* * *
Peter sat on a stool at the island console range while Ivy
prepared her special dinner. She bustled about in what seemed
like a frenzy, but he understood, with some amusement, that she
had the meal under complete control. A fragrant lamb and
vegetable stew bubbled lazily in a large pot on the stove. In the
oven, two small pizzas baked. Peter had enjoyed watching Ivy roll
out the dough with her hands and shape it into little rounds. On
each she had arranged caramelized onions, chopped olives, pine
nuts, grated Parmesan cheese. During the preparation, she
concentrated intensely on each step. A number of times she held
the recipe close to her face and read a line or two aloud. At the
same time she managed to engage him in interesting conversation.
Though she had been a guest in his house for three weeks now,
this was the first opportunity he'd had to spend time with her.
And considering his day at Wallaby, her company tonight was a
welcome relief.
"Pass me that cayenne, would you," she said, reaching out with
one hand.
"Which is it?"
"That's curry. The one next to it. Right."
The rosiness of her face, from all of the bustling about, against
her white-blond hair, gave the effect that she had spent the day
at the beach. She wore tattered old jeans cinched at the waist
with a colorful bandanna, and a white dress shirt with no bra
beneath.
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