He gestures to the invoice with impatience. “How much of it did you buy?”
“It had to be imported from Holland. I had to make a minimum seedling order.”
“How many plants?”
“Greenhouse seven is entirely planted with the new variety.”
“Allof seven?” He stares at me. I thought he knew. I thought he had been out there, but I see in that instant that he didn’t have any idea. Evidently his visits to the greenhouse were only to number one, the closest one. “You were out of line. You over-stepped yourself, Michael…”
“Give me two weeks, Dad. We’ll know then just how wrong I am.”
“They’re fruiting,” he guesses, studying me.
“They’re amazing. We had to reconsider the pruning and training because the vines are so heavy with fruit.”
A shrewd light dawns in his eyes. “How heavy?”
“The yield will be at least thirty percent higher than it would have been with the tried and true in that greenhouse.”
“But will they be good?”
I shrug. “We should know soon. Elke says they’re the most popular new variety in Europe.”
“Elke,” he murmurs and smiles. “I always liked that girl.”
“She’s a good friend,” I say, trying to silence an old theme song before it gets started. I yawn deliberately. “It would be good to get some sleep, Dad.”
“Yes, yes.” He’s appeased for the moment, calculating his profits.
I turn back at the door. “By the way, what would have happened to any letters that came to the house for me while I was at university?”
He looks up with a frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Letters. In the mail. Addressed to me when I wasn’t home.”
He’s impatient with this question. “They’d be saved for you, of course. Probably put in your room. Why are you asking this now? You finished university years ago.”
“And yet I only found out about these letters today.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“What letters were these? What was in them?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get them.”
He scowls at me. “Why are you asking about them now? Who were they from?”
“Sylvia Kincaid.”
“Who?” He frowns out the window as if trying to remember something, then turns back to me. “Is that Una’s grand-daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever happened to her?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve heard her name since you were in high school.”
“She went to Toronto, but now she’s back.”
