonked a small box on the counter. “I was told this was urgent.”

  The assistant’s eyes widened when she saw the name of the sender. She signed for the package, scooped it up and, with only a quick thought to retrieving the mop on her way back, she hurried past the heavy linen drapes of the fitting rooms, through the client lounge and out into the brightly lit work area.

  Neither the woman bent over the large cutting table nor the other two focused on their sewing machines paid her any attention. The warm tones of jazz could be heard each time the machines paused. Six women worked here and they took turns to select the background music of the day. Today it was Miss Ketty’s choice and she always went for jazz.

  In the back corner of the workshop she caught a glimpse of her employer’s now chin-length grey hair. It was swept back from her forehead in a look that might be harsh on some but was softened by the waves of hair that curled back and around to her cheeks. It was a crowning glory above the elegant but simple black shirt and pants the older woman favoured. She was bent over a drafting table with her manager, both engrossed in what they were doing. The assistant hurried in their direction.

  Ketty Clift adjusted her reading glasses on her nose with one hand while the pencil in her other swept over the paper, adding lines to the sketch. She was acutely aware of Judith Pettigrew’s sharp gaze following every mark.

  “Just another tuck here below the bust and slightly more fullness over the hips…and the hem sitting just at the knee.”

  “You don’t think it a little over the top for a woman in her seventies?”

  Ketty added a few finishing touches. Judith was an excellent dressmaker and more than capable in her role as Ketty’s second in command, but she sometimes lacked that little extra creativity to translate the customer’s design into a sketch that could then be drafted to a pattern. Her eagerness to get the job done sometimes made her seem brusque but beneath her stiff exterior Ketty knew Judith to be kind-hearted. Ketty also knew the woman who had ordered this dress very well. It would be the fifteenth special outfit she’d made for Enid Hanson and she understood what suited the tall but curvy body of her long-time customer.

  “Our work is to make our client look exquisite but also to feel special. Enid still has great legs.” Ketty’s hand swished lower down the paper. “The eggplant shantung will complement her complexion and provide a soft rustle as she moves.” She could picture Enid in the outfit that, as yet, was still a sketch created from the magazine pictures she had provided at her first appointment.

  Ketty looked up at the sound of hurried footsteps across the polished cement floor of the workroom.

  “Miss Carslake, we do not run in this establishment.” Judith’s clipped voice brought a glow to the younger woman’s cheeks and she slowed her approach.

  Ketty smiled at the young assistant. Her dark brown hair, straight with a fringe sitting just above her eyebrows, created a frame for her pale face. She wore a dress of sheer black fabric she’d designed herself. It was skilfully cut so that it floated around her small frame without bulk and stopped well above her knees showing off her shapely legs, which disappeared into the black leather of her Doc Marten boots. A heavy silver chain hung around her neck, the cross it supported resting just above her waist and giving her the look of an angelic but slightly underdressed nun.

  “What is it, Lacey?”

  “This box arrived by courier. I think it’s the buttons you were waiting on for Miss Davidson’s wedding dress.” The assistant’s look shifted to the orchid chiffon and lace garment on a nearby dressmaker’s dummy.

  “Thank you, Lacey.” Ketty took the box and hugged it to her. “What a relief.”

  “The dress is looking beautiful, Miss Ketty.” Lacey turned back. “You can rest easy on your cruise now. It will be finished in time.” She stayed where she was
.

  “Is there something else?”

  “I also wanted to let you know my IT friend has your new website ready. I’d love to show it to you before you go.”

  Ketty glanced at her watch. “I don’t think I have time, Lacey.” The internet was of little interest to Ketty when it came to her business, which had been founded on the belief that it was the personal touch that mattered to her customers, and she couldn’t equate that with the online world. She’d had a young lad create a website several years earlier and had done nothing to it since. Lacey had convinced her to update it. A friend would do it for a small cost. Ketty had been pleased by Lacey’s enthusiasm but it was low on her list of priorities. “It’s your baby. I’m happy to trust you with it and I’ll have a look when I return.”

