Chapter Eleven
Scarlett
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” I go through the clothes in my wardrobe frantically. “What am I going to wear?”
“First, calm down or you’re going to hyperventilate and black out,” Ana says from where she’s lying on my bed. “Second, you’ll look beautiful in whatever you wear, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“You’re not helping. He’s taking me to a posh restaurant.”
“I thought he said it would be somewhere relaxed?”
“He’s a billionaire. It’s not going to be a burger bar, whatever he says.” I take out a black dress. “This is slimming, don’t you think?”
“You’re hardly fat. And it’s dull.” She gets up and joins me at the wardrobe. “He’s used to women in designer clothes and gold jewelry with coiffured hair and long painted nails.”
“And I’m none of those things. How am I going to match that?”
She starts looking through my clothes. “That’s my point. He’s interested in you because you’re different. You’re like a sunbeam in a gallery of neon lights. You’re natural and fresh. So you should play on that.” She pulls out a dress. “Wear this one.”
I study it doubtfully. It’s a boho maxi dress, floor length and sleeveless and with shirring from the bust to the waist, in a deep yellow with big colorful flowers. It’s perfect for a late summer or early autumn evening barbecue, but it’s not exactly posh evening wear.
“Trust me,” she says. “You’ll knock his socks off.”
I do trust her, so I shower and dry my hair, then, at her urging, pin it up in a bun so loose that half of it escapes and tumbles around my neck. I add a pair of sandals with a small heel, and let her help me with my makeup—just a touch of liner and mascara to define my eyes, powder to take away the shine, and a slick of lip gloss .
“You look amazing,” she says when I’m done. “You’re so gorgeous.” She looks at my clutch and her eyes twinkle. “You want to pack a toothbrush?”
“Ana!”
“I’m just saying.”
I know Ana isn’t a virgin. Despite us having the same upbringing, she’s always been more rebellious than me, and I know she’s had a couple of lovers. I’m not sure if she realizes I haven’t. I haven’t told her about what happened at the Waiora because I’m too embarrassed.
I mustn’t be naive. He’ll probably expect me to go to bed with him if he takes me to dinner. I should call him and tell him I’ve changed my mind, or at least make it perfectly clear that there will be no sex.
I look at the phone I’ve borrowed from the office. Then, feeling wicked, I pick it up and put it in the clutch. My heart races at the thought that I’m even contemplating having sex with Orson again.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I say, feeling a sudden surge of panic. “Shouldn’t I wear something more businesslike?”
“This isn’t a business meeting.”
“I feel that I should think of it like that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not like we can have a relationship.”
“Again, why?”
“I’m not exactly his type, and he’s not mine. I don’t fit in his world. And can you imagine him joining the commune?”
“Scarlett,” she says patiently, “you don’t have to marry every guy you have sex with.” Her expression softens then, and she rubs my arm. “I know you’ve had it tougher than me,” she says. “Dad always had higher expectations for you. Even though he treated me like the baby, he was so desperate to protect you from the world. But we are a part of it, and you shouldn’t shut yourself away from it.”
It’s the first time she’s ever said anything like that to me before, and my throat tightens. “I don’t shut myself away from the world.”
“Of course you do. And that’s okay, because most of the time it’s a difficult place. We exist in another, easier time here. But it’s all right to want something more sometimes.”
“I don’t want more,” I protest, feeling emotional as I think about our parents, and why they wanted this better life for us. “I’m happy here. ”
“I know, I know.” She hugs me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you on your special day. Don’t listen to me. I just want you to be happy and enjoy yourself, that’s all.”
I hug her back. After our mother’s death, several women at the commune tried to step into her role to look after us, and since Dad died, the guys have done the same, wanting to make sure Ana and I are looked after. But it’s not the same as having your own parents, and so Ana and I have grown closer together and looked out for each other.
The sound of a car outside makes us pull part, and Ana rushes to peer through the net curtains. “Oh my God,” she says. “He’s in a fucking Aston Martin.”
“Ana,” I scold. “Argh, everyone is going to see it!”
“I know, they’re going to be absolutely green with envy.”
“It’s hardly a good example to set!” I join her at the window. The car pulls up in front of the house and sits there purring before he kills the engine. “It’s so extravagant.”
“You can’t really wish he’d turned up on a tandem?”
“Well, I…” My voice trails off as he opens the door and gets out. “Ooh.”
“Wow,” Ana says, eyes wide.
