Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
“Why are you frowning like that?” Lisa asked, pushing a black coffee towards Bo, and Bo took it gratefully.
“I was thinking about Nick.”
“Oh.” Lisa sighed. “Yes, that’s how my face looks when I think about him too.”
“Maybe I’ll stop and see him on the way back to London.”
“You’re really going back?” Lisa asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Bo was surprised by the question, but Lisa simply shrugged.
“You know. The man trouble you’re having.”
“Not having. Had,” Bo clarified, and Lisa nodded, sipping at her own coffee.
“You still don’t want to tell me anything?”
“No.” Talking about Max, thinking about Max hurt. Right now, Bo just wanted space. That included space from her hurt.
“Want to talk financial planning then?”
Bo smiled. “Or you could tell me about you.”
Lisa laughed. “There’s nothing to tell. I do this.” She gestured to the office. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for good? I’ll get you onto the paper. A nice gardening column and—”
Bo cut off that stream of thought rapidly. “No. I can’t write, you know that. You and Nick took the lion’s share of Dad’s talent.”
“What did you get then?” Lisa asked, and Bo laughed again.
“My mother’s looks.”
Lisa didn’t laugh with her. “You’re more than that. I hope you understand that. I know Margot spent every minute of your childhood putting you on those God-forsaken catwalks or in front of a camera lens, but you’re more than how you look to other people.”
Max had said something similar. Vibrant, that was the word he’d used.
Stop thinking about him, she ordered herself. Start putting him from your mind.
“I wish you’d give up the acting nonsense too. That’s what Margot wanted for you, not what you wanted for you,” Lisa carried on.
Bo smiled. “You’ll be happy to hear I’ve given it up then.”
At that, Lisa gave a wide smile. “Have you?”
“Yes. I’m going to buy a small business, you see.”
Lisa’s smiled faded. “A small business? Bo, if this is some jewellery scam or knife-selling scheme . . .”
Bo laughed. “No, no, no. Nothing like that. Actually, Ida’s selling up her flower shop. The one I’ve been working at. She’s asked if I want to buy it, and I’ve decided I do.”
Lisa sat back, looking stunned. “A flower shop?” Suddenly, she grinned. “That’ll be perfect for you. You and your gardens and your flowers . . . you’ve always loved them. This is perfect, Bo. Is that why you wanted to talk about financial planning with me?”
“Yes. Although there’s more.”
The wary look came back into Lisa’s eyes. “Okay.”
“Do you remember Sir Geoffrey?”
“Yes. I ran his obit because of you, didn’t I?”
Bo nodded. “He left me a gift in his will.”
“What sort of gift?”
Bo took a deep breath. “Half of his estate, actually. It’s a sizeable chunk of London real estate worth around three million pounds.”
Lisa’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Nope.”
“Bo . . . but what about the nephew? You said there was a nephew? Was he cut out of the will or something?”
Max. Bo pressed her lips together. “No. He, umm, inherited the other half of the estate.”
“Bloody hell, Bo.” Lisa sat back, clearly amazed. Suddenly, she leaned forward. “God, don’t tell your mother about your inheritance, will you? She’ll be at you day and night for that money.”
Bo nodded. “Yeah, I figured. Don’t worry. I’ll keep it to myself.”
“See that you do.” Lisa drank another mouthful of coffee, pondering Bo for a moment. “So, you still managed to squeeze in some man trouble amongst all that other news, did you? Still don’t want to tell me?”
Bo picked up her coffee. Her hands felt shaky, and she knew it was a mixture of tiredness, jetlag and hunger, as well as a lingering bewilderment that she was here, and Max was out of her life.
“I don’t want to talk about him,” she told her sister.
“I just want to rest for a while, if that’s okay?
A couple of weeks, a little space and I’ll be fine. ”
“Bo . . .”
“I’ll be fine,” Bo said again, but she wasn’t sure if she was lying to her sister or herself.
* * *
For two weeks, Bo mostly hid from the world in her sister’s place.
She burrowed under blankets, sleeping and feeling sad, but not, she was proud to remind herself, sobbing uncontrollably.
In fact, she only cried twice. Once was when her sister dragged her out to a restaurant, and the pianist in the lounge played Beethoven.
At the opening notes of Adagio un poco mosso Bo felt her eyes mist with tears and Lisa had looked at her like she’d grown a second head.
“Are you all right?” Lisa had asked, and Bo had nodded, before quickly decamping outside to suck in big mouthfuls of harbour air. When she’d returned, somewhat composed, Lisa gave her a long look.
“Still don’t want to tell me?” she’d asked wryly, and Bo blushed, but wouldn’t say a word.
The other time was when she’d been rifling through her backpack for a something to wear and came across Max’s lurid purple shirt.
Bo had held the garment to her face, breathing the smell of Max in, and couldn’t help the tears from coursing freely down her cheeks, missing him so much it hurt.
She fell asleep wearing the shirt, and the next morning dumped it in with the washing, so that she could never do that to herself again.
Lisa handed her the shirt back two days later, clean, dry and ironed, and gave her another long look.
“Still don’t want to tell me?”
When the two weeks Bo had allocated for her broken heart were nearly up, she opened her phone and was immediately assaulted by paparazzi pictures of Ida’s shop all over the news and Instagram. She quickly dialled Willa, who answered sleepily.
