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‘Me too. I am so excited to see your farm; from everything Luca has told me, I understand that your beans inspired his new brand and I am stoked to see where it all started.’
‘I am happy for Luca to show you around and then please come back here for tea and cakes.’ Samar turned to Luca. ‘All the staff have been told of your coming and your requirements.’
Emily frowned. Had there been some sort of secret message, an emphasis on the word requirement, or was it simply because Samar spoke English as a second language?
Luca smiled easily. ‘Thank you. Is it OK for Emily to take photographs anywhere or are there any areas we should stay away from?’
‘Feel free to go anywhere. Many of the workers do not speak English but I can answer any questions you have later.’
‘Thank you.’ Emily smiled, instinctively liking the middle-aged farm owner, his face weathered from the sun and the callouses on his hands indicating that he did his fair share out in the fields. She followed Luca back to the car and they drove down a dusty track that led to the farm itself and groves of trees.
‘The taller ones are coconut trees,’ Luca explained as he parked on the verge and they climbed out. ‘They provide shelter for the cocoa trees that have been planted between them. The trees are quite delicate and keeping them thriving is a huge part of Samar’s responsibility. They need to be protected from wind and sun, the soil needs to be fertilised correctly and any sign of damage or disease has to be dealt with quickly. Samar once said to me that he sees these trees like his marriage. He has been married for forty years...since he was seventeen.’
‘Wow.’ She contemplated the idea, and for a scant second she envied it.
‘Samar believes that marriages need work and effort to thrive and bear fruit. He says nowadays people give up too easily.’
Emily thought of her mother on marriage number five, of her own disastrous marriage to Howard. ‘The problem is that it takes two people to do the work. It can’t all be done by one person.’ Her mother had put so much effort into each relationship, made sure she always looked perfect, relegated Emily to the background, thrown herself into every husband’s hobbies, tried to support them all to no avail. And, irony of irony, Emily, having vowed she never would, had followed exactly in her mother’s footsteps.
‘Exactly. That’s why I stand by what I said yesterday. On your own you are in control, in a partnership you have to rely on someone else. Samar relies on these trees to respond to his care, he relies on the weather, on luck, on so many variables. Plus he has to put a lot in before he gets anything out. These trees don’t yield pods at all for a few years.’
‘What is their yield?’
‘A typical pod contains thirty to forty beans and there are about thirty pods per tree. It takes about four hundred dried beans to make one pound of cocoa.’
She stopped and looked at the trees, studied their shape, the clusters of pink and white flowers that dotted the branches and trunks, the green pods that dipped from the branches. She wanted to take photographs that emphasised their beauty, productivity and fragility, how susceptible they were to nature. That they needed care and nurture to flourish.
‘I wish I could get up closer. I mean, I can zoom in, but I want to actually touch the pods, get the texture and the feel. Do you reckon I can climb it?’
‘No.’ His voice held a hint of amusement. ‘The bark is soft and quite fragile. At harvest they use long-handled steel tools to reach and cut the pods so they don’t damage it.’
‘Hmm. Climbing is definitely out.’
‘Not necessarily. You can climb up and sit on my shoulders.’
She knew, with absolute certainty, he’d spoken without thinking, simply made a practical suggestion.
There was a silence and she eyed his shoulders, their breadth and strength, imagined sitting astride them, legs dangling over his chest, him steadying her by wrapping his hands around her calves, and she gulped, looked up at the tree and then across to him. Considered her options. If she refused it would be awkward. After all, she wouldn’t give it a thought if someone else had suggested it.
‘Fine. What’s the best way to do it?’
Luca inhaled a deep breath. ‘I’ll squat down...’ he suited action to word ‘...and you...hop on.’
This was the world’s worst idea but if either of them acknowledged that it would mean they didn’t have this attraction under control and she was damned if she’d admit that.
Before she could change her mind, she ‘hopped on’ and tried to ignore how that meant effectively wrapping her legs round his face. Tried not to notice the muscle of his shoulders, the easy grace with which he rose and balanced her weight.
Focus on the damn tree, Em. Pretend he is a chair, an inanimate object.
Not possible when she could sense the vital strength of him; he stood sturdy and strong, unbowed by her weight. His hands encircled her calves, his grip gentle but it steadied her, so she didn’t sway. Calves were not a sensory part of one’s body. They weren’t. Or surely they weren’t supposed to be. But her brain had clearly got it all mixed up because all she could feel was his hands on her, branding her.
Focus. On the tree, on the living, flourishing tree. Somehow Luca’s touch, the warmth and strength of him, seemed to make the tree come alive to her eye. Made the green more vibrant, the bark softer to her gentle touch, every sense heightened because of him. As she looked at the pod ripe and full of life, inhaled the tang of the fruit, the delicate scent of the flower, her head whirled. But she knew it wasn’t only the force of nature, it was something to do with Luca, and all she wanted was to slide down, feel the strength of his chest, stand toe to toe with him. To touch and hold and kiss him.
But she wouldn’t, couldn’t.
Aware that at some point she had stopped taking pictures, was simply balanced on him, she forced her voice to work. ‘I’m done. Thank you.’
Slowly he lowered himself to the ground and she scrambled off with as much dignity as she could, turned to face him and suddenly realised how close he was, and her heightened senses soared.