Orson’s shirt hangs over the top of a pair of caramel-colored chinos. The shirt is black, but the placket, turned-back cuffs, and the inside of the collar are made of a paisley material the same color as his bright blue eyes. His haircut is so sharp it could cut glass, and his jaw is smooth as . He’s wearing his fancy watch on his left wrist. He looks classy and rich and sophisticated.
What the hell does he want with me?
“I bet he smells amazing,” Ana says.
“He does.” I bite my lip as her eyebrows rise. “I mean I bet you’re right. He looks like the kind of guy who wears expensive cologne.”
Her lips curve up, but she just says, “Are you ready?”
“No.”
She winks at me, then goes over to the door and answers it as he approaches.
“Hello, Ana,” I hear him say.
I pick up my clutch and walk forward. It’s weird; he’s not six foot eight or anything, but it feels as if he fills the doorway. I guess it’s his presence or his posture. He stands there as if he owns the world. As if he’s a Bond villain who expects to be obeyed .
“Hello,” he says. “Why are you glaring at me? I just got here.” His gaze slides down me. “Wow.”
“She looks good, doesn’t she?” Ana says.
“She does.”
“It took her half an hour to decide what to wear.”
“Ana!” I push past them both and walk outside. “Come on,” I say to him irritably.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Ana calls.
“That doesn’t leave much,” I yell back and poke my tongue out at her.
Orson chuckles, then to my surprise, goes around to the passenger side and opens the door. I stare at him. He stares back, then gestures for me to get in.
“I thought you were going to ask me to drive,” I say. “But I’m guessing you wouldn’t let a woman behind the wheel of your baby.”
“Happy to,” he replies. “It has parking assistance for female drivers.”
“Fucking cheek.”
“You started it.”
Our eyes meet, and our lips curve up.
“Are you going to be trouble tonight?” he asks softly, lifting a hand to stroke a strand of hair off my forehead.
His touch banishes all words from my brain, and I can only stare into his eyes. My God, he’s so incredibly handsome. My gaze drops to his mouth, and I remember kissing him, his firm dry lips, his searching tongue.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds, “or we won’t be going anywhere. I’ll drive us around the corner, and we can park for two hours and have each other for dinner.”
Rolling my eyes, trying not to think how wonderful that would be, I get into the car. He closes the door, then walks around and gets in the driver’s side.
I buckle myself in and look around the car’s interior, stunned. It’s beautiful, black and gleaming, and it smells of new carpets and polished wood and leather, as well as of Orson’s distinctive cologne.
He starts the engine, and it purrs, then roars as he puts it into drive and heads out of the commune.
He glances at me as he drives and says, “Do you like the car?”
“She’s beautiful. ”
He smiles; that’s pleased him. “She is.”
I inhale. “That’s so good.”
“New car smell. Nothing like it.”
“She smells of you.”
He smiles again. Oh my. If he keeps smiling like that, I’m not going to be any good to anyone.
“Of course she’s far too extravagant,” I say. “Mr. Ostentatious.”
“That is actually my middle name.”
“You know what? I wouldn’t be shocked.”
He just laughs.
“What restaurant are we going to?” I ask.
“It’s called Tutto Bene. It’s Italian.”
“I kinda gathered that from the name.”
“Are you going to be sassy all evening?”
“Probably. Is that a problem?”
He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again.
“What were you going to say?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Spit it out, Cavendish.”
“I was going to say it’s only a problem if you don’t enjoy getting spanked.”
It was so not what I thought he was going to say that I feel myself flush scarlet. He notices and laughs. “You did ask.”
“Jeez.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease you. I promise I’ll try to rein myself in. Look, the restaurant is really nice. Tutto bene means ‘Everything’s fine’ or ‘All is well.’ You like Italian?”
“I do. We had an Italian woman stay with us last year and she was a really good cook. She used to make lasagnas the size of Australia for the whole commune. And her own garlic bread.”
“I love garlic bread.”
“Me too.”
“They do a great flatbread at the restaurant with mozzarella and rosemary. We’ll have to have some of that.”
I fiddle with the clutch on my lap. “Have you taken many women there?”
His eyebrows rise. “You mean girlfriends? No, none. I’ve been there a couple of times for business lunches.” He glances at me. “I wouldn’t take you to somewhere I’ve taken other women. ”
“Why?” I ask, puzzled. “I’m not your girlfriend.”
His blue eyes stare into mine. “Not yet.” He holds my gaze for a moment, then looks back at the road.
My heart bangs on my ribs and I feel suddenly breathless. He glances at me again, and his lips curve up as he says, “What?”
