“Thanks,” Bo said softly. “Can you, uh, move my stuff? There isn’t much to move. Not really.”
“Sure,” Willa replied easily. “Ida’s been watering your plants for you, too. She showed me what to do one day and we ran into Max. Oh, my God, that was so funny, let me tell you—”
“You and Ida ran into Max?!” squeaked Bo, her stomach turning over. “You didn’t, uh, tell him anything, right?”
“You mean about how desperately you’re still in love with him? No, we didn’t say a word. We’re not that tacky. But Ida did say all this stuff about blood being thicker than water and leopards and spots and how if he touched even one petal on any of your plants she would personally stick several of his piano keys where the sun doesn’t shine.” Willa laughed. “Told you, it was hilarious. You should have seen Max’s face.”
Bo only wished she could see Max’s face.
“Are you coming home soon?” Willa asked. “I know I’ve got another few weeks before my next film starts shooting, but I can’t work at Ida’s shop forever. For one thing, flower people arecrazy, did you know that? Ida took me to New Covent Garden Market one morning, and a fist fight literally broke out over calla lilies. Crazy, Bo. Crazy.”
After promising Willa she would be back in London soon, Bo went through to Lisa and told her she’d booked a flight back toLondon. The look on Lisa’s face was sceptical, but she nodded all the same.
Two days later, Lisa drove her to the airport, handing her a cheque for a stupendous sum of money while they drank coffee at International Departures.
“It’s a loan, so you can buy that flower shop,” Lisa told her. “When you sell that property in London, you can pay me back.”
“Lisa . . .”
“If it had been up to me, your mother’s money would have been your money, anyway,” Lisa explained. “So, take this, set yourself up, and when you’re ready you can pay me back. Just promise me you’ll never tell your mother about your inheritance. If she ever asks, tell her I gave you the money for the shop. She’s been asking to borrow more money from me again, and I don’t like to think about how her finances must be looking right now.”
Bo nodded, accepting the cheque gratefully. She’d been dreading having to ask Max to sell up early so she could buy Ida’s shop. Now, she didn’t have to. She could buy Ida’s shop and wait for Max to sell when he was ready. At this rate, she’d never have to lay eyes on Max Fitzroy ever again, a thought that made her both sigh with relief as well as wince with pain.
“Still don’t want to tell me?” Lisa asked suddenly, and Bo chewed on her lip.
“He broke my heart,” she confessed.
“I figured. How? Was it like Oliver again, with another woman?”
“No. He just . . .” Bo looked out the window, watching as an A380 took off into the Sydney skies. “He just couldn’t be serious about me.”
“Il est roi des cons,” Lisa said under her breath, retreating to French as she always did when unable to express her thoughts adequately in English. She gazed at Bo hopefully. “Did you at least break his heart right back?”
“No. Like I said, he wasn’t serious about me, so his heart was never on the line. I hurt him though,” Bo replied, her voice full of regret. “I hurt him really bad.”
“Well, he hurt you,” Lisa reasoned.
“Yes, but I didn’t want to hurt him, Lis. That was never my intention.”
Lisa looked thoughtful. “You’re not a bad person, Bo. Sometimes people get hurt in relationships.”
“I know, I just . . .” she paused. “I could have done it all so much better. I wish I could go back. I’d do so many things differently.”
“You can’t go back though. All you can do now is keep moving forward.” She brightened. “Like buying this new business and moving into the room above it. Like making plans for your future. These are positive steps forward. And when you’re back in six months to visit me, I know I’m going to hear all about how happy you are.”
“Six months?” Bo was confused. “I didn’t say I’d be back in six months.”
“Yes, you did,” Lisa insisted. “Remember? The concert I have tickets for? You said you were coming with me.”
Bo had a vague memory of asking Lisa to keep her spare ticket for her. “Right,” she said. “Of course.”
“So, put this man trouble from your mind, work on your life and your future, and in six months, I’ll see you at the Maximilian Fitzroy concert. That will take your mind off this man trouble of yours.”
Bo felt ill. “What? Whose concert?”
Lisa stared at her. “Maximilian Fitzroy. The famed concert pianist. I’ve wanted to see him play the Emperor Concerto for years and he’s finally coming to Sydney. That’s who we’ve got tickets for. Max Fitzroy.”
Bo was thirty-five thousand feet above the ocean before she was able to swear twice without choking on an in-flight peanut.
