by Diana Fraser
There was standing room only as the museum manager, wiping sweat from his forehead, squeezed through to the rear of the museum.
“As you can see,” he said, indicating the donation indicator on the wall behind him, “our donations are down and we’re going to have to reduce hours, as well as the pieces we show, if we are to continue at all.”
There were murmurs of discontent and a few calls, including one from Jim Connelly. The museum director held up his hand for silence.
“Please, let me finish. We are simply under-funded and the council refuses to help us any more, which means we’ll have to rely on the generosity of our community.” There were more grumbles.
Jim cleared his throat. “As much as we appreciate the work the museum is doing, and its importance, we can’t go on shoveling money into something which is an empty pit!” Jim’s voice carried easily; his love for amateur dramatics always came to the fore at such public meetings. Other people muttered in agreement.
“There’s only so much volunteers can do!” someone added.
“Exactly!” continued Jim. “Which is why we’ve cast our net a bit wider this time, and, hopefully, come up with a solution.” The murmurs of discontent became friendlier. “I’ll let David Tremayne outline his proposal.”
The crowd parted and David stepped up to the small podium upon which the museum director stood, and for the first time in his life he felt a fluttering of nerves as he looked around. He was accustomed to public speaking, and he was used to telling people what to do. What he wasn’t familiar with was imparting information, which was neither an instruction nor a command. He cleared his throat and glanced at Amber. He needed grounding, and he needed to be the man of whom Amber would be proud.
“We have a problem and I would like to propose a solution.” Some things didn’t change. He’d always appreciated clarity in public speaking.
“‘We’? You don’t even live here! We don’t need some property developer coming in, tearing down our houses and donating money to assuage your conscience!”
Pandemonium erupted, which David tried to ignore as the museum director called for order.
“Mr. Tremayne does live here. Isn’t that right?”
David nodded. “I live next door. I’m not going anywhere,” he said, looking at Amber. The message was for her. “I’m here to stay. It’s where my heart is.”
For one long moment their gazes tangled before she looked away with an effort which David couldn’t interpret. Did she understand what he was saying? Because, if she wouldn’t take his calls, or talk to him directly, it was the only way he could get the message across.
“The old Granary?” asked Jim Connelly.
“That’s right. And before you ask, I fully intend to restore it to its original glory. It’ll complete the French quarter.”
“And bring more attention to the museum,” the museum director added.
“And I don’t intend to donate any money.”
Silence fell. “David,” said Jim. “Why don’t you tell us exactly what you do propose?”
“I happen to own one of the buildings in Christchurch, which has been re-designated as a house of special interest. I have full tenancy promised on that and I propose that a percentage of income received from the tenants be made over to the museum on a permanent basis.”
“How permanent is permanent?”
David looked directly at Jim. It was obvious no one, except Jim and the museum director, believed him. And why should they? “Very permanent. I’ve had the papers drawn up already.”
The museum director picked them off the table before him and raised them in the air. “Here they are—in black and white. An ongoing income which will both preserve the quarter, the museum, and allow us to enlarge our collection. It makes it a going concern, not just a concern,” he said with a wry smile.
The mood turned and David soon found himself at the center of an excited group, explaining how his proposal would work. He left the museum director outlining what this would mean for the community in practical terms and went in search of Amber. She was talking to Maddy—an archaeologist with a passion for the place—who was even more excited than the others.
David had avoided Amber all evening. Now when he looked, she was too far away. If he went to her, it would be obvious. He turned to look at one of the exhibits, pretending to read it, when all his thoughts were on one person—the one person no one wanted him near. Only when the room was silent did he look around. But he wasn’t alone.
“That’s good of you, David,” said Amber, who stood, red hair aglow in the evening light, her rainbow dress made of some silky stuff that shimmered around her. “To pledge money for the museum’s upkeep.”
He opened his mouth to speak but his vision was full of her and his self-discipline was fully employed in stopping him from reaching out to her and pressing his lips against hers. He shrugged instead. “It’s the least I could do.”
She cocked her head to one side. “The least?”
“I made a mistake, Amber. And I intend to put it right. And what better way than to give to the very thing I wanted to rob the country of—its history?”
“But you did it to save lives. Zoe told me all about what happened.”
“Right. Despite the fact I asked her not to.”
Amber grinned. “It seems all the women in your life are unruly, not doing what you want them to do.”
He shrugged and smiled back. “Perhaps it’s for the best.”
“Yes, I think you’ll have to accept,” she said, stepping closer to him, “that sometimes women know better than you.”
He looked down at her, her sweet lips curved and infinitely kissable. He tightened his hands into fists in his trouser pockets, determined not to ruin the moment.
“I meant what I said back there, Amber. I’m here to stay. I know there’s nothing I can say which will enable you to trust me again, and I don’t expect it. But I can do something. I can live my life in a different way, with different values. And that’s down to you.”
“David, I…” He held up his hand to prevent her from taking a step closer. He didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself.