  Lacey hesitated, a flicker of concern crossing her face.

  “Hurry along, Miss Carslake.” Judith drew herself up. She had a similar angular frame to Ketty’s but she was almost a head taller and towered over petite Lacey. “I assume the front counter is unattended while you are out here.”

  “On my way back now, Mrs Pettigrew.”

  “I’ll look at it as soon as I return.” Ketty smiled. “And don’t forget to help yourself to my cherry tomatoes when you water the garden, will you? I can’t bear to think of them going to waste and I know how much you love them.”

  “Thank you, Miss Ketty.” Lacey’s look was earnest. “And don’t you worry about your garden, or your cat, or the office, or the website. I’ll take good care of it all.”

  “I know you will.” The thing was, changes would have to be made to the business. Ketty’s recent trip to the accountant had made that quite clear and a website was the least of her concerns.

  Lacey gave a brief nod then strode briskly back across the workshop. Beside Ketty there was a sniff, a soft but censorial sound.

  “You won’t be too tough on her while I’m gone, will you, Judith?”

  Judith flung out her hands. “She finds any excuse to desert her post. You know if she’s not checking the internet, she’ll be out in the yard every five minutes while you’re gone, on the pretext of looking after your garden.”

  Ketty met her manager’s glare. “I like her spunk.”

  Judith sniffed again. “I like her but I’d prefer she spent more time on her actual duties. Mail, banking, accounts, answering the phone and greeting customers.” Judith ticked off her fingers as she spoke. “And I still can’t get used to those boots.”

  “Every day is a new surprise when she comes to work.” Ketty smiled. “It was high cork wedges yesterday. We need someone with some style to be the face of the shop.”

  “There’s style and there’s style.”

  Like Ketty, Judith wore plain skirts or trousers to work. It was the job of the dressmaker to blend in and not outshine the customer but the front of house should have glamour and Lacey had that in spades.

  Ketty looked back at her sketch. She had great faith in all her employees, Judith included. She had come to Ketty twenty-five years ago as a young dressmaker, painfully shy with a terminally ill mother-in-law to care for and a useless husband. She had been desperate to find work but had lost previous jobs because of her poor attendance. Ketty had instantly recognised her excellent tailoring skills. She had employed her and allowed her to work from home when necessary. Her trust in Judith had been rewarded over and over again; with her hard work and clever cutting, she had proven herself one of the best dressmakers Ketty had ever had. Once the poor mother-in-law finally died Judith somehow found the courage to leave her husband and start afresh. It may have been partly due to Ketty’s offer to subsidise the rent in a nearby flat. Nonetheless the confident woman beside her had long since come to stand on her own two feet and had well and truly left behind the downtrodden girl who had first arrived at her door.

  “You got the real pearl buttons then?”

  Ketty didn’t have to look at Judith to know her expression was disapproving. “I did.”

  “We quoted reproductions.”

  “I know.”

  “Then you’d like me to amend Miss Davidson’s account?”

  Ketty once more locked eyes with Judith. “No. It’s my wedding gift to the bride.”

  “It’s no wonder you’re barely making a profit, Ketty.” Judith tutted. “Have you heard back from the accountant yet?”

  Ketty looked down at the package she gripped in her hands. She had confided in the other woman in a weak moment over their regular Friday evening glass of wine a month or so ago. Now Ketty wished she hadn’t. The accountant had made it quite clear she was losing ground and had to make changes. Given her age he’d suggested she sell or simply close her doors but Ketty couldn’t imagine giving up work yet. It was her life, and not only that; her staff depended on their jobs. His next suggestion, that she cut back on staff, had been equally unpalatable, and yet she had to do something. Her cruise had been booked long ago and in the light of the current situation she regretted it but she’d lose her money if she didn’t go. No point in that. And then there was the thought that getting away would give her some breathing space and, she hoped, a clear enough head to see what was best for the future of her staff and her business. She lifted her shoulders and fixed Judith with her most confident smile.

