Chapter Three
Scarlett
“Fifteen million?” The eyebrows of Richard—the leader and spokesperson of the Elders—shoot up toward his rapidly retreating hairline. “That’s crazy money.”
“And we’d be part of a stewardship trust?” Dani, who’s in charge of the commune’s small school, sits back with a laugh. “We’d be crazy not to accept.”
It’s seven p.m., and I’m sitting in the meeting house with the Elders after dinner, relating the details of what happened at the law firm earlier today. I’m not an Elder. That position is reserved for a small group of eight older members, voted on by the rest of the commune, but they invited me to the meeting today to report back on my visit to the law firm.
I sit with my hands in my lap, perched on the edge of the chair, my spine straight. I’ve been brought up to respect the Elders, and I know they all want the best for the commune. I also know that Kahukura is struggling financially, and fifteen million dollars would rejuvenate the commune and allow it to thrive and even expand rather than just muddle along.
“I appreciate that it’s a very attractive offer,” I say carefully. “And that being part of a trust would at least allow us to have some control over what happens on our side of the river. But we have to remember that we would no longer own the pool. The Cavendishes would have free rein to do anything they wanted to their side. Orson specifically mentioned the possibility of opening a cafe. I mean, can you imagine what that would do to the atmosphere of the Waiora?”
They exchange glances. “A cafe sounds kinda nice,” Dani admits. “It would be cool to be able to get a coffee while you’re down there.”
I stare at them, shocked. “You’re not serious? ”
They all look a tad embarrassed.
“We understand your feelings, of course,” George says. He’s an accountant, the same as my father was. They worked together to run the commune’s finances and were also best friends, and I think of George like a favorite uncle. I know he’s under pressure to get things sorted right now. “But we think it’s possible to retain the spiritual nature of the site, even with a few developments.”
“It would be great to have a proper path down to the Waiora,” Lee, the Head Caretaker, says.
“And several of us have slipped and nearly fallen off the stepping stones,” Dani adds. “A bridge would be terrific, especially if we didn’t have to foot the bill.”
“A bridge would mean that resort guests would be able to cross easily to our side,” I point out. “They’d disrupt my classes.”
“We could add a signpost saying private property,” Lee suggests. “Or even a locked gate.”
He’s right, and I can see that they want me to agree. But I can’t get rid of the anxiety that’s lying heavy in my stomach like a stone.
“I don’t trust him,” I snap. “He gave this spiel about being respectful and honoring the nature of the site, but once he owned the land he could do anything he wanted to it. He could turn it into a flashy tiled pool with spotlights and disco music and a restaurant and bring bus loads of guests there with their fake tans and designer bikinis and coiffured hairdos.”
They all look uncomfortable at that suggestion, because they know I’m right.
“Look,” George says, “we all know that Blake and Spencer hated one another’s guts. But from what I’ve heard, although they can be ruthless in business, the Cavendishes are always true to their word.”
“Are they really billionaires?” Dani asks.
“Yep,” George says.
My eyes nearly fall out of my head. “Orson is a billionaire?”
“Nine zeroes in his bank account,” George confirms.
I’m astonished. “But he’s so young. Is his family rich?”
“I’m not sure,” George replies. “Spencer, his father, obviously is. He runs Cavendish Finance and is supposed to be brilliant. Orson and his friend Kingi Davis co-run Te Aranui Developments. It means ‘the great path’, and it’s a property business. Apparently the two of them are completely ruthless and make an absolute fortune. But they are honorable. I think we can trust them.”
The thought of him being mega wealthy makes me uncomfortable. In my experience, rich people don’t stop until they get what they want. They assume everyone has a price, and they’re usually right, which I hate.
George leans forward. “The thing is… I think we can push Orson for more than fifteen million.”
My eyes widen. It’s already a small fortune for us, and his greed shocks me. “More?”
“I think he’ll be prepared to go to higher. This site would be hugely attractive to his guests, plus preserving the Waiora for local iwi would mean great PR for him.”
I know he’s right because Orson said the same thing. But the thought of pushing him to pay more than his already generous offer leaves a horrible taste in my mouth.
But the others are excited by this. “Higher than fifteen million?” Richard says. “Seriously?”
“We could finally get the new schoolroom built,” Dani states.
“And rebuild the fence around the outside,” Lee confirms. “I’ve repaired it so much it consists of more wire and tape than wood.”
“We could double the size of the retreat,” George says. “Get twice as many women and children to stay. Think of the good we could do, Scarlett.” His eyes are earnest. He’s done more than most others here bar my father to better the commune, and I trust him implicitly. And he’s not wrong.