“No, please. You don’t have to say anything.” He moved away.
“But I—”
He couldn’t bear to hear her tell him that, despite everything, she still didn’t trust him. He didn’t know what he’d do if she said that. He walked quickly out the door without looking back, without saying goodbye, without listening to another word. He didn’t notice the museum director who tried to talk to him, or Jim who was waiting for Amber, or anyone else who tried to speak to him. He just kept on walking. Because that was all he could do. Keep on walking, keep on showing Amber with everything that he did that he’d changed, that he could be trusted… especially with her heart.
Amber adjusted one of her paintings and turned at the jingle of the café door bell, a smile ready to greet her customer. Her customer. The smile froze as she saw who’d entered.
They’d been open a whole week already, but David hadn’t come in, despite invitations from Gabe. And Amber had had to work hard at Gabe to make him pass on an invitation to David. Gabe reckoned he didn’t want to be some kind of Eros go-between, but her wish had prevailed. It was never hard to make Gabe do what she wanted.
And here he was. He didn’t look over at her, although he must have seen her upon entering the café. Instead, he greeted Gabe and Maddy at their usual table, and walked on to the table where he’d always used to sit.
“I’ll get this,” she said to the new waitress. Amber whispered a few quick instructions to the waitress, picked up the pen and paper and walked over to the table where David was looking at the menu intently. She cleared her throat. “Good morning.”
He looked up. “It’s afternoon.”
She smiled. “Ah, so it is. You have me there. Good afternoon, then.”
He smiled back. “Yes, I think it is going to be a good afternoon.”
; Her smile widened. Not even a polite ‘hello’ was simple with this man. She kind of liked the way he meant the words literally. That seriousness had always got to her. She cleared her throat, willing herself not to get distracted. “So, what can I get you?”
He looked back down at the menu. “Are the bread rolls fresh?”
“David, they’re always fresh.”
“Ah, yes. I’ll have the salad.”
“Dressing to one side? Hold the coriander?”
He nodded, and she moved to one side to allow the waitress, to whom she’d just whispered the order, to place it on the table. After the waitress left, Amber leaned in and straightened his knife and fork.
“Am I really that predictable?” he asked, looking at the salad before him—dressing to one side, and a distinct lack of coriander.
“Yes,” she said with a grin. “About your food, anyway. From what I hear, it’s about the only thing that has stayed the same.” She paused. “I’m glad. I wouldn’t want everything about you to change.”
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. “Would you not? And what would you like to remain the same? My urbane charm?”
“You’re not the charming sort.”
His face fell. “What then?”
She moved into the seat opposite him, and reached out for his hand, slipping her fingers between his before gripping his hand. She lifted their joined fists between them. “The way your hand holds mine. Kind of possessive, but still I like it.”
He squeezed her hand, and the sensation traveled all over her body.
“What else?”
“I like your seriousness. You take time over everything you do and give it your utmost consideration. You give everything one hundred percent.”
“Of course.”
“Not everyone does, you know. But most of all, I like the way you look at me. As if you want to make me yours but don’t quite like to.”
He looked surprised. “That about sums it up.” He paused and looked at her. “And what about you? It’s been a month since I last saw you. The café looks amazing; your art looks amazing, you—”
“Fine!” she exclaimed before he could say something which would totally annihilate her. “I’m fine. Some of my pieces have even been bought by someone who isn’t you, would you believe?”
“I would. I haven’t got any more room on my walls, anyway. Your paintings are everywhere in my house.”
“Yeah, right,” said Amber, not believing him. After all, he only bought her paintings because he felt sorry for her, right? “I’d like to see that.” Her comment was meant to be sarcastic, but David took it seriously. Of course he did.
“Then come to my house. This afternoon, after work.”
“Well, I…” She was confronted with what she’d been imagining since she’d last spoken to him at the museum. Of being alone with him. She was suddenly nervous. She’d spent many happy hours imagining that he really had changed, that he really did still have feelings for her. “I’m not sure.”
His smile slipped. “Why aren’t you sure?”
She shrugged. How could she tell him that she was scared that she’d find that, although everything appeared to be changing for the best, nothing had changed underneath it all? And that she was back to square one. A vulnerable woman, being used by a sophisticated man. She shrugged a second time.
He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. “Amber, come to my house this afternoon and I’ll show you what I’ve been doing.”
“Okay,” she said, her mouth apparently not obeying her brain. “I’ll meet you at your house at four.”
* * *
In the end, it was five o’clock before she left the café. She could have left earlier, but there was always some reason to put off the hour, something to delay getting her heart broken. What if he simply wanted to show off what he was doing? Okay, so he’d had a change of mind, but had he had a change of heart, too? She had no idea what he felt for her anymore. But she had a feeling she’d know by the end of the afternoon, and that was what scared the heck out of her.
