Chapter Eighteen
Orson
I fly us to the Midnight Club and then drive Scarlett back to Kahukura.
“You can drop me here,” she says as we arrive at the gates to the commune.
I ignore her, though. I’m not going to let her slip in as if we’ve done something secretive and wrong. Instead, I go through the open gates, up the drive, circle the green, and stop right outside the town hall.
“Thanks,” she says sarcastically. Then, as a group of people spill out of the building, she mutters, “Oh no.”
It’s Richard, George, and a few other older people. They fan out as Scarlett opens the car door. Concerned, slightly regretting my decision, I turn off the engine and get out, too.
They watch me walk around the car to join Scarlett. They don’t seem hostile, which was what I was worried about. In fact one of the older women is giving her a mischievous smile as she sees Bearcub in Scarlett’s hand.
“Morning,” Scarlett says. “Is this a welcome committee?”
“We’ve just finished a meeting,” Richard points out. He looks at me. “So… have you come to a decision about the Waiora?”
I nod. “I agree to seventeen and a half million.”
All their faces light up. I have no doubt that most of them are well meaning and genuinely want to improve the facilities here, and the retreat for the women and children who need it so desperately.
“Well, I’m guessing we have you to thank for that,” George says to Scarlett.
Fury balloons inside me at the implication that she slept with me to seal the deal. I cross the distance between us, and in a second I have him pinned up against the wall with an arm across his throat .
“How dare you,” I snarl.
“Whoa!” Richard struggles to pull us apart. “Steady on. Orson!”
“I made up my mind before our date,” I snap. I’m not going to let George off the hook that easily after he was so rude to my girl. “I had my business partner check some figures yesterday afternoon, and we both decided to go ahead. You’ve got a fucking cheek to insinuate anything else.”
George struggles to push me away, and as Richard and another guy pull me back, he finally frees himself. Red-faced, his clothing rucked up, he says, “I just meant that I guess she talked you around. I wasn’t referring to anything else.” He sends her a pleading glance. “You have to believe me, Scarlett. I wouldn’t say that.”
She frowns. I can’t tell if she’s pleased or annoyed that I leapt to her defense.
“It was just a misunderstanding,” Richard says smoothly. “Let’s forget about it. Orson, we have something else to discuss—you kindly offered to send your partner to audit our files for us, and we’ve decided to agree.”
I look at George, who straightens his clothing then glances at Scarlett. He didn’t want an audit, so I guess he was outvoted. I thought he’d be mad, but instead there’s a touch of fear in his eyes. What will an audit uncover that he wants to keep hidden? I’m pretty sure I can guess.
I glance at Scarlett, wishing I could save her from this. If anything is going to remove her rose-tinted glasses, it’s going to be discovering that someone was stealing from the commune. Equally, you can’t go through life blindly believing that everyone you meet is honest and truthful. Innocent until proven guilty is great for the law courts, but in everyday life it’s best to be cautious.
“I’ll talk to Kingi,” I say. “Get him to give you a call. He should be able to do it next week.”
Richard nods. “Thank you.”
“I’ll also get him to draw up the papers for the sale of the Waiora, and to lay out the instructions for the stewardship. We can then meet and go through them. I’d prefer to keep things friendly, but obviously if there are any contested points, we might have to get lawyers involved.”
“I’d rather that wasn’t the case for financial reasons,” Richard says. “They’ll bleed us dry. I’m sure we can work it out ourselves. ”
After the way they fleeced me for another two and a half million I’m not so sure, but I nod anyway. “I’ll be in touch.”
Taking Scarlett’s hand, I lead her a little away from the group. I move closer to her, but, conscious of everyone watching, I don’t kiss her, even though I want to.
“You okay?” I murmur.
“You shouldn’t talk to George like that,” she says. “He’s been very good to me.” Her eyes shine—she’s genuinely upset.
I want to tear off her rose-tinted glasses and stomp on them. But instead, I just say, “I thought he was being rude to you.”
She glares at me for a moment. Then, to my surprise, her lips twitch. “I thought you were going to challenge him to a duel for a moment.”
“I considered it,” I reply, relieved she’s not mad. “Kingi would happily have brought my pistols over.”
Her eyes gleam. “Thank you for defending my honor, even if it was misguided.”
“I don’t want what happened between us to become ensnared with the commune and the Waiora,” I tell her firmly. “Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stop it,” I scold.
“Yes, sir.”
I give up. “So you’ll come to Kingi’s party on Saturday?”
She hesitates. “I don’t know.”
“Please? With a cherry on top?”
“Orson, it’s pointless when this can’t go anywhere.”
I understand her point, and I’m not certain yet how to counter her argument, so I just say, “Well why don’t we take it one date at a time? I’ll probably drive you mad anyway after a few weeks.”
“A few hours, you mean.”
“I acknowledge it’s a possibility.”
“Look, even if I did agree to go, I don’t have anything to wear. The women at the club won’t be wearing things like this.” She gestures at her summer dress.
