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“Often. We all work long hours.”
“So it’s the equivalent of handshakes over golf?”
“Not quite.” I’ve debated whether to tell her this, but although we tend to keep it quiet, it’s not a secret as such. And the truth is that I want her to know that I’m not as shallow as she thinks I am. “The Midnight Clubs aren’t quite what you think they are.”
Her eyebrows rise. “They’re not decadent nightclubs for the rich and famous?”
“Well, if you put it that way…”
She smiles and sips her coffee.
“They are,” I say. “But once all the bills are paid, the profits go to charity.”
She stares at me. When she lowers her cup, I can see her jaw has dropped.
“You’re kidding me?” she says.
“Nope. I was approached by a guy called Oliver Huxley, who runs a business club in the city, also called Huxley’s. He told me he was inviting a selection of wealthy business people to invest in a nightclub, with the intention of donating the proceeds to charity. I told my father, because he’d recently inherited this land when his father died, and I suggested we use this as the site for the club, and he came up with the idea for a resort which would make even more money than just a club. So Midnight in Waiheke was born. That was six years ago, and since then the Circle has created another seven clubs across the country, and one more in London.”
“And all the proceeds go to charity?”
I nod and lean forward, elbows on my knees, studying the cup in my hands. “Scarlett… I want you to know that I wasn’t aware that Kahukura was a Women’s Refuge. I don’t know why, but my father has always implied that the commune is some kind of wacky retreat for aging hippies, and I’m ashamed to say I never investigated it myself.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” My tone hardens. “I don’t understand it, but I will have it out with him at some point.”
Scarlett’s mouth opens, but she hesitates and then closes it again. She examines her coffee cup and fiddles with the lid.
“Go on,” I say, amused. “Spit it out.”
“I… was just thinking about you giving to charity. It’s… not what I expected.”
For some reason, I don’t think that was what she was going to say, but I can’t force her to speak her mind. “You thought I stored all my gold coins in a vault and sat there sifting through them like Scrooge McDuck?”
That makes her laugh. “I can see you with a top hat and walking stick,” she says, and I smile. “You should do that more often,” she says softly.
Our eyes meet, and lock, as they seem to do more often than they should. We study each other quietly for a moment.
“Do you like my hair?” I say eventually. “I was thinking of getting it dyed.”
She gives a short laugh. “Don’t do that. It’s distinguished.”
“I’m twenty-seven.”
“Nothing wrong with being distinguished at twenty-seven.”
I inhale and let it out as a sigh. “I dunno. Sometimes I feel old before my time.” I rub the back of my head. “I’d feel better if I could get rid of this damn headache. It did go briefly at the Waiora, which surprised me, but unfortunately it soon came back.”
“It won’t go until you resolve the things that are bothering you,” she says.
I lean back. “Don’t go all New Age on me. I have a headache because some idiot crashed into my motorbike and gave me a concussion.”
“That might have started it. But the reason it won’t go away is because of the emotions you’re carrying in here.” She presses her hand over her heart.
I sip my coffee, not saying anything.
“How do you feel about losing Doyle?” she asks.