The Self-Saucing Cookbook

The low hum of conversation greets me as I push open the door. Then I’m hit with the unmistakable scent of lemon.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ I call to five women perched on battered armchairs and crammed side by side on a faded couch. Dragging a hot-pink shopping trolley, I navigate past walking frames and overflowing handbags to an empty armchair. A cup of tea and a piece of lemon meringue tart are deposited in front of me. I wink at Shirley as I take a bite, ‘Delicious as always, Shirl.’

Read more: The Self-Saucing Cookbook

‘Thank you, Eleanor,’ Shirley smiles as she shuffles back to her seat. Swallowing the rest of the slice, I call our Community Women’s Association meeting to order.

‘Alright, let’s get started. Beryl, how did we go with fundraising for the hall?’

A tiny woman who resembles an owl with wispy grey hair and large, round glasses that engulf her face responds. ‘So far, we’ve raised $250. I’ve secured a spot at the hardware store in two weeks for another bake sale. I’ve printed flyers and posters to advertise it,’ Beryl reports.

‘That’s a fabulous start, Beryl. Encourage your friends and neighbours to get behind this. The hall is important to our community.’

A manicured hand shoots into the air. I wistfully wonder if there’s any of Shirley’s cake left.

I turn to a woman with coiffed hair wearing a tailored pale blue pantsuit and navy heels. Channel No. 5 floats across the air as she wiggles jewelled fingers. ‘Did you have something to add, Dianne?’

‘We can do better. I contacted Katy, you know, the mayor, and she’s willing to be a keynote speaker at a fundraising dinner or auction at the hall,’ Dianne says, flicking her hair to one side, the plumb in her voice more pronounced than ever.

Dianne was the senior office manager for her husband’s accounting firm in Sydney before they opted for a sea change and moved to the coast. Keeping secrets in small towns is like trying to hold back the tide; it’s a futile exercise. Most people believe, whether it’s true or not, that her husband was the victim of an elaborate financial fraud and they had to sell their harbourside home in Sydney to pay their debts. There was a time I felt sorry for the former big city socialite, but her ingratiating manner makes it hard to remain empathetic.

‘I’m the events manager, Dianne; you should have spoken to me before talking to the mayor. Our constitution states …’

Dianne cuts Beryl off, ‘Yes, but you were so busy with posters and baking and I have the relationship with Katy.’ Beryl pushes her glasses up her nose and pats down her hair, ready for battle.

‘It’s an admirable idea, Dianne, but let’s keep politicians out of this.’

After tossing around fundraising ideas, Beryl comes up with a pearler. ‘Around here everyone treats their pets like their kids. One of my friends even had her pup’s DNA done. What if we created a Pets of the South Coast Calendar? Offer advertising space in exchange for sponsorship and sell them at local businesses. I think they’d be more popular than Shirley’s lemon tart!’

Apart from Shirley’s raised eyebrows, we agree the idea is a good one and Beryl will pull a proposal together for us to discuss next month. ‘Unless there’s any other business, I call our meeting to a close, and you know what that means. Ladies, I hope you remembered your books. Shirley, can you please close the curtains and light the candles, and can someone give Beryl a hand with the wine, glasses and cheeseboard?’

I dig out a small novel with a striking red spine. On the cover is a dark-haired man in an unbuttoned white shirt that shows off his muscular chest. In his arms is a blonde woman in a black dress with a plunging neckline that reveals ample cleavage.

When everyone is settled with a glass of wine and a book in their hands I turn to the last chapter and read it aloud.

*****

Ronaldo sweeps her into his arms and carries her away, using his body to shield her from the heat of the flames engulfing the remote beach shack she’d called home.

Laying her on the sand, he kisses her eyelids and the tip of her nose before moving to her lips.

Moaning, Olivia’s body responds to his touch, as her mind swims through the darkness, back to the present. Back to him. Her lips lock on his as her nails rake his broad back.

