Page 43

I look away, across the duck pond. What do I say to that? The whole issue is now knotted up inside me like a tangled ball of wool, and what happened yesterday has only complicated matters.
“They are beautiful,” she says, bending to sniff one of the roses.
“I’ll go and see him later,” I say reluctantly. I haven’t told her about the Elders wanting an extra two and a half million for the Waiora, and I’m not going to, because that means admitting what they want me to do, and I know she won’t approve.
“All right,” she says. “You can tell me all about it tonight.” She kisses my cheek, then heads off.
I go home and place the vase with the roses in the middle of the coffee table in the living room. They are such a vibrant color, a true scarlet. Did he choose that shade on purpose? I take out the envelope, remove the card, and look at both my name and his name. Did he call a company and tell them what to put on there? Or did he write them personally? I brush my thumb across his name with the heart in the middle of the O. It’s true that he didn’t add any kisses. But if he just wanted to say sorry, why put the heart?
We have a landline, because my father used to work from home sometimes, so I go over, pick up the receiver, and dial the mobile number on the business card he gave me rather than his office number. It rings a few times, then goes to voicemail.
“It’s me,” I say, my heart racing. “Scarlett Stone, I mean. I… um… just wanted to say thank you for the flowers. And to tell you that I need to see you. For business reasons. Can I… um… make an appointment? I’m not sure whether you’d rather see me at your office in the CBD? Um… maybe you could let me know sometime. That would be great, thank you.” Jesus, could I waffle any more? I end the call, cursing myself, and head off to the bathroom to take a shower.
I’ve just got out when I hear the phone ringing in the living room. Wrapping a towel around me, I run through the house to answer it. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” he says. “Orson Cavendish.”
“Very funny,” I reply sarcastically. “Don’t mock me. I get nervous on the phone.”
He chuckles. “You liked the roses?”
“I did.”
“I went to three different florists to find one that sold the shade I wanted.”
For some reason, that makes me soften inside. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“You wrote the card?”
“Yeah. Took me an hour to come up with the message.”
That makes me laugh.
I walk across the room to look out of the window at the kids in the playground next to the duck pond. I feel suddenly and inexplicably shy.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
I fiddle with the catch on the window. “For what?”
“You know what for. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I feel really bad about that.”
My lips curve up. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Even so. If I’d have known… but even if I had… I mean…” He clears his throat. “I’ve never been someone’s first before.”
I straighten the curtain. “Really?”
“Really. So it took me by surprise for several reasons.” Voices sound in the background. “I can’t talk much now,” he says, “I’m due in a meeting, but I’ll be at the club around four this afternoon if you want to come over.”
“Are you sure? I just want to talk business, and I thought you’d rather do that at your office.”
“We do business at the club, too.”