I sit there, breathing fast, knowing he’s right and I need to consider Orson’s offer. But it goes against everything I’ve been brought up to believe.
“My father would be furious if he thought I was considering selling the Waiora to the Cavendishes,” I say desperately. “Shouldn’t his views count?”
“The problem is that his issue with Spencer Cavendish was personal,” Dani points out. “None of us knows what was at the root of it because he wouldn’t talk about it. Look, we all miss him terribly, but he’s gone, Scarlett. It’s incredibly sad, but it’s the truth, and we can’t change that. All we can do is move forward and do our best to keep the commune going. ”
“And we need a real injection of money,” George says gently. “Or we might not be here this time next year.”
That stuns me. I hadn’t realized it was quite that bad.
“Orson wants me to meet him at the Waiora tomorrow,” I say reluctantly. “He wants to show me what developments he has in mind. I’ll go, and I’ll report back tomorrow night.”
“Good, thank you.” Richard nods. “We have a bit more business to talk about, so you can go, Scarlett. Our thanks for going to the lawyer today; I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
I say goodbye, leave the meeting room in the town hall, and go out into the late-summer evening. The kids are playing football on the green, and there’s a lot of shouting and running around, although I can’t make out which team’s which.
Smiling, I sit on the bench that overlooks the green, close my eyes, and turn my face up to the sun.
My stomach is churning, and I try to take deep breaths to calm myself. But it doesn’t work. I don’t want to see Orson tomorrow and try to talk him into giving us more money. The thought sickens me. I don’t like him or what he stands for, and I thought he was arrogant, rude, and condescending, but that doesn’t mean we should fleece him for everything he owns.
If I’m honest, I’m anxious about seeing him for another reason, too. It’s impossible not to think about the moment we said goodbye and shook hands… the way he looked into my eyes… and the heat that was in his gaze. It seared right through me, and it made me extremely uncomfortable. I bet he’s had a hundred girlfriends, and he knows exactly how to turn on the charm. Dad always said that Spencer was smooth but ruthless, and he practically spat whenever his name was mentioned.
I think about what Dad would say if he knew we were considering selling the Waiora to the family he hated so much, and my eyes well with tears. The pool is precious to me, a place of peace and solitude, and a spiritual focus. I scattered Mum’s ashes downstream from the pool just a week before Dad died, and his followed literally a few days ago. It’s more than a piece of land. It’s a part of me and my family.
But what am I supposed to do? The Elders make the decisions regarding the commune, and even though I inherited the land, I have to do what they say. So I’ll have to swallow my pride, ignore my misgivings, and meet with Orson tomorrow. I’ll do my best to take on board his suggestions, and I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.
*
Tuesday, 11:15am
I meant it. I really was going to try.
But when I turn up early at the Waiora to have some quiet time alone before I meet Orson, I discover three men wearing suits and carrying clipboards in the process of measuring up the Club’s side of the pool. Two guys in shorts and tees are moving stones from the shallows at the top of the waterfall, and another appears to be working out dimensions for the bridge that Orson talked about.
I climb the path to my side of the stepping stones and stare at them in fury. “What are you doing?” I yell.
They all look over, then exchange confused glances. The guy who’s measuring for the bridge comes across the stones toward me. “Morning ma’am,” he says.
“Don’t you ‘morning ma’am’ me,” I snap. “What on earth are you doing here?”
He looks startled. “Um… we’re mapping out the improvements to the Waiora…”
“Did Orson Cavendish send you?” I know it must have been him; who else would it have been? So I’m not surprised when he nods. “Right,” I say. I slide off my sandals, then, lifting my long dress with both hands, I start walking across the stepping stones toward the Club’s side of the river.
Halfway across, I tread on a wobbly stone and stumble. One foot slips and plunges in, spraying water over me.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath, glaring at the Māori guy who rushes over to extend a hand. I take it because I don’t want to go completely under, but by the time I get to the other side I’m half drenched and cross as a cat when you stand on its tail.
“You okay, ma’am?” he asks as he releases me.
I scowl. “I’m going to see Mr. Cavendish. At this moment, the land belongs to the commune, and we haven’t yet given our permission for any developments. So I suggest you stop working right now until we’ve cleared this up. ”
They exchange looks again. “I dunno,” the Māori guy says. “Mr. Cavendish likes his work to be completed on time…”
Furious now, I put on my sandals, stride down the bank, and start heading toward the Midnight Club. Behind me, one of them calls out something, but I ignore them and keep walking.
