Episode Two: Jezebel’s Restaurant
Briony left Mike Lawless staring after her, a puzzled frown on his face. She fumed as she skipped down the path, hurrying to catch the fishing boats that were even now tying up at the quay. All her attempts to be generous about the tourist boom drained away. How could she be thankful for tourists when so many of them were as boorish and arrogant as that? No doubt he would have his pick of the local girls once word got around. Even Cheryl, who was a lot more impressionable about men than Briony, might offer to model for him.
She arrived at the quay, breathless but in time to go meet the boats and pick out the best of the catch for her restaurant. Then she pushed the boxes on a trolley up to the restaurant, and let herself in.
Jezebel’s was one of the oldest buildings on the quay. The two-story weatherboard shop had been ships’ chandlers in the old fishing days, and still had a nautical look, with it’s weathered blue and white paint and a ship’s wheel propped up in the window. The wheel had come off her father’s boat, the Briony Rose. It had a small brass plaque in the center with the name inscribed on it. The Briony Rose was now retired, moored near the family home further down the bay.
Even the town had changed, she thought regretfully – once it had been a cluster of crooked little shops propping each other up along the sea front. Now it was a hive of fast food outlets, malls and gift shops.
The harbor, with its long jetty jutting out into the bay, no longer sheltered the clustered fishing trawlers of her childhood. Instead it was populated by sleek catamarans, cabin cruisers and charter boats. The wild headland that used to overlook the town, and where she and her brother Peter had camped in their small tent as children, had been cleared of the massed sheoak and pisonia, and was now a caravan park.
I shouldn’t complain so much, Briony thought, as she headed back to the little restaurant that was her pride and joy. If it weren’t for the tourist season she would have had to leave the bay to pursue her great passion.
Jezebel’s was named after her grandmother, who first taught her to cook the abundant seafood of her childhood. It wasn’t so abundant now, and a lot more expensive, but the little restaurant on the quay was fast gaining a reputation for excellent, affordable food. Many holiday makers came looking for Jezebel’s, drawn by word of mouth from satisfied customers. Briony’s clever cuisine contrasted well with the nearest competition, which was mostly fast food. During the off season, Jezebel’s only opened three nights a week, but still managed to make a respectable living. That Briony entirely attributed to Cheryl’s brilliant head for figures. At school, she was the one flying through all the math exams, while Briony got headaches just thinking about them. Cheryl made sure the restaurant survived the whole year, even after the tourist season.
Now Cheryl glanced up as Briony struggled in with the trolley of seafood, and ran to help her.
“Hang on, I’ll get the door,” she said. With her free hand she helped haul the trolley into the restaurant.
“Thanks,” Briony said. “Lets get this lot into the kitchen.”
The two girls pushed the trolley between the tables and chairs and out into the spacious kitchen at the back. Briony got busy unpacking the seafood and storing in the chest freezer and huge fridge that dominated the room, while Cheryl leaned against the preparation counter.
The two girls could not have been more different. While Briony was tall and athletic, Cheryl Hemming was best described as cute. Her short stature, and round freckled face, made her look younger than her twenty-three years. She barely seemed to have left behind the checkered school frocks and white socks of her teens. Yet, behind the dimples, the bright pink hair and fondness for experimental fashion was one of the sharpest business brains in Little Moon Bay. Even the stuffier members of the Chamber of Commerce, startled by her low slung mini skirts, brief tops and belly ring, had come to regard her with respect.
Briony shared that respect – the two girls did everything themselves, with Cheryl waitressing at the restaurant when the need arose. They had cleaned and painted the shop themselves, with the kitchen and restaurant downstairs, and a small flat, they shared, upstairs. Both could have gone on living at home, but they preferred to be near the business, and enjoyed their independence.
The kitchen of the restaurant was Briony’s pride and joy. The girls both admitted they had been lavish on its construction, but it was worth it. It was dominated by the steel fridge and freezer, and a huge bench table. Against one wall, incongruous in this setting, was an old Welsh dresser Briony had inherited from her grandmother. She kept it as a reminder of the woman who had first inspired her culinary efforts.
She kept it immaculately polished, and laden with the fine blue and white china, with its design of waves and leaping dolphins, that she used in the restaurant, along with jars of dried herbs.
The girls had kept to the blue and white theme of the old shop throughout the restaurant. The tables were covered with sea blue tablecloths, accented by snowy white napkins. The Menus carried the same waves and dolphins theme as the china, and on one wall hung a sun drenched painting of the bay, commissioned from a local artist.
As soon as Briony had finished packing the sea food, the two girls went into the restaurant and sat themselves at the computer to go through the finances. This was a weekly ritual, for which even Cheryl was prepared to get up early. She despaired of ever getting Briony’s head around complicated matters such as the Goods and Services Tax and Business Activity Statements, but she insisted that Briony be aware of everything that went into the running of the restaurant.
After an hour of this, Briony was relieved when Cheryl closed down the spreadsheet and gave her a forgiving smile.
“You didn’t understand a word of that, did you?”
“I got most of it,” Briony said defensively, but was saved from further protests by the bell ringing above the shop door.
“Briony, you there?”
“It’s Ian!” Briony cried.
Like most of Briony’s plans, the one involving Ian Hughes had been laid long in advance. She had dreamed of owning a restaurant while still at school, dazzling her Domestic Science teacher with her brilliance in the kitchen. The plan to marry Ian Hughes had been put in place as soon as he enrolled at Little Moon Bay High School.
Ian had come to Little Moon Bay from Brisbane when Briony was just twelve years old. His hazel eyes and shy smile appealed to her. But what had appealed to her most was his own single minded nature. Ian had worked hard to build up his real estate business in Little Moon Bay, and let nothing stand in the way of his own plans and ambitions.
Briony had never had to worry about casting herself into the treacherous tides of passion that shipwrecked many of her friends. Ian was always there, steady and dependable. That kind of love, while it looked exciting, was much too unpredictable, Briony decided. It blew in like a cyclone, at the height of the summer season, and then moved on, leaving a trail of human wreckage. She had never had a summer romance, and didn’t want one.
Ian was like her, Briony believed – he saw them making their home in Little Moon Bay, successful and happy, and never missing the wide world beyond. Except that lately, she had noticed him becoming much more aware of that wide world, and had begun to think that maybe he wanted more than Little Moon Bay could offer.
But she brushed these thoughts aside as she got up to greet him. Their marriage plans had been laid long ago, and they knew each other so well – what could possibly go wrong?
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