Single Red Rose

It was so sweet of Dave to surprise me like this, I thought to myself as a plain brown box came into view. Carefully I opened the box and peered inside. No wonder it was so light, the only contents were a single red rose, underneath which was a card in a plain white envelope. I pulled the card out from under the rose, placing the box on the floor. Yes, it was a white envelope, but not exactly a plain one. On the front, in a shade of scarlet, was what could only be described as a kiss. It wasn't any ordinary kiss, not a printed pattern on the envelope nor a hand-written impression of sensuality. This was a kiss, an actual kiss, the imprint of a pair of scarlet lips.

I now started to doubt that this was Dave's doing. I didn't want to, but I felt compelled to open the envelope, to find out. As I tore open the back, I got the answer I expected. The scent alone was enough to tell me what I already suspected. It was a woman's scent, a most intoxicating floral scent, a scent with just a hint of familiarity but not one I could put my finger on. I couldn't help but read the card, somehow expecting she would have given herself away, putting her name amid the copious love hearts and corny message. There was a message, in the most wonderous red handwriting, and I found myself reading it over and over in my mind.

Reading this, you're bound to know,

Just how far I'm willing to go.

To make you see how much you mean,

To have you know how much I'm keen.

I see you there every day,

I wouldn't have it any other way.

So, take this rose from me to you,

To whom I am it is the clue.

Follow the scent and you will see,

The two of us are meant to be.

The handwriting, the red lipstick, the feminine fragrance, this could only have been from a woman, and most definitely not intended for me. Had I been unlucky in finding it, or was it left there as a message; a message that Dave had another love interest? My mind was in overdrive, my heart racing, as I started to consider the situation. What if this wasn't the first? Was he just unfortunate that I had found it this year and not him? Then there was the other possibility. Was I just overreacting to a situation with a very plausible answer?

I threw the card back in the box, returned to the kitchen for the open bottle of wine and poured myself a large glass. Eventually he would come back, and when he did Dave would have some answering to do. The only question was whether I went gung-ho and made him answer there and then, or whether I did my own detective work first. It would have been so easy to go heavy handed, but would I achieve anything other than wrecking our relationship anyway. There had to be an answer. I just had to find it.

For now, though, I was just going to finish off this bottle.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I never did hear Dave come home. Had it been an hour, or even two? For sure it had been time enough for me to finish off the whole bottle and fall asleep on the sofa. I woke the next morning, tucked up in bed with nothing but a dry mouth and a stinking headache. Just like the morning before, where in my dreams I didn't know how I had ended up bound to that bed, I didn't know how I had ended up in this one. All I knew is that I had drunk much more than I should have done—yes, I deserved no sympathy for that stinking headache—and that I was still het up about that card.

I could hear movement somewhere towards the kitchen. With a bee in my bonnet, I climbed out of bed, took one step forward and practically fell over. Had I really drunk so much? Deep breath I kept telling myself, deep breath and walk slowly. How difficult could it be? A few steps forward, a wobble, another few steps, a stumble, it was the most unladylike swagger as I made my way from bedroom to kitchen.

I saw Dave as I neared the door. There he was, playing the innocent, making breakfast as if nothing had ever happened. I so wanted to give him a real piece of my mind. I took another step forward, moving from carpet onto hard tiled floor, stumbling at the change in surface and bashing into the door with a loud thud. Well, the element of surprise had gone, if there ever was one.

"Good morning, sweetheart," came Dave's cheery voice as he turned towards me, and I practically fell into his arms. "I was just rustling up a spot of breakfast. Looks like somebody had a rough night of it."

I clenched my fists, ready to make my feelings known, but thought better of it. Rough night? Did he know the half of it? What would he feel like if I was the one to receive a Valentine's card out of the blue and it wasn't from him? Well, that's just how I felt. I wanted answers, but I wasn't going to get them by pounding away on his chest. If he had something to hide, then coming out and telling him I knew about the card was only going to have him dreaming up excuses. Or maybe he didn't need any. I still could be overreacting about the whole thing.

