It was early evening when Rick left the Peninsula hotel in Hong Kong. Sitting in the back of the hotel’s green Rolls taking him to the airport, he wished he had planned for a longer visit on this stopover. The chauffeur drove for a last look at the waterfront – it was humid warm; the place was buzzing with boats and never-extinguished twinkling lights from the high-rise buildings.
As a wind-down from New Zealand, just yesterday evening, he had taken a leisurely ride around the harbour on a junk boat with bright red sails, soaking in the sights and sounds of the harbour and skyline.
And earlier this morning he had shopped in the Peninsula Arcade. Buying a present for Claire, five bottles of assorted Chanel eau de parfum, was the least he should give her. It was as much the elegant design of the bottles that he thought she would like as the intense lasting aromas of the spray. But with Claire, he had more to do. He had been absent for Wimbledon ladies’ final day, and he also had an important admission to make to her.
As he settled into his seat for the twelve– and half-hour flight to London, he shuffled through the papers for the New Zealand wine estate he had been trying to buy. He carefully read, for the third time in the last two days, a letter demanding a twenty-five per cent increase in the price they were willing to accept. The agent had told him three times there had been a lot of interest in the estate and that would be reflected in the final price.
The stewardess in the cabin brought him an aperitif, a glass of wine from the very estate he was trying to buy. It tasted good, and it increased his frustration of his failure to secure the winery that would have been an interesting sideline. No more than something to brag about at parties when the wine was on the menu.
But today, the whole reality was different. He had invested a big six-figure sum of his own money which would now be lost if this did not proceed. An investor had withdrawn from the deal, leaving Rick on his own. He was going to spend his time in London looking up a list of contacts, people who could be interested in providing some money to fill that gap. Otherwise, the whole project was likely to collapse.
As the aircraft left the runway on its long flight to London, Rick enjoyed another glass of the Marlborough estate wine. He folded his papers back into a neat bundle, and it was then that Arrow Hall came clearly into his thoughts. Whatever he had promised to Claire, that was a promise he could no longer afford at this time. The wine estate or Arrow Hall. That was the crossroads he was now facing. The short, snappy calls in the past few weeks with Claire he knew had shown his impatience with New Zealand. And the more he thought about it, he was certain that $750 of perfume would not clear those memories.
Inevitably, the overnight flight to Heathrow left him with little sleep, and by the time a chauffeured limousine dropped him at his Mayfair apartment, he felt far from refreshed. It was early morning, and as Rick walked through his front door, he expected to find Claire there. But his wide penthouse apartment was quiet, empty. There was no colourful display of flowers enlivening the lounge; there was none of Claire’s clutter in the bathrooms; and when he opened the wardrobe, her clothes had gone. As he collected the pile of post from the box on the landing, he could see that Claire had not been there for a few days.
Rick showered, changed from the crumpled clothes he had travelled in, and after running through all the post that had accumulated, it was late morning before he called Claire.
‘Long journey and I’ve just got home. Thought I’d find you in the apartment. Where are you?’ Rick asked.
‘I’m in Brighton. I’ve been looking up somebody, so I stayed over.’
‘Claire, could we meet at Arrow Hall?’
‘Have you decided what you want to do with it, finish it, sell it or just leave it?’
‘First, I’d like to walk around the site with you as soon as possible. You can then tell me what we’ve spent, and I hope you’ve been able to work out what’s still needed to finish it all off. And I have to leave again at the end of the week, so I don’t have much time.’
‘You really should have called or texted to let me know you were coming home. I haven’t heard from you for almost ten days.’
‘My fault,’ Rick said tersely.
‘I’m staying over in Brighton for another day. I’ll call as soon as I’ve finished here.’
‘Yes, there’s a lot to catch up on. I’m sorry I was so unthinking in sending in my surveyor without talking to you first,’ Rick said.
‘Do you remember James? I’ve sacked him. He wasn’t much good.’
‘Claire, please. Of course I do, and I’m ready to listen.’
There was a pause and Rick knew this was going wrong. Yeah, he had put James on the site, but he had not yet listened to Claire about what she was accusing him of doing. And he had not asked her any more about the accident to James.
The short call ended; Rick was again surprised at the coolness in Claire’s response. He would have been surprised too, to know that Claire was not in Brighton when she took his call, but she was alone in her own new flat.
Rick started unpacking his papers from buying the wine estate and he could feel the tension within himself. It was a blunt reminder that they had not spent much time together in the last few months even just to talk. Chasing his own vanity project, he had let the demands of travelling and buying a wine estate overtake him. And he had not been here for Wimbledon ladies’ final day, Claire’s favourite outing of the year.
He busied himself at his desk, but he was not concentrating. Rick wanted Claire to stay; he wanted to sit down and talk to her. But Arrow Hall was difficult. The rebuild was now no more than a cold lump of money which he had to get back. Quickly.
Unsure of Claire’s feelings towards him, he walked moodily around the large apartment. Whatever he now said to her, it would be letting Claire down on Arrow Hall. That, he was certain, was what would finally cause her to walk away.