“What would you like to drink?” he asked as he held out a cushion-covered, wrought-iron chair for her to sit down on.
“Something cool and nonalcoholic, please.”
Josh was a little surprised. “Sure you don’t want a glass of wine?”
“No, thanks. I never drink alcohol when I’m driving.”
“Wise choice. Fruit punch okay?”
“Sounds delicious.”
He watched the muscles in the slender line of her throat move as she swallowed imperceptibly. She was nervous. Intriguing. In the office she worked at his side with impeccable efficiency—even last night she’d been the same, despite her obvious annoyance at him taking it for granted that she’d be there with him.
Was it the idea of having returned the painting that made her feel this way, he wondered. Returning a gift was never a particularly easy thing to do. He knew enough about her circumstances to understand why the message the artist had conveyed with a series of skilful brushstrokes would have resonated with her. Any teen who’d been through Irene Palmer’s system had come from tougher backgrounds than most and Callie was very much the poster child for what Irene’s foundations worked to achieve. Reluctantly, he had to hand it to the old bag: she’d got it right with Callie.
Josh reached for a condensation-sweating pitcher on the drinks trolley by their table and poured two glasses of fruit punch.
“Are you driving, too?” Callie asked, with a hint of acerbity, as she accepted her drink.
“No, but I don’t need alcohol to have a good time.”
His words seemed to relax her and her features settled into a smile.
The investigation he’d made into her past was scant on details but he knew, from the confidential file his staff had compiled, that there’d been family problems with drug and alcohol dependency. She’d chosen to walk—or, more precisely, run—away from it, losing herself in the streets of Auckland’s inner city. And despite that, she’d survived. He admired her all the more for making a personal stand when it came to her own choices.
Over their dinner of succulent eye-fillet steaks, baby potatoes and sliced zucchini and capsicum seared on the barbecue, it amused him to have Callie probe carefully about his own past.
“So you were brought up by your mother?” Callie asked.
“Yeah, I was. We lived in Wellington.”
“She must be proud of you.”
“She’s dead,” he answered bluntly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. You must miss her very much.” Genuine remorse filled Callie’s eyes.
“Every single day. She died far too young.” Josh didn’t even try to keep the bitterness from his voice.
“You were lucky to have always had her support, though. That kind of thing can never be taken for granted.”
There was a wistfulness in Callie’s voice that pulled him very much into the present.
“You’re right. Sometimes I just need to be reminded of that fact.” Josh forced himself to smile at Callie. “And she would have been proud of me. It was always her greatest wish to see me succeed.”
A light sea breeze wafted across the air, bringing a cool change to the evening.
“Come on, let’s go inside for dessert and coffee. It’s getting cold.”
Callie started to pick up the plates from the table. Josh put his hand firmly over hers and drew it to his chest.
“Uh-uh. You’re not here to work. I can take care of them later.”
With a faint nod of acquiescence, she allowed him to draw her away from the table and up the shallow tiled stairs, between tall cypresses, that led toward the back of the house.
Over homemade shortcake, courtesy of his day housekeeper, and the decaf coffee Callie insisted on, Josh maintained very general conversation, but he wasn’t oblivious to the way Callie’s eyes darted around the room from time to time. Especially when her gaze alighted, with barely concealed interest, on a collection of framed photographs on the sideboard.
“Do you mind?” she asked, gesturing to the pictures.
“Sure, why not?”
He followed her over to the pictures. She unerringly picked up the duplicate of the one he had in his office.
“This is you and your mum, isn’t it? It’s the same as the one at work.” She smiled, her fingertip tracing the outline of his youthful face behind glass. “You both look so happy.”
“She was still well then and, yes, despite everything, we were happy,” Josh conceded.
“I’m glad,” Callie said simply. She shot a look at her wristwatch. “Oh, is that the time? I must head off. I’ve really enjoyed this evening. Thank you.”