The more I thought about it, the more I talked myself out of doing anything. I would keep this my secret, until I knew more. I loved Dave, I wanted Dave, I needed Dave, and if I wanted to keep it this way, my anger needed to be directed at the sender not the recipient. Maybe he hadn't even seen the card yet. I could always hide it, just in case.

"I love you, Dave," I whispered, nestling my sore head up against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around me.

"What happened? By the time I got back you were fast asleep on the sofa, an empty bottle on the floor."

"Oh, you know. I guess I just got a bit carried away. One glass led to another, led to the whole bottle. How was your meeting?"

"My meeting? Oh, that was just dull sales stuff. It always is."

"And was she there?"

I cursed to myself as I asked. This was hardly any way to keep it a secret, was it?

"Was who there?"

"No... no... I wanted to know... well... is it all men at these meetings?"

"Well, I guess... most are. Why?"

"No reason. I just wondered."

It was a start. In my mind I just had to find out who attended that sales meeting and then I would have a shortlist as to who may have sent the card. A quick conversation with his PA would get me what I needed. It would be as easy as that. A list of names, then eliminate them one by one, just like in one of those detective movies. Then, I would have my answer.

"Anyway, let's have you back in bed. I'll finish off breakfast, but I'd say you're in no fit state to go to work today."

I was still protesting that I needed to be in the office, as I felt Dave wrap his arms around me. In one move, he picked me up and I slumped against his chest in a half drunken stupor. For the second time I had been carried to the bed and placed under the sheets.

"I'll phone in and tell them you're not feeling too good. I'm sure you won't be missed for one day."

I felt his gentle kiss on my forehead as I continued to mutter about how I had things I needed to do today.

I remember his comforting arm around me as I drifted in and out of sleep.

I never made it into the office that day. With a weekend to look forward to, I had to put my investigations on hold until Monday. In the meantime, though, I would make sure it was a most enjoyable weekend for both of us.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday morning and we were both in the office. Dave had headed off into meetings the minute we arrived, so I grabbed a coffee and headed to my desk. I couldn't help but chuckle as I sat down. It did it to me every time, that silver plaque saying that here sat Rebecca Cummings. Oh, yes, it had been a weekend to remember, and I'd certainly lived up to my family name. Now though... now was time to work, and I already had it all planned out.

A quick phone call and I had my list of names. There were only three women who had been at that meeting, Lucy from sales, Jo from marketing and Sheila from accounts. Sheila was retirement age, so that narrowed it down to two. By lunchtime, and after a few discreet conversations, I found out that Lucy was about to be married so I crossed her off my list. That only left Jo.

I glanced across the office. As with all open-plan spaces, you could see most people on this floor. Marketing was on the other side of the room, but in full view. I spotted Jo, standing by a whiteboard. Oh yes, she knew how to make an impression, dressed to impress in miniskirt and knee-high boots. Up top, her blouse strained across an overly large, and most probably fake, bust. In my mind I had my answer, without even needing to ask the question. It was obvious. Jo was the type to send surprise Valentine's cards. She had to be the one. The only question was how to approach her. I found myself staring out across the office, pondering just what I would do next. I was so engrossed that I never noticed the visitor at my desk.

"Feeling better, Rebecca?" came the broadest of Irish accents.

I didn't need to look up to know it was Rosamunde, the overall head of finance, and the boss of my immediate line manager. The voice was a giveaway, as was the directness of the question. She was a good ten years older than myself, significantly taller with shoulder length fiery red wavy hair, and I guess you'd say she had curves in all the right places. No, I'm not saying she was overweight, just curvaceous enough to do justice to whatever she chose to wear, and boy did she like to show off her vast wardrobe. Or was it that she liked her vast wardrobe to show off her ample curves? You couldn't help but notice the way that most of her tops seemed to maximise her femininity.