I follow the gravel path west. I admit it’s been nicely done, flanked by flower beds, and with the occasional bench facing out across the ocean view. Soon it leads through a small copse of trees, and then it opens out, and before me stretches the Midnight resort in all its glory.
I stop, astonished.
Because the main road to the commune comes straight from the ferry, I’ve never come this way. I’m sure some of the kids at Kahukura have snuck over at some point, but this is private property, and we all know it’s out of bounds. We’re taught from an early age that our little community is all we need, and Dad was always so dismissive of the Cavendishes’ lascivious lifestyle that I’ve never given the resort a second thought, and never been interested in wanting to take a peek, afraid that somehow even a glimpse of it will taint me.
Now that I’ve met Orson, though, I’m a little curious. Because I’m on high ground, I have a good view of the entire complex. The resort sprawls from the top of the hill all the way down to the ocean. There’s a central large building with two wings, all built in what looks like white plaster with natural stone accents in a Greek style, with columns and porticoes. The left wing looks like it could be a hotel, as every window has a private balcony. The right wing has a huge Neon sign above it, currently switched off, with the word Midnight and a clock. I think that might be the nightclub.
On the left side going up the hill is a series of individual villas, carefully situated to give them maximum privacy. Behind the buildings, small gardens are dotted between a couple of large swimming pools, smaller plunge pools, and hot tubs. A sheltered bar is serving drinks to those swimming; a couple of people are floating on inflatable loungers, sipping cocktails. Talk about decadent. Alcohol during the day! In the pool!
I continue down the path toward the resort, growing increasingly furious the closer I get. The place is incredibly opulent. I admit it’s tasteful, which for some reason annoys me even more. Everything is clean and well-tended, from the neat flower beds to the manicured bushes to the paving slabs that are free of weeds and sparkling white in the sun. As I near the main building, I can see that the windows are freshly cleaned and the front steps have been swept. The porter who is carrying the luggage for a couple of guests who have just arrived is wearing a smart suit.
I climb the steps and go into the main building. The lobby is huge with high ceilings and large windows that overlook the view of the well-maintained gardens and pools to the back. The reception desk to the left and the tables and chairs in the waiting area by the windows are made from a light wood, probably kauri I think, and everything smells of polish and coffee from the bar to the right. The staff is dressed in black with white shirts and they all look professional and give pleasant smiles.
“Good morning,” the man behind the reception desk says as I walk up to him. His gaze skims down me super quickly, and suddenly I’m conscious of dripping water onto the floorboards. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I’d like to see Mr. Cavendish,” I say stiffly, trying to act as if I come to places like this all the time.
“Do you have an appointment?”
I shake my head.
“He’s very busy,” the guy says. “But I will see if he’s available.” He picks up his phone and is in the process of calling when he looks up and says, “Oh, there he is. Mr. Cavendish? There’s a lady here to see you.”
Heart racing, I turn—then stop and stare at the man walking toward me. It’s not Orson. This guy is about the same height as him but older, maybe in his late forties. He’s clean shaven, and his hair has the same white flashes at his temples, although the rest of it is also sprinkled with gray. Oh my God. I think this is Spencer Cavendish—Orson’s father, and my dad’s bitter enemy.
He stops before me and gives me a pleasant smile. His gaze appraises me briefly, the way the man’s behind reception did, but he’s polite enough not to comment on my state of disarray.
“Good morning,” he says. His voice is deep and resonant. “Can I help you?”
I blink at him, my heart hammering and my chest rising and falling quickly. I can’t form a single thought. I’ve been programmed to hate this guy and everything he stands for. I’m not sure if I can even be civil to him .
When I don’t reply, he exchanges glances with the guy behind the desk, then frowns at me and says, “Is there a problem?”
“Scarlett?”
We both turn at the sound of Orson’s voice as he strides across the lobby. “Jesus,” he says, staring at me. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“Orson,” Spencer scolds.
Orson throws him an icy glance, which surprises me. Clearly there’s no love lost between father and son.
“Are you okay?” Orson stops before me.
I look down at myself and realize it’s worse than I thought. Much of my dress is soaked and clinging to my legs and breasts. Oh no. I wrap my arms around myself, trying not to shiver.
“Here.” Orson flips the button of his jacket open, slides it off, and places it around my shoulders.
“I’ll get it wet,” I protest.
“I don’t care about that.” He tugs it closed around me. “What happened?”