“I assumed that the point of this meeting was either to get me to lower the price for the Waiora or to get me into bed, not as a prelude to dating.”
“It can’t be all three?” He grins at the look on my face. “That was a joke.”
“Orson, why have you asked me out tonight?”
“Because, crazy as it sounds, I like you, and I want to spend time with you.”
“That does sound crazy.”
“Why don’t we just roll with it and see how it goes?”
I frown as he passes the turnoff for the ferry and heads for the Midnight Club. “I thought we were going into the city.”
“We are.”
“We’re not taking the ferry?”
“No, I thought I’d fly us.”
I stare at him. “Pardon?”
He gestures at the hill above the club, where a big letter H marks a flat piece of land. A helicopter sits there, bathed in the warm orange light of the evening sun.
My jaw drops. Slowly, I turn my gaze to him. He looks smug enough that I know his plan was to shock me.
“Fine,” I say. “It’s not like I’ve never taken a helicopter on a first date before.”
He laughs, heads along the road that snakes up the hill behind the complex, and parks beside the helicopter pad.
“Evening, sir,” says a man who’s waiting by the helicopter as we get out.
“Hey, Al,” Orson says. “This is Scarlett.”
“Good evening, Ma’am,” Al says to me.
“Hello,” I say, tongue-tied at the fact that this guy obviously works for Orson. He has staff. Despite his protestation that he doesn’t come from Downton Abbey, it’s difficult not to have that image in my mind.
“She’s all ready,” Al says .
“Thanks.” Orson opens the passenger door and brings me forward. It’s not a huge step up, but he steadies me anyway, and makes sure I’m in before he shuts the door.
My heart races as I buckle myself in and look around the cabin. The dashboard in front of me is a mass of dials and screens and buttons. He gets in the other side, settles himself in the seat, and hands me a pair of headphones. “So I can talk to you,” he says.
I put them on and adjust the microphone as I watch him do the same.
“Hello,” he says, and a shiver runs down my spine at the sound of him inside my head.
“Do you really know how to fly this thing?” I ask as he starts the engine and the rotor blades begin to spin.
“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ve watched a couple of YouTube videos.”
“Orson…”
“Just relax. It’s going to be a spectacular flight with this sunset.” He starts flipping switches and pressing buttons.
Not wanting to distract him, I let him do his thing, and it’s not long before I feel the helicopter lift. Seconds later, we’re in the air heading across the Midnight Club, west toward the setting sun.
Orson dons a pair of sunglasses and hands me another pair, and I slide them on to guard against the sun’s bright glare.
“How’s your head?” I ask.
He just shrugs.
I watch him as he observes the dials and screens in front of him, secretly impressed by his competence and confidence. He has nice forearms, well-muscled and tanned with a sprinkling of brown hairs, and his hands are big and strong, with neat nails. I can remember them sliding beneath my skirt onto my bare butt, the heat from them searing into my cool skin.
Swallowing hard, I drag my gaze from him and instead look out at the view.
He was right; it turns out to be a spectacular flight. I’ve crossed to the city many times on the ferry and the helicopter takes a similar path, but it’s very different looking down. We pass Motuihe Island with its beautiful beaches, the end of which looks like a whale’s fluke from above, and then Browns Island with its preserved volcano in the center. The sun is about an hour from setting, and the sky is a fantastic palette of pinks and oranges, reflected in the Pacific Ocean, which looks like strips of iron, copper, gold, and bronze. I spot yachts and fishing boats, seagulls and albatrosses and gulls, and once even a pod of dolphins swimming alongside the ferry from the mainland, which I point out with excitement, making him smile.
He follows the northern coast of the city, past Hobson Bay, then gradually takes us lower, heading, I presume, for Mechanics Bay. He talks into his microphone, asking for clearance to land, then sets us down on top of a big yellow circle with a cross in the middle, in front of the glass heliport.
He switches everything off and the rotor blades slow to a stop, and then we remove our headphones.
“That was wonderful,” I say breathlessly when he comes around to help me down.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He turns his attention to a guy who comes over.
“Evening, Mr. Cavendish,” the guy says. “Will you be wanting her again tonight?”
“No,” Orson says, but before my brain can process the implications of that, he adds, “We’ll take the ferry back to Waiheke later.”
“Okay, sir, I’ll put her to bed.”
We walk across the tarmac and into the building. Orson sees me looking at him, and says, “What?”
“For a moment I thought you were assuming I’d stay the night with you.”
