Page 61 of Catch a Kiwi
He didn’t say anything about what had happened, just looked at me, his dark gaze unreadable, and said, “If you want to help me move the carpets, let’s do it.”
Seven wool rugs. Seven rooms. Seven sets of furniture to move, with Roman holding up the ends of couches and beds while I crawled on the floor and dragged mats and rugs into place, and our conversation consisted of, “Hang on,” and “Now.” By the time we were doing the last room, his office, I felt both ungrateful and overdramatic. He was holding up the corner of his desk when I said from my spot on the floor as I dragged a corner of the rug into place, “It was probably stupid of me to get so insulted about the idea of sleeping with you, when I’m obviously attracted to you, too.”
“I’d say what you objected to was being treated like a prostitute.”
The word was a jolt. “Well, yeah,” I said, backing out from under the desk and trying for a smile that wouldn’t hold. “That was how it came across. I’m sure you didn’t mean it that way. I just?—”
He said, “Holding up the other end of the desk now,” and did it, so I did some more crawling under his splayed legs and then some more backing out. When I was done, he set down the end of the desk and I tried not to look at his arms and shoulders and chest in his T-shirt, pumped up by all the effort. Was I as bad as he was?
“Money and attraction make things hard,” I decided to say, leaning against the desk to catch my breath, my muscles like jelly after the day. “But I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for us. It’s just—money is power. There’s no way around it. The person who pays has the power.”
“Really?” he said. “Always? How about partners? People who have kids together?”
“Well, yes. In lots of cases, the person who pays still has the power. It shouldn’t be that way if you’re a team, but it so often is. Why do you think I insisted on getting a job when I was married to a guy making tens of millions of pounds a year?”
“Did that give you power, then?” Roman asked.
“Not exactly,” I admitted. “Not to Felipe, not when my salary was a drop in the bucket and all I was paying for was my car. It made me feel less powerless, though.”
“Fine,” Roman said. “Do what you have to do.” And walked out of the room.
No partof my next conversation was any easier.
I almost couldn’t find the number at all, but finally discovered it after searching through all of our hospitalpaperwork. There, on the last page of Delilah’s initial discharge instructions.
“Hi,” I said when the woman’s voice answered. “This is, uh, Summer Adair. From the hospital? My cousin was a patient? You gave me your number the first time we were in there, when she had a concussion and I’d cut myself.”
“I remember,” Daisy said, sounding cool, competent, and efficient, making all my leaky, messy emotions seem even more ridiculous.
“So, uh …” I said, “I was wondering—”Get it together.“Whether the caravan you mentioned is still an option for us.” I went on, as briskly as I could manage. “I can pay rent, whatever’s a fair price. For just a few days until I get a job, or until late May, or whatever works for you. I’ll find work in Dunedin, and I’ll pay the first two weeks in advance and sign a contract, of course. But I have to tell you—” There I was, trailing off again.
“Yes?” she asked. Still cool.
“The reason I’m asking you,” I said, “and not looking for a flat or staying in a tent is—well, first, Delilah. The tailbone.”
“Very sore,” Daisy agreed.
“Yes. And second, uh … you may have been right about depending on strangers. Not that Roman’s done anything wrong. He’s been incredibly generous. Wait—I don’t mean he’s offered charity.” Could this get any more awkward? I was sweating. “Or maybe he has, because he sold me a ute for way too cheap, but otherwise, we cleaned his flooded house for him. Not that that was enough to do in exchange for staying here, but I don’t—I pay my way. The ute was over the top, though. I’ll pay him back the full value when I can and make it not as much of a favor, but?—”
“Because you don’t like favors,” Daisy said. “And there was a price to pay. That always seemed likely.”
“It did? He acted like he hated me!”
“But he was there,” Daisy said. “And he stayed when he didn’t have to. Got to be a reason for that, and I know what the usual reason is.”
“Yes.” I wiped my forehead and plunged on. “And I need to tell you the other thing before you decide. I declared bankruptcy recently. My husband—in the UK, my husband in the UK—well, my ex—he went to prison for tax fraud. I was put on trial, too, but there wasn’t enough evidence to convict me. I still had to file for bankruptcy, because I couldn’t pay the mortgage and his other debts, and they were a lot. I can tell you that I didn’t know what he was doing, that he was extremely wealthy and what he did makes no sense to me, which was whyI never suspected, but I realize that’s hard to believe. That’s why I’m not sure about renting a regular apartment, though. Nobody wants to hear that story when they can rent to people who haven’t been on trial for fraud or gone bankrupt, and who’d believe it anyway?”
“Oh, I dunno.” For some reason, Daisy sounded amused. “I might believe it. You’re not the only one with a story. Got a name for me? Something I could look up online, check out?”
I swallowed. “My ex is Felipe Moyano. The footballer.”
“Ah,” Daisy said. “You were a WAG.” Again, sounding like nothing could surprise her.
“Well, yes,” I said. “But I had a job, too. I can give you a work reference. And like I said, I can pay in advance. How much would the rent be, if it still works for you?”
I felt shaky, waiting for the answer. It couldn’t be as much as an apartment, could it? This was the only good solution I could think of. If it didn’t work, it would have to be the motel, but that would cost?—
“Hang on,” Daisy said. “Let me check with Gray. My husband. Could take a few minutes.”
