House
A quiet opening to the new season
The valley has its own sense of seasons, and ours begin when the heat leaves the afternoon. One Thursday the louvres in the dining room were opened for the first time in months, and the whole house breathed out. The ceiling fans were slowed, the lamps were lit a little earlier than usual, and the verandah was found to be full before the doors had opened. Several of the regulars brought their own cushions, as if to claim a favourite chair for the season.
A lighter menu
Catherine Nicholson changed a third of the list. The beef cheek stepped back and a grilled barramundi stepped forward. The pumpkin soup was thinned, a fresh corn fritter appeared, and the evening's sponge was iced with passionfruit instead of chocolate. The puddings, as ever, were left alone.
The verandah
Cane chairs were carried out from the storeroom and arranged beneath the hanging lamps. Guests drank tea in the open air while the front room waited for its seven o'clock opening. Gillian Novak moved among the chairs refilling pots and noting who had arrived early, which was most of the district.
The front room
The doors opened on the hour, and the tables filled within ten minutes. Roulette gathered a crowd, blackjack stayed gentle and poker grew noisy only when someone laughed. Trays of chips went out and came back full, and no guest wanted anything beyond another slice of sponge.
What we heard
One regular said the house always seems to know when the weather has turned. Another asked for the recipe for the passionfruit icing, and Catherine declined with a smile. A third simply sat on the verandah until the last bell and then walked to her car without a word, which we took as a compliment.