“You’re probably right about the guests,” I admit. “But this is a party for family and friends, and it’ll be casual, shorts and tees.”
“You’ll be wearing shorts?”
“Swim shorts, yeah, there’s a heated pool and the weather’s supposed to be good. So bring a bikini.” I cup her face with a hand. “Please? ”
She sucks her bottom lip. Then she says, “I’ll think about it.”
I sigh. “Good girl.”
That earns me a wry look. She glances at the others, who are still hovering, no doubt waiting to grill her when I’ve gone. Then she says, “Thank you for a lovely evening. I had a great time.”
“Me too. I’ll pick you up at six forty-five on Saturday, okay? The party starts at seven.”
“I haven’t agreed—”
“And bring your toothbrush. I’d like you to stay the night in my suite.”
“That’s presumptuous on so many levels.”
“Hopeful, more like.” I bend my head and let my breath fan over her cheek. “I want to taste you again,” I murmur.
“Orson!” Her cheek warms beneath my lips. “You’re a wicked man.”
“I try.” I touch my lips lightly to hers. Then, conscious of the others still watching us, I move back reluctantly. “I’d better go. Firstly though, I’ve got something for you.”
“Oh?”
I go over to the car, open it and reach into the glove box, and bring it back to her. It’s a brand-new iPhone. I’ve taken it out of the packaging, started it up, put in a SIM card for her, and programmed the number into my phone.
She stares at it. “I don’t need one.”
“You don’t have to go on social media or anything. But I’d like to be able to talk to you and message you if I want to. And you can message me at any time.” I’m determined to remain in this girl’s thoughts as often as I can.
“No thank you,” she says.
“Scarlett…”
“You shouldn’t try to change me,” she says fiercely. “Just because the way I live is different from you.”
“I’m not trying to change you.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I just want to be able to talk to you while we’re not together. Come on, it’s just a phone, not a loyalty card for the capitalist machine.” I pick up her hand, turn it over, and lay the phone in it.
She glares at it .
I push away a flicker of unease at the thought of the different worlds we inhabit. “I’ve programmed my number into the contacts, so we’re all ready to go. All right, I’d better shoot off. Speak to you later.” I wave to the others, get in and start the Aston, and fill the air with its throaty purr as I pull away.
*
The rest of my day is super busy. I take the ferry back to the city, where I have back-to-back meetings until late. I do manage to catch up with Kingi at one point, though, and I ask him if he’ll draft up the documentation for the sale of the Waiora, and sketch out an idea for the stewardship. I also tell him that the commune has agreed to an audit of their financial documents. He checks his calendar and says he can start next Wednesday.
A month ago, we attended the wedding of one of our good friends, Lincoln Green, in Wellington. Kingi and I were both groomsmen, and Kingi’s affection for Linc was evident in the fact that he shaved off his beard for the occasion. He looked weird without it, so I was somewhat relieved he’s growing it back again. Bearing in mind he’s six-four and has long wavy hair, he could easily double for Jason Momoa.
“By the way,” I tell him, “I’m bringing someone to your party on Saturday.”
“You’ve got a new dog?” he asks.
I give him a wry look. “No.”
His bushy eyebrows shoot up. “Scarlett?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re really trying to piss your father off, aren’t you?”
“I don’t need to try to do that.”
He laughs. Then he smiles. “You really like this girl, don’t you?”
“I do. I’d like everyone to meet her. She’s nervous about coming though.”
“Well, yeah. You said she doesn’t leave the commune often, so I get that. We’ll all make sure she’s welcome though. I’ll get Marama to look after her.”
“Oh, she’s back?” His sister has been traveling and working in Europe for the last few years.
“Yeah, she landed yesterday. ”
I’m pleased. I like Marama; she’s warm and friendly, and I’m pleased to think she’ll be here to meet Scarlett.
Kingi heads off to a meeting, but I have ten minutes before my next one starts, so I take out my phone. I messaged Scarlett earlier. To my disappointment, she hasn’t messaged back.
Wanting to hear her voice, I call her. It rings half a dozen times, then goes to voicemail.
I leave a brief message saying I miss her and I hope she’s having a good day. Then I go off to my meeting.
When it finishes, I check my phone, but there are no missed calls and no messages.
I text her again, telling her I miss her and I hope to hear from her soon. I wait for a moment in case the three little dots appear to announce she’s typing. They don’t.
Eventually I slide the phone into my pocket, frustrated. She could be busy with her yoga classes, but I have a horrible feeling she won’t even have the device on her.
I attempt to put it to the back of my mind and head off to a meeting with Kingi and some business associates from Australia, which continues over dinner and drinks. By the time I leave my office it’s after ten, and there’s still no message from Scarlett.
I’m not sure what time she goes to bed, but I text her a third time, telling her I’m heading home, and drive to my apartment.
No reply.
I head straight for the gym, run for thirty minutes, and do some weights. Then I go back to my apartment and take a quick shower.
