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‘Cam. No more gifts.’ She covers my hand, the hand struggling to release the box. ‘I know you don’t want to hear it, but I can give you a list right now of a hundred sound investme
nts to absorb your disposable income.’
‘Investing is the last thing I want to do.’ She’s only trying to help, I see that, but perhaps because I’ve already had similar thoughts myself, my stance on the money I neither wanted nor asked for softening, I dig in my heels.
‘Enjoying myself at my old man’s expense is one thing, but touching that money in any meaningful way feels too close to forgiveness, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.’
‘I understand what you mean about forgiveness. I’ve struggled with that myself. But I’m not talking about making money,’ she says, and my ribs pinch because she sees me, understands my struggles and, as much as I don’t want to hear it, she’s right. I need to find a way to come to terms with my new life. To build a new future for myself, because even if I want to return to the old life, it can never be the same.
‘There are lots of ways to invest thoughtfully and with a social conscience. You’re already doing it in a small way. But I can help you get around the restrictions in the will, too. Why don’t you let me put together some proposals?’
I want to say so much in that second that I can’t speak at all. Would she want to help if she didn’t care about me? About us? And I’ll take any future contact with her I can get, even if I have to sit through a million financial proposals.
‘I do have something I’d like your advice on.’ Since thinking about my old construction company, an idea has taken shape. She may not know anything about the building industry, but I’m certain she can advise me, let me know if my plan is feasible. But I don’t want to have this conversation now.
‘But right now I want to give you my gift.’ I kiss away her pout and tug the box free. ‘This gift is different.’ I hold her stare so she understands my meaning. I know technically all my money is my money, but some of it I earned. ‘I bought it with my own money. My savings before the inheritance.’ Part of my cottage renovation fund, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Her eyes widen. ‘Oh, well...thank you.’ She presses a kiss to my mouth, and I know she gets me. She understands the distinction and what it means to me.
I hold the box up at eye level, flat on my palm.
I know she wants to berate me for my extravagance, but she takes the box without further comment. Inside is an intricate pair of traditional Singapore gold earrings, their beauty and delicacy reminding me of her.
‘I notice you always wear these,’ I touch one diamond stud, ‘and I thought you might like a change, so...’
Why am I so tongue-tied? It’s a gift. I’ve given her hundreds of gifts over the past few weeks. Perhaps it’s because I want to say more, to tell her that I want to see her beyond the six weeks we agreed, but I clamp my jaw shut, because I’m not sure she’s ready to hear that yet.
‘They’re beautiful, Cam, exactly what I would choose myself.’ Her mouth is back on mine, and her arms scoop around my neck so I hear when she snaps the box closed.
I guess she’s not going to wear them tonight. I swallow down my disappointment. It’s no big deal. ‘Let’s go. It’s not far, so I thought we could walk.’
She tucks the earrings inside her bag and loops her arm through mine. It’s a short walk to the premier grandstand, which has the best views of the street circuit’s more challenging turns and spectacular views of Marina Bay, the focus of the post-race fireworks.
I take Orla’s hand. ‘Do you like Grand Prix?’
‘Yes. It’s so exciting. Is that where we’re going?’ She smiles her dazzling smile, and I nod, no longer interested in the motor racing. I want to take her back to the hotel and strip her naked, save for the earrings I bought. I want to drag a confession from her of how she truly feels about me. If she wants to see me once we’re back in Sydney.
‘Not long until we’re home. It’s going to be a struggle after all this adventure,’ I hedge, testing the water.
‘Yes. I’m sort of dreading it, to be honest. I’ll have to see my father and he’s going to be pissed about Jensen’s.’
I squeeze her hand in solidarity. ‘Tell him to stick it. You did nothing wrong apart from being the best.’
She nods, but her eyes appear far away. ‘You know, he bought me these earrings for my twenty-fifth birthday.’ She touches one of the diamond studs she always wears. ‘At first I was incredibly touched. We weren’t that close while I was growing up—I always felt second best because I didn’t have a Y chromosome. But after he’d given me a second to open his gift and thank him, he chose that moment to tell me I wouldn’t be the next CEO, but Liam would.’
I stare, because I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know how to feel. ‘I’m sorry he treated you that way.’ What does it mean that she wears them every day without fail? I try to recall if I’ve ever seen her without them, instinctively knowing the answer is no.
‘It’s silly, I guess, but I wear them every day to remind myself that I don’t need him or his company. That I’m perfectly capable of running my own firm. That I can be just as successful as him and Liam.’
‘Probably more successful, if you think about Jensen’s,’ I say, and she nods. The idea she still wants to prove something to the man after all these years depresses me. I hide the heavy feeling dragging at my feet with an unconvincing smile. ‘A two-fingered gesture, eh? I get it.’
Her nod is hesitant, as if she’s remembering our fight over Contempt of Court, but four-carat diamond earrings...a racehorse... They may as well be the same. She squeezes my hand, because now she knows I’ve made enough of my own two-fingered gestures while we’ve known each other. ‘My father never gave me anything—not a birthday card, or a pat on the back, or even a phone call. Trust me, you know I understand the impulse.’
She looks down and then tucks herself closer to my side as we walk. ‘I’m not bringing that up again. I just wanted you to understand why I wear these.’ She touches a stud, which may as well be a padlock to the cage she’s constructed around herself.
A daily reminder. There every time she looks in the mirror. A reminder she has something to prove.
I’ve never met her father, but I already know the guy is an asshole. She’s worth ten of him, except somehow, despite all her success, all the billions, she still feels she needs to prove to him that she’s worthy.
