Mr. Spruce informed her as the car pulled in front of the Victorian house.
It violated everything about good modern taste. The crimson paint hadn't been treated in years. The only color that prevailed was the black paint lining all the doors and windows. The untamed garden choked out any former charm. The house hated sunlight. Whether one was out or in, it was always night. Its cold unfeeling stare made Cora remember how much she hated that man. The house represented everything he stood for.
“Mr. Spruce, a word with you,” Ioan said gravely.
“ Of course. Do follow me in and we'll discuss whatever you're weeping about, Mr. Saier.” Mr. Spruce merrily pranced up the path.
“ Wait, here,” Ioan told Cora. “I'll sort him out.” Mr. Spruce opened the door for him and Ioan let him have it as soon as the door shut.
Cora sat in front of the withered rose beds. She felt trapped in a Poe novel. Even the roses suffered under the old man's hand. There was no escape. This is the life Ioan had run from. She regretted not understanding him before. A small bud thirsted for the sunlight in the circle of dead plants. It was on the verge of blooming. Its blushing cream bulb curved romantically upon its pistil. Cora smiled. It was an unexpected surprise. She remembered the white roses lying near her silverware during her last dinner on Titanic. She saw Ioan's face again in the flickering firelight. She remembered locking the roses in her drawer, thinking they'd be safe. Nothing was safe from the sea. She regarded herself lucky compared to passengers who lost their fortunes on board. It was an awful misconception. She had lost everything she loved to the sea.
A strong hand seized the stem and yanked the rose out of the flower bed. Its roots dangled helplessly in the air. The hand ripped it out with such force, the rose bent at the neck and drooped sideways. It was unable to support itself. Cora turned appalled to its butcher. He grinned at her.
“ Forgive me,” he said. “I just thought such a pretty thing should belong to you, but didn't realize my own strength.” It had to be true. It was almost possible to forgive him. He was quite herculean with a sturdy jaw and appealing build. He sported the latest fashion for men, topped with a black derby. It perched on slick copper hair. His eyes were astoundingly gray, making him quite beautiful for a man.
With his looks, it was impossible for a woman to remember his wrongdoings, but he had a knack for doing them. He dropped the gutted rose onto the sidewalk and squashed it under his shiny dress shoes. The rose bled under his foot and withered away with the breeze. “No matter,” he said. “I brought a spare.” He handed her a lavender orchid right from his coat pocket. Then made some crude remark about how deep his pockets really were. Cora hesitated. “Have we met?” she asked.
“My apologies. I forgot to properly introduce myself over again,” he chuckled.
“ Cora,” Mr. Harlow said cheerfully as he approached the two. “I thought we'd lost you again. I see you've met my travel companion,” Mr. Harlow told her. “You do remember Emmett O'Riley?”
“ Emmett?” Cora cried. “I-I mean Mr. O'Riley.”
“ Guilty as charged,” he replied
“ I can't imagine what you must be doing here,” she said gawkily.
“ Try.” He grinned devilishly.
Mr. Harlow chuckled. “Oh, come now. You act so surprised. I believe you two were corresponding by letter overseas, isn't that so? I thought you'd be pleased to finally meet again, but you seem rather displeased, my dear.”
“Not at all, but now isn't really the best time,” Cora answered, glancing back at the house.
“ I understand. Considering all you've been through, now is not the ideal time for meeting acquaintances,” Emmett said. “I am sincerely sorry, Miss Cora, but I was anxious to know you were safe and to offer my consolation. We are old friends, after all.”
“ Thank you, Mr. O'Riley,” Cora