Chessie laughs and slides into the chair beside her. “That sounds perfect.”
I exchange a smile with Orson and take the seat next to him.
“Would you like still or sparkling water?” the waiter asks.
“Sparkling, please,” I say, and the waiter nods and pours me a glass from the bottle on the table that Orson must have asked for. Chessie just nods, and he pours her a glass too.“Would you like to order a drink now?” he asks, gesturing at the wine menu.
“I’ve ordered a bottle of Sauvignon,” Orson says, meeting my eyes. It’s a safe option, something most women drink. I’m guessing he’s been through this with Scarlett, and he thought it might save a discussion that Chessie might not feel comfortable having.
“Is that okay with you?” I ask Chessie, “or would you prefer something else?”
“That’s fine,” she says, looking relieved.
He hands us all a menu, then leaves us to consider our choices. Another waiter comes over with a bottle of Cloudy Bay Te Koko Sauvignon Blanc, a classy Marlborough wine, and pours a glass for the three of them, while I cover my glass and say I’ll stick with the water.
Chessie has a sip. “Mmm, lovely,” she says. I know she’ll have no idea that it costs a hundred bucks a bottle.
“Marc recommended the platter to start,” Orson says. “Do you like seafood, Chessie?”
“Yes, I don’t mind a bit.” She opens the menu and stares at it for a moment. Then, although she doesn’t move her head, her gaze slowly rises to mine.
“What?” I ask, amused.
“Nothing.”
Scarlett glances at her and chuckles. “I have to admit, when Orson first told me they did a seafood platter here, I assumed he meant fish nuggets and scampi or something.”
“Yes,” Chessie says, relieved, “me too!” Her jaw sags as she looks back at the menu. “Oh my God.”
Along with the Kaipara oysters that Emma spoke of, the platter includes Bigeye tuna tataki with sesame, wasabi crème, and pickled daikon, seared scallops on cauliflower purée withpancetta crumble, and venison tartare with quail egg and sourdough crisps.
“If you’d rather have something else, please say,” I tell her.
“No, it looks amazing,” she assures me.
“What about a main? Anything take your fancy?” Amongst other dishes, there’s pan-roasted hapuku fish with paua and prawn tortellini, beurre blanc, and sea herbs, and a Canterbury lamb rack with roasted garlic mash, harissa glaze, and seasonal greens.
“I’ll have the charred eggplant and mushroom risotto,” Scarlett says. “At least I know what that is.”
That makes Chessie laugh as she reads the options. I meet Scarlett’s gaze and her lips curve up. I wink at her, touched that she’s trying to put Chessie at ease.
“The lamb sounds fantastic,” Chessie says.
“I want to try the truffle fries with parmesan and aioli,” Orson says. “We’ll get those as a side.”
I nod, and when the waiter returns, we all make our choices, Orson going for a venison dish, while I choose the hapuku. The waiter takes the menus and goes off to relay our orders.
“So…” Orson looks at me, then at Chessie, and then all four of us start laughing. “This is a bizarre situation,” he states.
“It’s just a business deal,” I reply. “That’s all.”
“You’re mad,” he tells her. “Spending more time in this idiot’s company than you have to.”
“Orson,” Scarlett scolds.
Chessie chuckles. “I wanted to help him. He’ll be wonderful at the Foundation. I think it’s a bit unfair to say he’s not a great role model.”
Touched, I say, “Thank you.”