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“And we need a real injection of money,” George says gently. “Or we might not be here this time next year.”
That stuns me. I hadn’t realized it was quite that bad.
“Orson wants me to meet him at the Waiora tomorrow,” I say reluctantly. “He wants to show me what developments he has in mind. I’ll go, and I’ll report back tomorrow night.”
“Good, thank you.” Richard nods. “We have a bit more business to talk about, so you can go, Scarlett. Our thanks for going to the lawyer today; I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
I say goodbye, leave the meeting room in the town hall, and go out into the late-summer evening. The kids are playing football on the green, and there’s a lot of shouting and running around, although I can’t make out which team’s which.
Smiling, I sit on the bench that overlooks the green, close my eyes, and turn my face up to the sun.
My stomach is churning, and I try to take deep breaths to calm myself. But it doesn’t work. I don’t want to see Orson tomorrow and try to talk him into giving us more money. The thought sickens me. I don’t like him or what he stands for, and I thought he was arrogant, rude, and condescending, but that doesn’t mean we should fleece him for everything he owns.
If I’m honest, I’m anxious about seeing him for another reason, too. It’s impossible not to think about the moment we said goodbye and shook hands… the way he looked into my eyes… and the heat that was in his gaze. It seared right through me, and it made me extremely uncomfortable. I bet he’s had a hundred girlfriends, and he knows exactly how to turn on the charm. Dad always said that Spencer was smooth but ruthless, and he practically spat whenever his name was mentioned.
I think about what Dad would say if he knew we were considering selling the Waiora to the family he hated so much, and my eyes well with tears. The pool is precious to me, a place of peace and solitude, and a spiritual focus. I scattered Mum’s ashes downstream from the pool just a week before Dad died, and his followed literally a few days ago. It’s more than a piece of land. It’s a part of me and my family.
But what am I supposed to do? The Elders make the decisions regarding the commune, and even though I inherited the land, I have to do what they say. So I’ll have to swallow my pride, ignore mymisgivings, and meet with Orson tomorrow. I’ll do my best to take on board his suggestions, and I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.
*
Tuesday, 11:15am
I meant it. I really was going to try.
But when I turn up early at the Waiora to have some quiet time alone before I meet Orson, I discover three men wearing suits and carrying clipboards in the process of measuring up the Club’s side of the pool. Two guys in shorts and tees are moving stones from the shallows at the top of the waterfall, and another appears to be working out dimensions for the bridge that Orson talked about.
I climb the path to my side of the stepping stones and stare at them in fury. “What are you doing?” I yell.
They all look over, then exchange confused glances. The guy who’s measuring for the bridge comes across the stones toward me. “Morning ma’am,” he says.
“Don’t you ‘morning ma’am’ me,” I snap. “What on earth are you doing here?”
He looks startled. “Um… we’re mapping out the improvements to the Waiora…”
“Did Orson Cavendish send you?” I know it must have been him; who else would it have been? So I’m not surprised when he nods. “Right,” I say. I slide off my sandals, then, lifting my long dress with both hands, I start walking across the stepping stones toward the Club’s side of the river.
Halfway across, I tread on a wobbly stone and stumble. One foot slips and plunges in, spraying water over me.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath, glaring at the Maori guy who rushes over to extend a hand. I take it because I don’t want to go completely under, but by the time I get to the other side I’m half drenched and cross as a cat when you stand on its tail.
“You okay, ma’am?” he asks as he releases me.
I scowl. “I’m going to see Mr. Cavendish. At this moment, the land belongs to the commune, and we haven’t yet given our permission for any developments. So I suggest you stop working right now until we’ve cleared this up.”
They exchange looks again. “I dunno,” the Maori guy says. “Mr. Cavendish likes his work to be completed on time…”
Furious now, I put on my sandals, stride down the bank, and start heading toward the Midnight Club. Behind me, one of them calls out something, but I ignore them and keep walking.
I follow the gravel path west. I admit it’s been nicely done, flanked by flower beds, and with the occasional bench facing out across the ocean view. Soon it leads through a small copse of trees, and then it opens out, and before me stretches the Midnight resort in all its glory.
I stop, astonished.
Because the main road to the commune comes straight from the ferry, I’ve never come this way. I’m sure some of the kids at Kahukura have snuck over at some point, but this is private property, and we all know it’s out of bounds. We’re taught from an early age that our little community is all we need, and Dad was always so dismissive of the Cavendishes’ lascivious lifestyle that I’ve never given the resort a second thought, and never been interested in wanting to take a peek, afraid that somehow even a glimpse of it will taint me.
Now that I’ve met Orson, though, I’m a little curious. Because I’m on high ground, I have a good view of the entire complex. The resort sprawls from the top of the hill all the way down to the ocean. There’s a central large building with two wings, all built in what looks like white plaster with natural stone accents in a Greek style, with columns and porticoes. The left wing looks like it could be a hotel, as every window has a private balcony. The right wing has a huge Neon sign above it, currently switched off, with the word Midnight and a clock. I think that might be the nightclub.
On the left side going up the hill is a series of individual villas, carefully situated to give them maximum privacy. Behind the buildings, small gardens are dotted between a couple of large swimming pools, smaller plunge pools, and hot tubs. A sheltered bar is serving drinks to those swimming; a couple of people are floating on inflatable loungers, sipping cocktails. Talk about decadent. Alcohol during the day! In the pool!