Life Is A Foreign Language (33 page)

With a smile she nodded. “Yes, I’m almost an old resident by now.” She looked around. “By the way, where are Brian and Samantha? And Cindy? I expected to see them.”

Michael cupped Nina’s elbow in his hand. “Brian’s inside taking care of some last minute arrangements for me. Samantha didn’t feel she should be out in this heat so late in her pregnancy, and Cindy was only too pleased to stay at home to keep her company and avoid the sun and the bugs.”

Then there was no more time to talk. The crowd was drifting toward the roses. The air suddenly filled with raspy sounds from the loudspeakers.

Michael looked at his watch. “It’s time to take our places next to the rose.” He offered her his arm.

“See you all later,” Michael said to his sons and their wives.

Nina smiled and waved with her free hand, deciding that when the Festival was over, she’d make an effort to get to know them better, maybe invite them to her place for dinner.

She glanced over her shoulder. “What about Chris and Peter, the others?”

Michael steered her along one of the paths that led to the roses.

“They’ll join us here for toasts and speeches.” He covered her hand with his, caressing the skin with his thumb. “We’ll have dinner together tonight. Samantha and Cindy might join us, depending on how Samantha feels. I should have told you they weren’t coming, but with all the hassle I forgot. Sorry.”

She hugged his arm. “That’s all right, you have plenty on your mind.”

He led Nina to the spot where they were supposed to stand during the ceremony. She hoped the event wouldn’t last too long in this heat, the merciless sun beating down on them. Despite the discomfort, excitement like electricity in the air, palpable and contagious, caught her in its grip.

A voice on the loudspeakers requested all contestants to take their positions by their roses. The voice droned on—the competition had been fierce, most plants were of such high quality and beauty it had been a hard task to single out any of them. Selecting the winners in the different categories had been difficult.

With a snap of static the loudspeakers went quiet.

Nina glanced at Michael. His forehead pearled with perspiration from the relentless sun and high humidity.

Despite the large number of people there was silence, now and then broken by the distant sound of a purring motor boat on the river below.

Nina slipped her hand in Michael’s.

More static. The man’s voice on the loudspeakers returned and started announcing the winners.

First, he made known the winner of the “Rose Best in Color.” To loud applause the trophy was presented. The winner took a few minutes to express his appreciation for the honor. There was the pop of champagne corks and cheers.

Next was the category “Best Foliage,” followed by the same ritual.

Then came “Best Scent.” The voice on the loudspeakers took his sweet time to explain the elements the jury members had to consider, and why, so they could make their decisions in the different categories.

Nina tuned out, biting her lip. This was going on forever. The heels of her sandals kept sinking into the lawn. The heat and humidity made the dress cling to her legs, and her face burned from the sun. Her mouth was parched, her throat raspy. She could drink anything as long as it was ice cold.

Chapter 38
 

By Nina’s side Michael smiled. He seemed to be enjoying himself. She admired his ability to detach himself from the discomfort and excitement. She pulled her perspiring hand from his and dried it on a tissue.

He saw her look at him. “It’ll be all right. It’s soon over.” His hand was dry as it squeezed hers.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the voice on the loudspeakers. “The time has come to announce the winners in our two main categories. These categories unite the three preceding and separate qualities of a specimen rose. These traits are color, foliage and scent.”

The voice droned on. “This year we’ve added one more element to the consideration of our jury.” A pause for effect. “This is the first time we’ve include it, and it hasn’t made the selection any easier. This new element is the longevity of the blossom. To measure longevity, we decided on a minimum of three days. If even one blossom on a plant showed signs of wilting before the end of the third day, this particular entry was out of the competition.”

The voice went on to say what it had already told them, that the choice had been difficult, but the jury, after deliberation, had come to a unanimous decision.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are proud to announce the prize for ‘The Rose Best in Show.’ It goes to Michael Hamilton.”

Nina gasped and laughed aloud in surprise and joy. “I knew it. Oh Michael, I’m so happy for you. Congratulations.” Mindless of the crowd pushing to get close to Michael, she kissed him.

He held her while people clustered around them. She took a step back as somebody stuck a microphone in Michael’s face.