Every day was something new, something smart, sophisticated, becoming of her seniority in the organisation. Just one look and you knew that Rosamunde was not one to be messed with. She got what she wanted, or at least she did if you intended to stay in the organisation for any length of time. She was always direct, to the point, then back to the grind. I'd never known her stop for any idle conversation, so asking if I felt better was a bit of a new one for me.

"Much better," I responded politely, but in hope that she would move on quickly now that pleasantries were over. I glanced up and smiled at Rosamunde.

I wasn't scared of her, but she was a bit overpowering both in what she said and how she looked. Today was no different. She stood right in front of me, dressed in the most sophisticated black dress you could imagine. Perfectly cut fabric seemed to caress her every curve, snug across the bust, fitted around the waist before filling out across her hips. A low-cut V at the front, in tandem with the natural hold of either her bra or the dress itself, presented ample views of the deep valley between those breasts. I found myself, as usual, feeling quite inadequate.

There was something else though. Something different about Rosamunde. Was it different, or had I just not noticed it before? She was as smartly presented as ever, but today she was... well, how do you say it without being rude? Today she had gone for makeup. There was a subtle smokiness around the eyes, natural shades but just enough to set off her hazel eyes. If that was subtle, then the lipstick was out to get you, a brightish shade of red... a...

For an instant my mind flashed back to that card and the kiss on the outside of the envelope. That was a bright shade of red lipstick. It was only an instant, and as quickly as it entered my mind, I dismissed the idea as pure coincidence. There'd be many out there who would wear red lipstick, especially a scarlet shade on Valentine's day. Even that Jo in marketing wouldn't be against the idea if it got her what she wanted.

"Will I be seeing you later?" Rosamunde continued.

"Er... sure... wait, have we got a meeting?"

"No meeting. I just thought there might be things we needed to talk about."

"You mean my absence on Friday? I just had... look, I'm sorry, it was a stinking headache I just couldn't shake off."

"That's not what I meant. Everybody has an off day sometimes. I'll leave it with you, but my door is always open if you need to talk."

With that, Rosamunde headed off in the direction of the stairwell. What did she mean when she said things we needed to talk about? Was she planning to get rid? I'd only taken the one day off in all the time I'd been there. I was still pondering the options when my mind switched from what I had heard to what I could smell. There was a womanly fragrance in the air, a very familiar floral scent. I hadn't sensed it to start with, or at least it hadn't registered, but as Rosamunde walked away, her perfume filled the void she had left behind.

My mind was awash with all kinds of conflicting thoughts. I had already decided that it had to be Jo in marketing. Jo and Dave worked together, so she had the opportunity to be close to him and from what I knew she wasn't married yet; in fact, the lads joked about her being on the one on the lookout. It had to be Jo, didn't it? I just needed to ask her, to talk to her, to discuss.

Once more an image of Rosamunde filled my mind. It was just coincidence, I told myself over and over as I reached into the bag for the card. The shade of lipstick, yes it was close to the colour of the kiss on the envelope, but was it the same? Then the fragrance. By now the scent on the card had lost some of its intensity, but—I took the card to my nose and sniffed—they were the same floral notes that I had just encountered in the office.

But could it be Rosamunde? Idle office gossipers had a name for her. The battle-axe, was how Rosamunde tended to be described, reflecting on her direct nature and plain lack of any sensitivity. Surely not, I thought to myself. Surely Rosamunde couldn't have sent that card to Dave. I didn't even think they knew each other.

I took another sniff at the card, inhaling what remained of that sweet scent. It was the same, I was sure. I glanced at the envelope, at the scarlet kiss which adorned the white paper, then inside at the wording, reading it over and over in my mind.

Reading this, you're bound to know,

Just how far I'm willing to go.

To make you see how much you mean,

To have you know how much I'm keen.

I see you there every day,

I wouldn't have it any other way.

So, take this rose from me to you,

To whom I am it is the clue.

Follow the scent and you will see,

The two of us are meant to be.

