CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘ACALLFROMROSE?Put it through.’
A slow breath pealed out of him when he heard the familiar voice. It was like a cooling draught in an overheated desert, where playing polo for his friend the Sheikh was more of an endurance test than a pleasure. Propping his hip against an ornate gilded console table, Raffa longed for the simplicity of Rose’s kitchen. He’d just kicked off his boots, after returning to his opulent, air-conditioned suite in the Sheikh’s palace to shower and dress for dinner. But speaking to Rose was far more important than donning a tux.
‘Are you okay? Is something wrong? Do you need help, Rose? Money?’
‘I’m fine, Raffa. Honestly. I just wanted to thank you for the package you sent.’
‘It was nothing.’
‘It was everything to me,’ Rose argued firmly. ‘I learned so much from my short time with the professor, and to think you went to the trouble of getting hold of a signed copy of his book with that lovely message, saying our chat was the highlight of his evening. Of course it’s important to me. I’ll treasure it.’
Silence could be as intimate as speech, he discovered. He’d discovered a lot of things with Rose. Neither of them rushed to break that silence as he remembered how pleased he’d been to see a professor he respected deep in conversation with Rose.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve kept you from your work.’
‘You haven’t,’ he assured her. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Honestly, Raffa, don’t worry about me.’
Someone had to. He pictured Rose and dragged in a breath, as if the air around him carried her wildflower scent. ‘Are you busy?’ he asked, wanting to keep her on the line.
‘Yeah.’ She laughed. ‘Mucking out.’ There was a pause, and when he laughed, she added, ‘Did I say something funny?’
Apart from the fact that he had to get it through his head that Rose was no shrinking violet, or precious princess, but a stand-up woman who was almost certainly leaning on a pitchfork surrounded by dung. ‘Mucking out?’ he repeated. ‘Can’t you find someone to do that for you?’
‘Why should I?’ Rose sounded perplexed. ‘No one makes my horses more comfortable than me. They’ve missed me while I’ve been away, haven’t you?’
He recalled the ancient ponies on her farm, and wondered if Rose would use them for the animal therapy project. Almost certainly, he concluded. Rose thought of everything for everyone, including her horses. The old-timers would love nothing more than having renewed an interest in their lives.
‘I really have to go now,’ she apologised. ‘These babies are waiting to be fed—’
‘You called me,’ he reminded Rose, frowning. Why would she do that, unless she had something more important to say than thank you? ‘Rose?’ He stared at the dead receiver in his hand. They knew each other well enough for him to know when she was holding back. But why? Was it because whatever Rose had wanted to say couldn’t be said over the phone?
Concern leapt inside him. What was going on?
He called his sister, who confirmed his concern was well founded. ‘Rose is working all hours, trying to do everything herself. She won’t listen to me,’ Sofia told him with concern. ‘It’s as if she’s in a race to get everything in place for her father. I’ve never known anyone to work so hard. She needs you to slow her down, Raffa. You’re the only one she’ll listen to—’
He’d heard enough. His next call was to the Sheikh. Making his apologies on the basis of an urgent family matter, he booked a flight plan to Killarney and Rose.
Rose was in the middle of interviewing potential staff for the new retreat when Raffa appeared at the door. Surprise shot her out of her seat. ‘Your timing is terrible.’
‘My timing, as always, is impeccable,’ Raffa argued with a long, assessing look. ‘I’ve sent the candidates for lunch, so you can take a break. Have you eaten anything today?’
Rose’s heart started thudding. Raffa was taking control again. ‘You had no right to dismiss the applicants. I plan to eat as soon as I finish the interviews.’
‘You look tired, Rose.’
‘I’m not tired,’ she fired back. ‘Aren’t I allowed to be surprised to see you? If I’d known you were coming—’
‘You’d have made yourself scarce?’ he suggested dryly.
‘I would have carried on as usual,’ she insisted, straightening up, ‘but with a bigger break so we’d have a chance to talk. As it is?’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t spare the time.’
Ignoring that, he scanned the room. ‘Is this your bag?’
‘Yes,’ she said hesitantly. ‘What’s this leading up to?’