Eventually, she could delay no longer, and found herself walking up the narrow path which led to his house from the road. It was a spectacular location, raised above the road and built on a shelf of land above which gardens rose to the top of the ridge. She paused and looked at it. It seemed to hover above the museum. She’d seen him painting. She’d caught sight of him sawing, and seen him up on the roof, hammering iron. She’d never seen any other tradesman there. Only David.
David came out of the house and stood beside her. “So, what do you think?”
“I think it’s amazing.”
“I’ve done it all.”
“Yes, I know. What I don’t know is why. Was it for some sort of penance?”
“No!” His brows scrunched. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. All I knew was that I needed to get my hands dirty and to bring something wonderful to life again by myself.”
She nodded. “You’re transferring your energies into the building. That’s good.”
She could see from his expression that he didn’t buy what she was saying, but he didn’t say anything. “It was good. I’m just about finished.”
Before entering the front door, they went out onto the deck which overlooked the whole of Akaroa, its harbor and, in the distance, Belendroit.
“Wow! You can see everything from here.” She leaned over. “Even my cottage.” For a moment she wondered if he often came up here and looked down to see if her light was on. One high window in which she kept a small lamp—in memory of her mother—was visible from that angle. She looked away quickly, up into the sky, where dark clouds were gathering, her stomach fluttering absurdly at the thought. “It looks like rain,” she said, her eyes fixed on the sky, hardly daring to look anywhere else.
He stood beside her, also looking up into the sky. It seemed it was the safest focus for them both. “It’s been threatening for some time.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “You can feel it in the air.” Just as she spoke, there was a distant rumble of thunder. They both turned to each other at the same time.
“Amber!”
“David!” They spoke at the same time. “Sorry, what were you going to say?”
“I’ve left a space there, on the outside weatherboards.”
She fingered the space. It was in a prominent position beneath the window, which looked out over the harbor. “Why? What’s the space for?”
“Because I hoped you’d accept a commission to paint something for me.”
“You want me to paint something on the outside of your house for you? Really? What exactly?”
“A rainbow,” he said, his words softly spoken, his voice a caress. “Would you?”
She nodded. “I’d love to.” It was the sign she’d been waiting for. She knew she’d recognize it when it happened. “Oh, David.”
Just then it began to rain. David took off his jacket and threw it around Amber’s shoulders. She heard a clatter as something fell from his pocket. She saw something gleam, and she bobbed down and picked it up. It was a ring. A large, beautiful amber set in ornate antique silver and surrounded with far more expensive diamonds, which made the whole thing sparkle, shedding rainbows over the decking area and low trees which edged it.
“Oh my goodness! It’s beautiful.” She twisted it around in the light.
“Do you like it?” he asked, sounding unsure and very unlike himself.
She looked up at him. “Of course I do. Who wouldn’t? It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.”
He nodded, took the ring from her fingers and held it out to her. “It’s for you, if you’ll have it, if you’ll have me.”
Tears sprung to her eyes, and she nodded. He pushed the ring on her finger and cradled her face in his hands.
“So, do you forgive me for being such an idiot?” He didn’t seem to notice her head nod in agreement. “I know what I did was unforgivable, but I couldn’t see anythin
g other than a need to do whatever it took to destroy dangerous old houses. But now I can. Now, I can see you, and from now on everything I do will put you first. If you are central to my life, then I know I’m on the right path.” He gripped her hands with an air of desperation. “Amber, I know I don’t deserve you, but will you marry me? Please?”
Amber might not have been able to trust many things, but she could trust the passion in his eyes and she knew that he spoke from the heart.
“Yes, David, I will marry you, because you’re the only person I want to share my life with, share my rainbows and magic with. The only person I want to give my heart to—it’s yours to keep.”
“To keep,” he murmured. “I like the sound of that,” he added with a grin, before claiming her lips with his.
Epilogue
Two years later…
“And this,” said Amber, balancing Skye on her knee as she completed the rainbow with one last swoop of palest lemon, “is it!” She sat back and hugged Skye. “The last rainbow in the house.”
“Dada, Dada, Dada,” said eight-month-old Skye. It was all she said. Apparently everything and everybody was her Dada.
“Good girl,” said Amber, kissing her gorgeous chubby cheek. Amber could tell that David didn’t entirely agree with how Amber praised her children for whatever they did. She thought if it had been left to David, he’d have them on some kind of genius regimen. Lucky for her, it seemed that he was putty in her hands. Putty in her hands, but still steel in the hands of everyone else, their children excepted. “Now,” she said, standing up and holding her red-headed daughter up in the air until she giggled. “Let’s go and find your real Dada.”
It didn’t take long because Skye’s twin brother, River, was usually easy to find. You simply followed the noise. This time the noise took them behind the beautiful old home to the brand new extension, connected by the clean, soaring lines of a modern roofline. She entered the large airy space and stepped into a different world—David’s world. Because, despite their acceptance and respect for each other, there was no getting away from it, they were two different people. And so they’d decided to build this extension so David could work from home with state-of-the-art communications and an interior decor in which there were fewer rainbows.