“Why the fuck have you been working in Ida’s shop?” she asked, and Willa cleared her throat.
“Because you left Ida in the lurch, running off the way you did, and she needed someone to help her for a few days,” Willa explained. “Don’t worry, I explained everything to her.”
“What did you explain?” Bo asked warily.
“Oh, you know, about Max, about your falling out with him, pretty much everything. She totally understood why you needed some time out. She’s set up a room for you above the shop, by the way. You won’t have to go back to your summer house now. Say the word and I’ll start moving your stuff over.”
Bo paused. She’d fled London and Max so quickly, she hadn’t yet considered the reality of her return. She’d assumed that when she returned, she would go back to her summer house; assumed she would live there until the place was sold. But then, could she live so close to Max? The answer was no.
“Thanks,” Bo said softly. “Can you, uh, move my stuff? There isn’t much to move. Not really.”
“Sure,” Willa replied easily. “Ida’s been watering your plants for you, too. She showed me what to do one day and we ran into Max. Oh, my God, that was so funny, let me tell you—”
“You and Ida ran into Max?!” squeaked Bo, her stomach turning over. “You didn’t, uh, tell him anything, right?”
“You mean about how desperately you’re still in love with him?
No, we didn’t say a word. We’re not that tacky.
But Ida did say all this stuff about blood being thicker than water and leopards and spots and how if he touched even one petal on any of your plants she would personally stick several of his piano keys where the sun doesn’t shine.
” Willa laughed. “Told you, it was hilarious. You should have seen Max’s face. ”
Bo only wished she could see Max’s face.
“Are you coming home soon?” Willa asked.
“I know I’ve got another few weeks before my next film starts shooting, but I can’t work at Ida’s shop forever.
For one thing, flower people are crazy, did you know that?
Ida took me to New Covent Garden Market one morning, and a fist fight literally broke out over calla lilies. Crazy, Bo. Crazy.”
After promising Willa she would be back in London soon, Bo went through to Lisa and told her she’d booked a flight back to London. The look on Lisa’s face was sceptical, but she nodded all the same.
Two days later, Lisa drove her to the airport, handing her a cheque for a stupendous sum of money while they drank coffee at International Departures.
“It’s a loan, so you can buy that flower shop,” Lisa told her. “When you sell that property in London, you can pay me back.”
“Lisa . . .”
“If it had been up to me, your mother’s money would have been your money, anyway,” Lisa explained.
“So, take this, set yourself up, and when you’re ready you can pay me back.
Just promise me you’ll never tell your mother about your inheritance.
If she ever asks, tell her I gave you the money for the shop.
She’s been asking to borrow more money from me again, and I don’t like to think about how her finances must be looking right now. ”
Bo nodded, accepting the cheque gratefully.
She’d been dreading having to ask Max to sell up early so she could buy Ida’s shop.
Now, she didn’t have to. She could buy Ida’s shop and wait for Max to sell when he was ready.
At this rate, she’d never have to lay eyes on Max Fitzroy ever again, a thought that made her both sigh with relief as well as wince with pain.
“Still don’t want to tell me?” Lisa asked suddenly, and Bo chewed on her lip.
“He broke my heart,” she confessed.
“I figured. How? Was it like Oliver again, with another woman?”
“No. He just . . .” Bo looked out the window, watching as an A380 took off into the Sydney skies. “He just couldn’t be serious about me.”
“Il est roi des cons,” Lisa said under her breath, retreating to French as she always did when unable to express her thoughts adequately in English. She gazed at Bo hopefully. “Did you at least break his heart right back?”
“No. Like I said, he wasn’t serious about me, so his heart was never on the line. I hurt him though,” Bo replied, her voice full of regret. “I hurt him really bad.”
“Well, he hurt you,” Lisa reasoned.
“Yes, but I didn’t want to hurt him, Lis. That was never my intention.”
Lisa looked thoughtful. “You’re not a bad person, Bo. Sometimes people get hurt in relationships.”
“I know, I just . . .” she paused. “I could have done it all so much better. I wish I could go back. I’d do so many things differently.”
“You can’t go back though. All you can do now is keep moving forward.
” She brightened. “Like buying this new business and moving into the room above it. Like making plans for your future. These are positive steps forward. And when you’re back in six months to visit me, I know I’m going to hear all about how happy you are. ”
“Six months?” Bo was confused. “I didn’t say I’d be back in six months.”
“Yes, you did,” Lisa insisted. “Remember? The concert I have tickets for? You said you were coming with me.”
Bo had a vague memory of asking Lisa to keep her spare ticket for her. “Right,” she said. “Of course.”
“So, put this man trouble from your mind, work on your life and your future, and in six months, I’ll see you at the Maximilian Fitzroy concert. That will take your mind off this man trouble of yours.”
Bo felt ill. “What? Whose concert?”
Lisa stared at her. “Maximilian Fitzroy. The famed concert pianist. I’ve wanted to see him play the Emperor Concerto for years and he’s finally coming to Sydney. That’s who we’ve got tickets for. Max Fitzroy.”
Bo was thirty-five thousand feet above the ocean before she was able to swear twice without choking on an in-flight peanut.