Authors: Eliza Redgold
‘How can I help you?’ the woman asked again. Still patient.
He couldn’t keep standing there with his mouth open.
‘Orchid.’ The word fell out.
‘Oh!’ Beaming, she came around the till. She wore a pair of knee-length khaki shorts and rubber clogs. ‘You’ve heard about the talk.’
She thrust a pamphlet into his hands.
He stared down at the leaflet.
The fairy’s face smiled up at him.
‘It’s on tonight at the town hall. Seven pm. There’ll still be tickets. You can buy them at the door.’ Her beam grew brighter. ‘It will be a good session. But I’m biased. We don’t look alike, but she’s my granddaughter.’
‘Dianella Lee.’ He read aloud from the pamphlet. That must be her name.
‘Dianella is the name of a native Australian flower,’ the woman explained, as if reading his mind. ‘It’s a kind of flax lily. Very pretty.’
He silently agreed.
‘It also means little Diana, after her mother. Not that they’re anything alike either. I named my daughter Diana after the goddess of the hunt and the woods. She’s not so keen on the woods, but it turned out she loves to hunt. Men.’
She roared with laughter.
Wade grinned. Her throaty chuckle was infectious.
‘I’m Boronia Dixon.’ She held out her sun-spotted hand. ‘Around here they call me Borrie. Even my grand-daughter. Boronia is another native wild flower. Some people love the scent but some people can’t smell it at all. You either get me or you don’t.’ She winked.
In his grip hers was firm and dry.
‘I’m Wade Hamilton. I’m here on … vacation from California.’
‘You’ve got some fine orchids in California too,’ Borrie Dixon said.
Wade glanced down at the leaflet.
They might have orchids, but he’d never spotted a fairy. Not one like Dianella Lee.
He was back on the scent.
It follows, indeed, almost of necessity, that a man who has travelled much should drift into that branch …
About Orchids A Chat: Frederick Boyle, 1893
Albany Town Hall seemed fuller than Wade had expected. Over a hundred people had turned out, he estimated, not the retirees he’d been expecting to see at a talk about wild flowers, but people of all ages, even teenagers, one with a tattoo and a nose ring. Tourists too, he suspected, judging by a few different accents. He grabbed a seat in the second row, on a cracked green vinyl chair that creaked as he sat down. Close as possible, without being too creepy trying to catch a whiff of her skin.
Dianella Lee stood on the stage at the front of the wooden floored hall, gazing out at the crowd, a small figure in a red dress with daisies polka dotting it, of some kind of gauzy material. It emphasized her tiny waist with a thin white belt, before flaring out into a 1950s style skirt. Her hair hung down her back as smooth as a skein of silk. Her gaze from those almond eyes scanned each row, glided over him, and then swivelled.
Widened.
Narrowed.
What are you doing here
? Her eyes telegraphed the message, with an emphasis on
you
, as powerfully as if she’d flashed it up on the screen behind her.
Yep.
He grinned. Exactly the reaction he’d been looking for.
For a long moment they stared at each other over the heads of the audience. Then she turned away. With a tap on the keyboard of the laptop, she tested the microphone and spoke.
‘Hello and welcome. I’m Dianella Lee.’ Her silvery voice reached the audience with ease, but he already knew she had range. ‘It’s great to have such a good turnout. Thanks very much for giving me the opportunity to speak to you all. I’m from the Go Native Nursery, and I’m passionate about orchids. Tonight, I’m going to talk about how we can cultivate orchids at home as well as protect our precious, native Western Australian orchids, but first I’m going to give you a quick rundown on orchids in general.’
Orchids.
Wade shifted in his creaky chair. He was attending a garden club talk about orchids. His friends at home wouldn’t believe it if they found out, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the tiny figure on the stage.
With a remote she flicked up the first slide, clicked first, and then pointed. He winced. Man, it looked clunky. He hated seeing bad tech, it hurt him. It really did. But seeing her twirl towards the screen, sending the skirt of her red dress swirling to reveal those slender legs made up for it.
The first slide showed the kind of flower he recognised from window displays and florist shops.
