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for outfitting a studio for her to do it in. Seems to think I’m being a silly old duffer. I say she shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’
Emily flushed with discomfort as she thanked Mrs Cooper for the delicious muffins and helped place the delicate bone china on the tray.
‘I don’t think it’s silly. I’m incredibly grateful…but it just seems like I’m being paid twice,’ she defended herself awkwardly, and caught a glimmer of surprise and cautious approval in the beady black eyes as the older woman straightened.
‘I think you might find someone else more stubborn than you,’ Mrs Cooper commented, jerking her head at her employer. ‘The silly old duffer there is well nigh impossible to budge once he makes up his mind about something. He’s been a right dictator over that studio, and pestering me about getting your rooms ready, as if I don’t keep every room in this house immaculate—’
‘My rooms?’ Emily blurted, looking from one to the other in bewilderment. ‘What rooms?’
Peter sat forward in his chair, scowling at his housekeeper, who looked grimly satisfied with the results of her remark. ‘Now you’ve gone and spoiled my other surprise. I know that you won’t accept any outright financial help from me, Emily, but I thought that you might like to stay here until your affairs were settled and you could find a rental or go back to your own house.’
‘But I already have a place to stay—with my friend Julie,’ she reminded him.
‘Yes, but you said she and her flatmate only have a little two-bedroom flat and you’re sleeping on the living-room couch. And you said their boyfriends often stay over, which must make it even more cramped…’
‘I don’t mind, really,’ insisted Emily. ‘It’s only a temporary arrangement—’
‘You don’t know how long it might be. And it’s right on the other side of Auckland—that’s a long way to travel here to work every day. Without a car you’d have to get a train or bus into the central terminal and then another one out here, and buses up this way aren’t too frequent…’
And she had turned down a chauffeur-driven Rolls! ‘I’m sure I’ll get used to it,’ she said weakly.
‘What you’re used to is working from home, with the freedom to come and go from your studio whenever you like,’ he said with irrefutable logic. ‘You could do that here—I have tons of spare space so we won’t get in each other’s way.’
She opened her mouth and he held up a stemming hand. ‘Before you say no, why don’t you let Coop show you your bedroom? It’s in the east corner, right across from the garage, and has a separate entrance so you can take a short cut to work!’
Mrs Cooper had mellowed somewhat as she showed a reluctant Emily the luxurious white bedroom and small sitting room next door to the familiar, quiet room where glass-fronted antique cabinets and lacquered oriental tables displayed Rose’s neatly labelled Meissen figurines and tableware and her later collection of Chinese blue and white porcelain.
‘It’s lovely and I don’t want to offend Mr Nash, but I think I’m better staying on with my friend,’ Emily murmured, enviously fingering the shimmering, silk-embroidered duvet cover. The wide single bed looked so soft and inviting after the hard, uneven foam cushions of Julie’s couch she was tempted to fling herself down to see if it felt as good as it looked, but then she might find it even harder to resist temptation. Particularly in the company of a half set of richly decorated players from the famous Meissen Monkey Orchestra, which were playfully arranged in silent duets and trios around the room.
‘Thanks for doing all this, though,’ she said, waving a hand to include the vase of bright flowers on the mirrored dressing table, the thick, fluffy towels folded on the end of the bed, and the footed bowl of fresh fruit on the coffee table in the sitting room. There was even a basket of packaged feminine toiletries beside the telephone on the bedside table.
‘Mr Nash’s orders,’ the housekeeper shrugged. No wonder she had received such a cool reception at the door, thought Emily, giving the room one last, wistful look. Mrs Cooper must have assumed she had known all about this—perhaps even suspected her of asking for it, or manipulating Peter into offering. She must have been worried that Emily was turning into a freeloader, taking advantage of an old man’s compassion.
‘Well, thanks anyway—I saw a few necessities there that definitely wouldn’t have occurred to a man!’
‘Every woman can do with a little hand cream,’ said Mrs Cooper primly and the two women exchanged a secret look of understanding.
‘So, have you seen enough to make you change your mind?’ Peter Nash appeared at the door, rubbing his bony hands together in confident anticipation of a positive answer.
‘Ah…’ Emily hated to disappoint him, but knew that she had already accepted enough of his generosity.
Mrs Cooper gave her an encouraging nod and discreetly abstracted herself.
Peter, as Emily had feared, did not accept her decision easily and when financial logic and claims of artistic patronage didn’t carry his argument, sighed and looked nostalgically around the room.
‘This was Rose’s favourite part of the house after she got sick. She liked being near her plates, and she used to sit over there in her easy chair by the French doors, basking in the sun, reading her books and magazines, and marking a wish-list off her auction pamphlets. She swore those blessed monkeys used to play her a jig whenever she started to nod off. Looking at them always made her smile.’
‘Peter—’ Emily’s faltering words were cut off by a sudden whomping clatter that made them both move over to the French doors. Hundreds of blooms in the terraced rose gardens along the back of the house whipped their heads in a mad swirl of multi-coloured petals as a yellow helicopter swooped down over the house. It angled around until its cockpit faced the house, hovering like a giant, angry butterfly over the flat circle of tarmac behind the swimming pool at the bottom of the gardens before sinking down on its landing struts with a gentle bounce.
‘Looks like you have another visitor,’ murmured Emily as the rotors slowed to a stop and the pilot finished flicking switches, opened the door and jumped out, his cropped dark hair firing with glints of red in the strong morning sunlight. He reached to pull a bag and suit-carrier out from the passenger compartment and jogged easily around the wrought-iron pool fence, taking the wide, flagstoned steps between the ranks of terraced roses two at a time.
‘And he seems to be in a hurry…’
The tall figure was dressed in a suit but moved with the loose, loping grace of a born athlete confident of his own strength, head down, the long legs powering up the steps with a smooth unbroken rhythm.
‘It’s Ethan,’ said Peter, looking over her shoulder. ‘He’s always in a hurry. I wonder what he wants?’
‘You weren’t expecting him?’ Emily asked, frowning at the top of the dark head and the glimpse of wraparound sunglasses masking the upper part of his face, aware of something vaguely familiar in the set of the broad shoulders. Just as he lifted his gaze to the house he vanished behind the riot of climbing roses on trellised arches leading to the terrace that ran along the back of the house.