That earns me a frown. “I’d never assume that. Give me some credit.” He takes me out the other side of the building, then pulls out his phone. “Hold on, I’ll call an Uber.”
I watch him bring up the app and organize a car. When he’s done, he looks at me and lifts an eyebrow. “You still look baffled.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because if you went on Tinder you’d be able to get laid every night of the week.”
“Meaningless sex doesn’t do a lot for me.”
“Really?”
“That surprises you?”
“I thought all men liked meaningless sex. ”
“Wow, they really paint a good picture of us at the commune, don’t they?” He tips his head to the side. “I guess working at a Women’s Refuge is going to give you a skewed view of the opposite sex.”
I look away, at the cars shooting past, and the shops and businesses, the buildings painted orange by the late sun. “It’s nothing to do with the retreat.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “My father was never very complimentary about young men.”
“Oh, I see. You got the ‘all guys are only after one thing’ speech?”
“Many, many times.”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I can hardly criticize him for that after my behavior at the Waiora.” I look back at him, and he winces.
I study one of the buttons on his shirt. “I seem to recall that I started it.”
“I didn’t exactly fight you off.”
Our eyes meet, and we both laugh.
“Here’s the Uber,” he says as a Prius draws up at the curb. We get in, and soon we’re in the traffic, heading further into the city.
“It’s only ten minutes away,” he says.
“What time are we booked in?”
“Seven.” I look at my watch, and he says, “We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried, it’s just that I’m used to being the one who organizes everything,” I admit.
“You don’t have to this time,” he says. “Let me look after you for once.”
His blue eyes look darker here in the back of the car, but they’re kind, and his expression is gentle. It makes me soften inside, like a bar of chocolate left on a windowsill on a sunny day. He’s so handsome. The shirt makes him look sophisticated, but the wind has ruffled his hair, and he looks young and hot.
Since my mum fell ill, I’ve looked after myself and Ana, run the house, and had a hand in the organization of the retreat. We’re a commune, so we deal with things communally, but despite this I’m used to bearing the pressures and responsibilities of everyday life, to solving problems and dealing with the stress and upset when things go wrong. The thought of letting someone do something for me—even as small as organizing a meal specifically for me—makes me feel a mixture of bemused and touched.
I have to remind myself why I’m here, though. “Um… have you had any more thoughts on the purchase price of the Waiora?”
“Some. I’m having the land valued by another company tomorrow. And Kingi is running some figures for me. I’ll have an answer for you soon.”
“So there’s nothing I can do to persuade you?” As soon as the words leave my lips, I realize how that sounds.
Sure enough, he frowns and says, “That’s not why I asked you to dinner.”
“You said, ‘Come to dinner with me tonight and it’ll give you the opportunity to convince me.’”
“I also said I want to see if you’re going commando or not.”
I nudge him with my elbow, and he chuckles. “It’s a pretty dress,” he says softly. “It suits you.”
“I don’t think it’s right for the restaurant.”
“You look beautiful, Scarlett. You’ll draw every eye in the room.”
“I don’t know what to say to compliments like that.”
“You must be used to them.”
I laugh. “No. The guys I mix with aren’t sophisticated enough to know how to flatter a girl.”
“Their loss.” He looks puzzled. “I know I’ve seen the evidence, but… you really haven’t…” He glances at the driver, then back at me. “…dated anyone?”
I shake my head. “When I was younger, I spent a lot of time with the others who were my age at the commune. There was a guy, Neil, who was nice, but he ended up marrying one of my friends. They seem very happy, so I’m pleased for them. But there wasn’t anyone else I could picture myself with.”
“So what was your plan? How were you hoping to meet someone?”
“I wasn’t. I mean… I’m not.”
“You’re going to become a nun?”
He’s joking, but I answer seriously, “Maybe.”
That makes him laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“Actually, I have thought about it. Maybe not actually taking vows as I’m not Christian as such, but I have thought about dedicating my life to the commune and the retreat and to helping others. I’m sorry, that sounds very pretentious. But I know it’s what my father would have wanted. And I just don’t think marriage and children are on the cards for me.”
His smile fades, and he mutters, “Maybe Dad was right.”
“About what?”
He shakes his head. Then he says, “Your life is your own, to do with what you will. I know you believe in holistic healing and I’m sure you think that concentrating on your mental and emotional side will be fulfilling. But we’re physical creatures too. I’ve had a taste of your passion, Scarlett. And I can tell you now that it will be an absolute crime if you don’t explore that with someone. Preferably me.”