‘This is a
Phalaenopsis
orchid. It’s the kind of orchid most people are familiar with, used in pots, vases and bouquets, especially at weddings. It reminds people of butterflies, because of its winged shape, but it’s actually called the moth orchid. Found primarily in Asia in countries such as Singapore, it has about sixty species—and a lot of hybrids have been developed from it. Gorgeous, isn’t it?’
Gorgeous.
Exactly what he’d been thinking.
He winced again as she clicked to the next slide with a familiar flash of purple.
‘This is the Queen of Sheba orchid.’
Was it his imagination or did she definitely avoid a glance his way?
‘It’s found right here in Albany,’ she went on. ‘This orchid is much smaller than the moth orchid I showed you, and more delicate and rare. Unfortunately, it’s on the threatened species list. It’s a vulnerable orchid and we hope it will survive.’
Vulnerable
. Yes. Dianella Lee appeared that also, it showed in the way she held her shoulders. Something had happened in her life to hurt her, something that instinctively brought out the big protective bear in him. Yet beneath that fragile vulnerability laid strength. He sensed that too.
‘These two flowers appear different.’ Her clicks between the pictures on the two slides were jabs of a stick to his techie soul. The laptop must have come from the ark, the way it barely kept up with the remote. ‘You may be wondering: why are they called orchids, rather than flowers? What makes an orchid an orchid?’
He’d never wondered before, but since the gorgeous fairy had asked the question …
Up flashed a diagram on the screen.
‘Well, an orchid has some distinguishing characteristics. They have sepals, and three petals. One of the petals is a standout, often a fancy shape, or a different colour. It’s called the labellum, or the lip and it usually juts out. An orchid has quite a pout.’
She demonstrated by jutting out her own lower lip.
Wade’s stomach rocketed.
Man.
‘The lip is usually bright coloured. It can be very ornate, as you can see from a
Phalaenopsis
moth orchid. It’s attractive …’ she smiled around the hall, ‘to insects that is.’
Her smile. Sweet yet sexy. He swallowed, hard.
‘What makes orchids fascinating is that they have a unique reproductive system. In most flowers the female and male parts are separate. However, orchids are so evolved as a plant species that they never self-pollinate. They’re too sophisticated for that. But that’s not what makes orchids sexy.’
Wade sat up.
‘The perfume of orchids has long been used to make potent love potions. For centuries, they’ve been considered aphrodisiacs. From the ancient Greeks to Chinese, the fragrance of orchids has been inhaled to increase sexual virility, prowess and fertility. The scent is supposed to arouse instant lust—so be careful with it!’
Chuckles and murmurs spread through the hall.
‘In fact, one of our most popular and evocative scents, vanilla, comes from
vanilla planifolia
, a species of orchid plant. It’s widely used as a flavour and a fragrance. And the latest scientific studies on orchids have shown it increases nitric oxide that enhances our sense of wellbeing. So it seems the rumours about orchids might have been true all along.’
Wade clicked his fingers. She smelled of vanilla, that sweetly innocent yet subtly sensual scent. Deep and rich, with a touch of sweetness. He hadn’t been able to identify the fragrance as she’d stood near him in the bush, berating him. He’d thought it to be some Australian plant. It wasn’t the same vanilla as a cake or cookie, though it contained notes of that delicious, edible flavour. Dianella Lee’s scent had been something else, something more rare and delicate.
Recalling her provocative scent, he’d missed a couple of slides. She’d moved on to explain the cultivation of orchids in a home garden, and how perfect they were as house plants.
‘It’s a common misconception that orchids need extra attention. Fussing and over-watering doesn’t do them much good. They can take a bit of rough treatment. But please: don’t neglect them.’ A heartfelt plea.
Next she moved on to conservation and protection of orchids in the wild. He’d had his own personal lecture on the topic that morning. When she got to the bit about cameras, she tried not to look at him again, but she couldn’t help it.
He zoomed in a smile. It flustered her.
‘Collecting orchids in the wild is now banned worldwide.’ A slide showed a link while she apparently recovered her poise with a tilt of her chin. ‘There’s still a lot of orchid smuggling, but more and more people are passionately committed to protecting them.’
Wade found himself nodding. Now he understood.