“I slipped off the stepping stones.” I tremble under the gaze of the two men in front of me.
“Scarlett?” Spencer repeats, his eyebrows rising. “Scarlett Stone?”
“Yeah,” Orson says.
“Amiria’s daughter,” Spencer says softly.
I frown, surprised that he didn’t say ‘Blake’s daughter,’ and I give a short nod. I’ve never felt so intimidated in my life. Wealth rolls off these guys like smoke. Spencer’s suit is navy and Orson’s is dark gray, but they’re both obviously tailor-made and fit them like a dream. They’re both wearing cufflinks and tie pins and polished black leather shoes. Their haircuts are razor sharp as if they were done yesterday, although Spencer’s hair is a little longer all over and is combed back neatly, while Orson’s is fashionably spiky on top and fades almost to bare skin at the nape.
“What are you doing here?” Spencer asks.
I direct my glare at his son. “We haven’t come to any agreement yet.”
Orson lifts his eyebrows. “I know. I thought that’s what we were going to discuss today.”
“So why are your men on our land?”
He blinks. “What? ”
“There are men measuring up at the Waiora,” I say hotly, my fingers tightening on the two sides of his jacket. “The land belongs to the commune, and they have no right to be there.” I stop as my voice turns husky with emotion. I am not going to cry in front of these guys.
Orson’s face goes carefully blank. “Hold on,” he says. Then he pulls a phone out of his trouser pocket. He dials a number, holds the phone to his ear, and turns away a little.
“Ed?” he says when the person on the other end obviously answers. “It’s me. Where are you? What? Why? I distinctly remember asking you to wait until I’d spoken to Ms. Stone. No. I said midday. Today, Ed. Jesus. Get the guys off there—the Waiora belongs to the commune, and we haven’t signed anything yet. Yes, I’ll call you.” He ends the call, slides his phone back into his pocket, and turns back to me.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “They weren’t supposed to go until they’d heard from me.”
“So you assumed I’d agree to the sale,” I say heatedly. “It didn’t enter your head that I might turn you down.”
He tips his head to the side. “Not really.”
“You’re so sure of yourselves,” I snap. “So arrogant. You think money can buy anything.”
“That’s because it usually can,” Spencer says, amused.
“Not me,” I say, close to tears. “It can’t buy me. You can’t just throw zeroes at me and expect me to drop to my knees in front of you.”
Orson’s eyebrows rise again. Spencer opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again.
“I meant in thanks,” I say, feeling my face flush. “Goodness.”
Spencer stifles a laugh. Orson’s lips curve up slightly.
I rub my nose, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
“Hey,” Orson says, “come on. I really am sorry. It was totally out of order for those guys to be there. And I didn’t mean to imply that I assumed you’d sell. Of course I didn’t. I know what the place means to you. I just hoped we’d be able to come to an agreement, that’s all.” He lifts a hand and rests it lightly between my shoulder blades. “Why don’t you come to my office, and we’ll see if my PA can find you some fresh clothes?”
“These will dry,” I mumble, feeling the warmth from his hand even through the jacket, as if he’s branding me .
“Come on.” He gently steers me past his father.
“Nice to meet you, Scarlett,” Spencer says.
“Mmm,” I mumble.
“I don’t think the feeling’s mutual,” Orson calls out wryly as he leads me across the lobby and along a corridor. “I’m sorry you slipped,” he says as he steers me through a doorway. “Can you see why I thought a bridge might be a good idea?”
“Maybe,” I admit grudgingly.
I find myself in a large office overlooking one of the gardens. It’s cool, so clearly air conditioned, although the sun streams through the windows across a light-gray sofa and chairs. A desk sits to one side with a laptop, a tablet, and a pile of papers, spreadsheets, and books.
“You’re very messy,” I inform him.
He smiles at that—the first time he’s given me a proper smile. It’s a bit wolfish and makes me think of the big cat again. “Come and sit in the sun,” he says. “That’ll help warm you up.”
“I’m not cold.”
“You’re trembling.”
It’s not because I’m cold, but I don’t correct him. I let him lead me to the sofa, and I sit, feeling the sun on my legs.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks. “A glass of champagne or something?”
“It’s eleven thirty,” I say, astonished.
That makes him laugh out loud. Oh my God he has amazing teeth, all white and straight, with slightly longer canines that only enhance his wolfish smile.
A shiver runs down my spine. I feel as if the big cat has dragged me back to his lair, and now he’s about to have me for dinner.
I’m really in trouble.