  “Please don’t worry, Judith. I have it all in hand.” She opened the package, dismissing the subject. “Just make sure the buttons are sewn on before Miss Davidson arrives for her final fitting this afternoon.” The bride-to-be had declared the replica pearl buttons perfect on her first visit to plan the style and the fabric, but at her last fitting she had declared she’d asked for the real thing. She’d lost three more kilos requiring extensive remodelling, and had swapped her extremely high heels for a lower pair. Bridezillas were one of the reasons Ketty avoided bridal gown work as much as possible but lately she’d accepted any business that came their way. When Miss Davidson had made a fuss Ketty hadn’t argued but had agreed to change the buttons. Judith was a stickler for the rules and didn’t understand the importance of small acts of benevolence to customers, which not only made them happy but brought return business and recommendations, something that was more important than ever in this online shopping world.

  “Very well. I will do it myself.” Judith’s stiff face softened into a smile. “Now please go and gather your things. The taxi will be here soon.”

  “You’re sure you’re clear about this design?”

  “Very.”

  “And you’ll see to the buttons?”

  “As soon as you leave.”

  “You will remember our job—”

  “Is to make the client feel special. Of course.” Judith held out her hands for the package.

  Ketty handed it over. With a sharp nod of her head, she turned and made her way through the staff kitchenette and beyond to the stairs leading up to her flat.

  The bright and airy rooms above the shop were her haven. The layout was simple: an open plan living, dining, kitchen, with two bedrooms at the front, both with double doors opening onto the balcony which wrapped around the sides of the building with iron lace balustrades. She went to the second bedroom now to close her case and paused to take in the large ball of fluff settled right in the middle of it.

  “I wish I could take you, Patch,” she crooned as she scooped up the black and white cat. “But you’ll be much happier here with Lacey fussing over you.”

  Patch’s look was one of disdain. She blew him a kiss anyway, set him on the floor and shut her case. It took some force to keep the lid down so she could tug the zip closed.

  She substituted her plain work clothes for a pair of wide-legged white linen pants and a turquoise three-quarter-sleeved soft knit that finished at her hips. She clinched a wide belt at her waist then sat on the bed to swap her flat black shoes for a pair of blue espadrilles. The woven white handbag with its blue leather trim lay on the bed beside her, already packed with her tickets, passport and wallet.

  Her parents had
taken her on her first cruise when she was five. The coastal vessel that had travelled between Adelaide and Port Lincoln in faraway South Australia could hardly be called a cruise but she counted it regardless. It had been a rough trip and Ketty hadn’t left the cabin. She could still picture the yellow light bulb swaying above her bunk and feel the lurching roll of the ship beneath her. She had been terribly seasick. It hadn’t deterred her. At twenty-one she had gone on a cruise with three girlfriends. They had all worked together at the John Martins’ costume department in Adelaide and had saved hard to be able to travel together. Once again she had been sick, but that had been more to do with alcohol consumption than rough seas.

  Her next cruise hadn’t been until she was twenty-nine, and she’d gone with only one girlfriend that trip. Ketty had been sick on board that time too – but it had had nothing to do with the cruise. She sighed. She no longer probed the wound of that terrible time, when she had come home and her world had turned upside down. It was more a scar now; a notch in life’s interesting journey and the reason for her move to Sydney. It hadn’t happened overnight but Ketty Clift Couture had been catering for special birthdays, weddings and glamour events for nearly thirty years. And when she got the chance, and money allowed, she kept taking cruises.

  She glanced at her watch, surprised she’d wasted so much time daydreaming. She did a final check around her flat. Patch had settled on his cushion in a shaft of sunshine from the kitchen window.

  “Be good,” she said. He barely twitched a whisker.

  Ketty bent to give him one last pat, gathered her things and made her way downstairs, throwing a scarf around her neck as she went. Each of the women in the workroom stopped what they were doing to hug her farewell.

  “Safe travels, Miss Ketty.” Ning, whose name in Chinese meant tranquillity, gave Ketty a gentle squeeze. Ketty always felt like a giant compared to her long-serving seamstress. Nothing ever fazed Ning. Her family had been babies when she had started with Ketty and now she worked to put them through university.