‘I’ll end with a warning.’ She gentled the strong words with her sweet smile. ‘It’s this: orchids can drive you wild. In the nineteenth century, people went so crazy over exotic orchids, it became known as
orchidmania
. Orchid collecting became more than a fashion, more than a fad. The prices of the rare plants became exorbitant and they can still be astonishingly expensive. People begged, borrowed and stole them. Orchids are shrouded in secrecy and mystery—which is probably what lies at the heart of their appeal. They’re seductive.’
Dianella clicked to the last slide that showed the Go Native Nursery logo. ‘If you find yourself doing things that are unexpected because of orchids, don’t be surprised. Take it from me, orchids can make you crazy. They’re the sexiest plants on the planet.’
Orchidmania.
Wade grinned. That explained everything.
***
What’s he doing here?
That was Dianella’s first thought when she’d spotted the broad-shouldered American in the second row of the town hall, right after a jump of her heart.
Earlier that day, when she’d driven away in the van, she’d glanced in the rear-view mirror and seen him gazing after her. She’d experienced a strange, painful squeeze in her chest. She’d never see him again. It was probably a good thing. He was a visitor, after all. Even so, she’d wanted to see him again, and there he sat in the town hall. Her wish had magically come true.
She groaned inwardly.
First impressions. Hers hadn’t been good, behaving like a Wild Western style heroine defending the land. What had she said? ‘Back away and there won’t be any trouble?’ She may as well have said ‘and no one will get hurt.’
She hid her giggle by fiddling with the laptop. Second impressions. That’s what she needed to focus on. Orchid facts. Gardening advice. Conservation.
She mustn’t get ahead of herself. After all, he might like orchids. Plenty of people did. Why then, at the end of the session after lots of clapping, did she feel so disappointed when the American disappeared in the crowd? Members of the audience clustered to ask questions and congratulate her. It took a full half hour before she packed up her notes and managed to escape through the jarrah-wood doors of the hall, into the night, feeling dejected.
Post-performance blues. It must be tough for actors, she realised, having a high on stage and then coming down afterwards.
A breeze blew up the main street as she strolled along to where she’d parked her van, sending an empty paper cup bouncing along the kerb. She picked it up and popped it in a bin. A few people were chatting out the front of the Italian restaurant opposite. A faint whiff of garlic combined with the salty tang of the sea air from the harbour at the end of the street filled the air. She always noticed scent.
‘Hi.’
Dianella twirled. A bear shape came out of the shadows, from an alley way between two of the old-fashioned storefronts.
The bear turned into the American, his white teeth gleaming.
‘Hi.’ Her heart did that ridiculous star-jump again.
‘I’m Wade Hamilton,’ he said easily. She’d noticed before that many Americans seemed to have a relaxed, affable way of introducing themselves. ‘I know your name now, of course. Dianella Lee. But we didn’t … ah … get introduced.’
He offered his hand.
Smothered hers. He didn’t crush her fingers. Just gave this incredible sense of being wrapped in safety.
It didn’t overcome her instant pang of disappointment. He was a visitor to Australia.
He wasn’t going to stick around.
With a sense of reluctance she extricated her hand.
‘I’m sorry for what happened about the Queen of Sheba orchid,’ she apologised. It had been quite the first impression, all right. ‘I’m on high alert at the moment. I over-reacted.’
‘Forget it.’ He waved her concern away. ‘I understand now. What a great talk.’
‘Thanks. I’m glad you came along.’
He moved closer. Over his t-shirt he wore an unzipped navy jacket with a university insignia. His brown eyes had turned dark.
‘Are you?’
‘Of course. The more people that understand how rare and precious orchids are, the better.’
Again her heart jumped as he came nearer still. ‘I found it fascinating.’
He was only centimetres away from her now, his eyelids fanned closed.
Another step closer.
She jumped away.
‘What are you doing?’ Dianella demanded.
‘I’m sorry.’ He looked abashed, if a huge bear-like man could look abashed. ‘It’s your perfume. Vanilla, right?’
‘It’s a vanilla scent I make up myself, mixed with a few Australian wild flower essences.’ She’d added bush fuchsia oil tonight, to help with public speaking. Not that he needed to know that.
‘Vanilla.’ He sniffed again. ‘It’s not the cupcake kind.’
Dianella laughed. ‘It certainly isn’t.’
‘What is it?’
‘Can you handle another orchid lecture?’