‘My love, my life,’ he breathes.

‘And you’re mine,’ Olivia rasps.

He gazes into her eyes. ‘I was wrong. For twenty years, I believed your father destroyed Papa’s business and left my family destitute. I believed the stress killed Mama. When I found out who you were, I thought leading you on, humiliating and breaking your heart was a perfect way to get revenge. But tonight, I found a letter Mama left for me before she died. For years, I believed Papa’s lies. When I confronted him, he fled. I never thought he was capable of this,’ Ronaldo waves his hands toward the spire of smoke that was her cabin. ‘I can’t deny what I feel any longer. I love you. Please forgive me. Say you’ll be mine,’ he begs.

Olivia nods, and Ronaldo cups her face in his hands. ‘I saw the fire and I thought I’d lost you forever. I need you. I have to have you. I can’t wait,’ he growls.

‘Don’t wait,’ Olivia pants, ripping off his jeans and shirt as he tears at her dress and underwear. He pulls her onto his lap, and they move as one.

Olivia’s cry of exquisite release is matched by Ronaldo’s low moan and they come together, crashing and swirling like the waves that pummel the beach.

‘Say you’ll marry me,’ Ronaldo demands, stroking her hair.

‘Yes,’ Olivia whispers in his ear.

Ronaldo swings her over him and onto the sand. Straddling her, they move in time to the rhythm of the ocean.

*****

‘Well, ladies. What did you think?’ I ask, looking at this diverse group of women in their twilight years who decided they needed more than cake sales and boring agenda items in their lives. Together, we created our version of Goodreads, rating sexy romance novels. And so emerged the Secret Women’s Book Club.

‘I thought it was a great old romp. Ronaldo was spicy. He stoked my fire,’ exclaims Joy, a tall woman with a cheeky smile in her mid-70s who used to be a physical education teacher.

‘Of course, you liked it, Joy. All you care about is how many times they get into bed,’ Dianne scoffs. Red and green flags are dotted throughout her book—many red and green flags.

 ‘At least I’m honest, Dianne,’ Joy retorts, colour flushing her cheeks.

Before I can step in, a fourth voice joins the debate.

‘But where will Olivia live now?’ asks Bernadette, her voice edged with confusion and concern. At 89, she’s the oldest member of the SWBC and sometimes loses the plot, literally.

Dianne opens her mouth, but I get there first. ‘Good point, Bernie, but the shack is a secondary consideration. Ronaldo and Olivia put aside their family’s decades-long feud for love. To be together.’

‘Very Romeo and Juliet of them,’ Shirley quips.

‘I’d hardly compare this to Shakespeare,’ Dianne drawls and Shirley sniffs, her nostrils flaring. ‘It worked for me,’ Beryl says. ‘Isn’t that the point? To figure out if it got us old girls hot and bothered? Just ask Bob. The poor man is still recovering. He even asked me if it was our anniversary. God bless him.’

This comment is met with laughter and an animated discussion ensues about whether Ronaldo’s Revenge rates as highly as Devil in Disguise, a ripping yarn about Joel, who was wrongly accused of murdering his ex-wife, and Dana, the defence lawyer who wins the case … and the man. The steamy sex scene in the prison cell has been hard to top.

I call for the club to decide if this romance novel is as saucy as Devil in Disguise. It comes a close second and Shirley records our agreed position on a card. It includes three and a half chillies, and comments that resemble recipe notes:

The beef sausages should be seared on low to medium heat for 5 minutes. Add three and half chopped Habanero chillies with the seeds in, a sliced onion and cover with mushroom gravy before placing the beef in the oven at 180 degrees for 20 minutes. Serve hot to achieve best results.

A bottle of wine later we agree our next novel will be Male Territory, a tale about a hot Australian jackeroo working on a cattle station in the Northern Territory and an uptight governess.

‘Oh, I do like a cowboy,’ Joy giggles. ‘I’m looking forward to this one.’