“Mr. Hamilton, will you please announce the name of the Godmother of this magnificent flower.”

Nina’s heart made a leap, her breath caught. The moment had come—she could no longer remain Michael’s unknown companion, she was the Godmother and she would do what he expected of her—and she would do it well.

Michael turned to her, a big smile on his face and put his hand on her arm. Microphone in the other hand he said, “It’s a privilege and a great joy to me that my dear friend and companion from across the ocean has agreed to be Godmother to my winning rose.” He paused. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Nina Brochard.”

Someone put a watering can in her hand. With the other, she reached for the card Michael held out to her—the card with the name of the rose.

Nina took the stiff paper. She must pronounce the name correctly. It was up to her to “baptize” the rose.

Glancing at the stiff piece of paper, she froze, reading and rereading the name printed on the card. She balked. Blushing, she looked at Michael.

He smiled and nodded. “Go ahead, Nina. Say it out loud. Name my rose, sweetheart.”

Nina’s hand trembled on his that held the mike. With effort, she swallowed, her throat so dry it burned. In a clear steady voice she said the words, reading them from the card.

“I’m honored to be the Godmother to this wonderful rose, which represents years of endurance and hard work to its grower, Michael Hamilton.”

She let the card drop from her fingers. It fluttered to the ground. Watering can in hand, Nina turned to the nearest plant and poured a small quantity of water over the rose and on the ground where it grew, vaguely hearing the clicking of cameras and whir of camcorders.

Into the mike that Michael held close to her mouth, she said, “I name you ‘Nina Brochard’.”

The name came out with an effort. Her skin burned. Perspiration ran down her face, along her throat. She had done it, fulfilled her commitment to herself to stand unfaltering by Michael’s side, to do this thing that meant so much to him.

What do you know, my namesake is a rose!
This was a total surprise. She was curious to know what had prompted him to choose her name and decided she’d ask him later.

They hugged. Somebody stuck a flute of champagne in her hand. In her excitement she dropped the glass. It shattered on the ground. Somebody else thrust another brimful flute into her hand.

Brian had joined his brothers. Michael’s sons, Linda and Ally, all clustered around him, slapping him on the back, their eyes shiny from excitement and wine and happiness for him. Their congratulations were warm and loud.

Presently the man’s voice on the loudspeaker intruded again. This time he prepared to give the name of the winner in the last category.

“We know it’s hot out here, and by now you must all be both thirsty and impatient to know the name of the winner in the last and most prestigious category. We do have a winner.” Another pause to build suspense.

“You, the growers and contestants, have set such high standards the jury members didn’t have an easy job to make their choice. With eleven voices for and one against, I am proud to announce the winner. Ladies and gentlemen.”

Again a pause.

My God, but he is taking his sweet time over this. Come on, get it over with!

“I’m proud to announce the winner. Ladies and gentlemen—the winner of ‘The Rose of Roses’ is the ‘Nina Brochard,’ cultivated and grown by Michael Hamilton.”

Michael’s dream had come true. Just as he had hoped, his rose, the ‘Nina Brochard’ had won the two main categories.

For the second time that day, friends, relatives and colleagues clustered around Michael to congratulate and hug him. There was backslapping and shouted cheers. Some of his patients crowded around him—children and young teenagers. They all wanted to share a few words with him. To touch him. To hold his hand.

Michael had a kind word or a sweet gesture for each of them. He seemed to know them all by name.

And there was Marley. He sauntered toward them arms swinging, head high. Coming to stand close to Michael, a hand on Michael’s shoulder, Marley’s pitch dark eyes shone as from an inner light. As in the clinic, his hand traveled down Michael’s chest to come to rest against his heart. Then he held Michael’s hand against his own. They spoke for a few minutes. Marley laughed a hearty laugh, his head thrown back, mouth open, teeth gleaming white in his tanned face. He turned to Nina. “Congratulations, M’am Nina.”

“Thanks, Marley, but this is Michael’s victory.”

“T’is your name. T’is your life.” He winked at her. “See you, M’am Nina. On Tuesday.” He nodded at Michael, waved at Nina, backed away from them, and was lost in the crowd.

“What about Tuesday?” Michael asked her.