Still no message.
Disappointed, frustrated, and a little bit cross, I pour myself a whisky and take it into my study, where I sit on the sofa, looking out at the city lights. I glance down at Doyle’s empty bed and feel a sharp pang of grief. I’ve spent the last six years with him glued to my ankle, even at work, because I made sure to train him so he wasn’t a problem in the office. I do miss him during the day, but I’m so busy that it’s only at nighttime that the loss really sets in.
I sip my whisky sulkily. At least a dog is dependable and loyal. A dog would send you a message every minute of the day if it could.
I take a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. I miss Scarlett, despite not wanting to. A lot of the women I meet socially, attracted no doubt to my money and position, fawn over me, saying what they think I want to hear. Scarlett doesn’t, though. I like the way she teases me and stands up to me. I like that she’s different, I love her boho look, her strange views on things, her warm heart. She’s like a daisy growing in a nuclear wasteland, a glimpse of nature in a city of concrete and metal and glass. But she’d be easily crushed in that city. She’s right; I can’t imagine her in my world, any more than I can imagine existing in hers. Meditating and lighting candles and eating kale. My lips curve up at the thought of what she’d say to that. Then my smile fades as I glance at the blank phone screen.
Eventually, I go to bed, but I leave the curtains open and lie awake for a while. I look out at the moon, remembering the feel of her warm body and wishing she was here with me.
It’s late before I finally fall into a dreamless sleep.
*
The next day is Saturday. I work at home for a couple of hours, then meet Kingi and a few old friends for brunch at a favorite cafe. It’s Kingi’s twenty-eighth birthday, and we celebrate over Eggs Benedict, full English Breakfasts, and coffee, reminiscing about our university days and talking about our businesses.
Afterward, I head over to Waiheke to the Midnight Club and spend the afternoon working in my office.
By late afternoon, I’m panicking. I haven’t heard from Scarlett, so I don’t even know if she’s coming to the party tonight. I’ve texted several times and I’ve rung her twice, but I’m convinced she’s flung the phone away and it’s slipped down the back of the sofa.
I call the landline in her house, but she doesn’t answer. Finally, I call the commune’s main office and ask to speak to her. They send someone off to track her down, but return to say they can’t find her, and they think she might have gone off for a walk somewhere.
So is she coming or not?
Gritting my teeth, I head off to my suite in the main hotel building. It’s on the top floor, smaller than my penthouse in the city, and consists of a living room with a kitchenette, a bedroom, and a bathroom, but it has a great view over the ocean, and I usually love spending time here.
Today, though, my stomach is full of butterflies. I’ve never had a girl turn me down before. My father brought me up to believe in the magic formula: see, want, take. If our gaze falls on something I want, it’s just a matter of time before I close the deal, because everything and everyone has a price.
Except Scarlett, it seems. A mixture of puzzled and frustrated, I shower and shave, then dress in a pair of dark-blue swim shorts and a light-blue T-shirt. Frowning, I change into a short-sleeved shirt and chinos. Then a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Finally, exasperated with myself, I put the tee and shorts back on, growl at myself in the mirror, and head out to the Aston.
I drive along the winding road through the rolling hills and vineyards with the Pacific Ocean on my right, arriving at Kahukura just before 6:45 p.m.
I pull up outside Scarlett’s house, turn off the engine, and get out. I’m not even sure if she’ll be here. I walk up the path, heart racing. I haven’t felt this anxious before a date for… well, maybe ever. I feel as if I’m sixteen, about to go to the school ball. I refuse to go the Midnight Club alone tonight. I’ve told Kingi I’ll be bringing her, so I’m going to take her with me even if I have to carry her in a firefighter’s lift.
I lift a hand to knock on the door… and it opens.
I lower my hand. She’s wearing a short scarlet sundress with a halter top that reveals she has a bikini on underneath. She’s pinned up her hair and adorned it with a red rosebud. Her red lips match her dress.
She has a bag over her shoulder, and she comes out now and closes the door behind her.
“Hello,” she says, turning to face me.
I stare into her big brown eyes. “I didn’t think you were going to come.”
“I wasn’t sure I would… until I saw you.”
We study each other for about ten seconds.
“I missed you,” I say, my voice husky. “I called you, and messaged you.”
“I know. I did see them.”
“Why didn’t you message me back?” I ask, puzzled.
Her lips part, but she hesitates and drops her gaze to her red sandals. I think she has honestly been torn in two. She wants to see me. But she’s convinced we have no future.
That may be true, but all I can feel is euphoric that she’s here and wants to be with me .
“I told you,” I say softly, moving forward to cup her face, “I’m not going to break your heart.”
“Orson…”
I lower my head and touch my lips to hers. She sighs, her breath whispering across my lips.
When I lift my head, I say, “One step at a time, remember?”
She presses her lips together. Then she nods.
I take her hand. “Come on. We’ve got a party to go to, and I want everyone to meet you.”