“Counseling. I forgot to tell you.”

A pretty girl lingered by Michael’s side. She moved when he moved, her eyes were on his lips when he spoke. She was no more than about seven years old. Impetigo covered the cheeks of her lovely face in pustules and thick yellowish crusts. She waited patiently for Michael to notice her. At length she took his hand in her two small ones and hugged it to her chest. He stooped to pick her up. Holding her in his arms, he whispered something to her. She grinned at him, a couple of front teeth missing, and cupped his face between her tiny hands, to rub noses with him. They both laughed as if this was a private joke between them. When he put her down again she hurried off on tall, skinny legs.

Brian caught Nina’s eyes through the crowd and raised his hands, making the victory sign, and she gave the sign back. She no longer felt the heat and humidity, only a pervasive joy for Michael. Loud laughter and shouting voices befit the celebration.

The throng of people separated her from Michael. A man came to him, placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Michael turned to listen, nodded and faced Nina. Michael made his way through the crowd to where she stood by the fence. He presented her with a bunch of his prize roses the unknown man had just given him. The bouquet was large and so heavy she couldn’t hold it with one hand, but had to place it on her arm, their intoxicating perfume heady.

Turning to Michael, she tried to hug him and give him a kiss, but the flowers got in the way.

“Thank you, darling. It’s such an extravagant bouquet.”

Then Nina saw the cream colored envelop among the flowers. She pulled it out and with an almost abrupt gesture she thrust her armload on an unknown lady standing next to her. Free of the flowers Nina opened the envelope. She pulled out the note written on a gilt-edge textured card. Nina read the words written in Michael’s hand.

Then she read the words again before tears clouded her vision.

When she could see, she read the short note a third time.

‘Come live with me and be my love,

And we will all the pleasures prove …’

Nina, will you marry me?”

Glancing up from the card she saw his serious, questioning eyes on her. Happiness exploded from her heart—it took her breath away in its intensity. Then the happiness tugged at the corners of her mouth, stretching her lips in a huge smile. Her entire being filled with a bright light.

This is it. Without fanfare, no long discussions, without talking back and forth, this is it. No doubts. No questions or uncertainties.

This is it.

Again tears pooled in her eyes. She gazed at Michael, nodded and gave her answer.

“Yes!”

Chapter 39
 

A smile sparkled in Michael’s eyes, those eyes Nina loved so much. The throng of people had pushed them apart, but he blew her a kiss over the head of the crowd.

Her answer was an unreserved “yes.” More than anything, she wanted to be in his arms right now—to hold him and feel him close.

Then he stood in front of her. Michael. Her love. He cupped her face in his hands the way he often did. They gazed at one another for a long moment. His eyes were misty. With a little groan he pulled her into his arms, holding her very near.

“Say it to me, Nina.”

“Yes, I want to marry you.” Her voice trembled.

His eyes never left hers. “And I want to marry you.”

Oblivious of the crowd they kissed, clinging to each other.

“There they are.”

Nina recognized Brian’s voice.

Laughter. “They’re in a clinch.”

“Break, Dad, Nina. Break!”

Nina caressed the soft, slightly damp hair at the nape of Michael’s neck, running her fingers along his cheeks. They stepped apart. Brian, Chris, Peter and their wives surrounded them. Again somebody handed them glasses of bubbling champagne.

Michael put his arm around Nina’s waist and turned to face his sons and daughters-in-law. “Today I won the two most prestigious prizes a rose grower can hope to win.”

“Hurray,” somebody shouted.

“Listen, everybody. I’ve asked Nina to be my wife. And she’s agreed to marry me, so I hit the jackpot.”

They cheered.

Brian tried to hug them both at the same time. “Congratulations, Dad, Nina. That’s wonderful.”

“Welcome to the family, Nina.”

Everyone crowded close to congratulate the couple. Nina waved her free hand to shoo away a wasp. They hadn’t been a bother so far, but the scent of the roses, together with the smell of champagne must have been enticing. A wasp settled on the rim of her glass. Waving a hand, she chased it away. It buzzed off, only to return and settle on the rim of Michael’s glass. She moved her hand over his glass, and the wasp took off again.