The words had none of the directness which went with Rosamunde, but the more I read, the more I put two and two together and started to make five. Could this be her doing?

I see you there every day... well that could mean either of us, as we both spent plenty of time in the office. Okay, Dave wasn't in as much as I was, but he must have spent at least half of his life in the office.

Take this rose from me to you... a single red rose had been delivered, but what was unusual about that on Valentine's day?

To whom I am it is the clue. I was running words through my mind, like a tumble dryer of confused thoughts; rose... rosa... Rosamunde. Surely, I was clutching at straws, a single red rose from a red-headed Irishwoman, who just happened to have a similar name. Was that reason enough to accuse her of sending a card to my Dave?

Follow the scent and you will see. It was back to that perfume... that intoxicating floral note which drifted on the breeze as she walked away from my desk... that same fragrance which had filled the house when I opened the card.

And then there was her offer. Her door would always be open if I wanted to discuss. To discuss what? Could I really walk into her office, the office of a senior executive, and accuse her of sending that card, of trying to wreck our relationship? That said, everything was coming together and pointing at Rosamunde, or was I just allowing it to point in that direction?

'Damn,' I thought to myself. I'd spent half an hour pondering that card, and if I didn't do something about it then the day would soon be wasted. I was already in the bad books for having a day off, so I couldn't afford to make things worse. But I just needed to know. More than ever, I needed to rule her out. It had to be coincidence, didn't it? My heart was beating fast as I typed away at an email, finally hitting the send button. At once a reply came back.

'Five o'clock, my office,' came the reply, in that most direct style which summed up Rosamunde.

I had to be wrong. The style was just so out of character for her. But what if I wasn't? Would I be woman enough to stand up to her, to put everything on the line and battle it out for the heart of my Dave?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Five o'clock seemed to take an eternity to arrive, but finally it did, and I found myself standing outside her office. My heart was beating faster than ever, as I plucked up my nerve to knock on the door. I was a mix of emotions. On the one hand, adrenaline was coursing through my body, a nervous energy driving me onward to simply come out and tell it as it was. On the other, I felt like a naughty schoolchild, sent to the headmistress to explain myself. Explain myself? No, it was Rosamunde who needed to explain herself, not me.

I lifted my hand and knocked. It was such a feeble nervous knock. For a moment I stood there, waiting, wondering if she had even heard me. Why? Why was I nervous? I had nothing to do but ask. It was Rosamunde who had all the answering to do. In my mind I could hear her now. In my mind I could see myself simply acknowledging and walking back out. In my mind I could see... no... no, I wasn't ready to lose him so easily, not even to her.

I was about to knock again, to bash out loud on the door, when it opened.

"Rebecca," came a cheery Irish voice, "so good to see you. Come on in."

I walked into her spacious office, Rosamunde closing the door behind me.

"Now, what is it you'd like to talk about?" Rosamunde continued.

I stood there for a moment, breathing fast and shallow as I tried to compose myself. She was the one with all the answering to do, yet I was the one feeling guilty. She was the one so composed, so relaxed, and I was struggling to get the words out.

"Take a seat," Rosamunde continued, pointing towards a low table and a couple of leather chairs. "How about a drink?"

"Y... yes p... please," I stuttered, my heart still pounding as I sat down.

"Tea, coffee, water, or a drop of this to calm the nerves?"

I glanced up from my seat and there she was, holding a bottle of Irish whiskey and a couple of glasses.

"Don't worry. It's gone five, so you're not working any more. I just thought it looked like you needed something."

I sat there and watched as she poured two glasses, then sat at the other side of the table. Rosamunde passed over a glass and I took a large gulp. It took all my strength not to cough as the strong alcohol hit the back of my throat. A second sip was full of warmth and I found myself relaxing. For a moment there was just quiet, the two of us sitting there, drinking.

I couldn't help but stare at Rosamunde. The battle-axe, they called her, but really, she wasn't so bad. She was direct and powerful, that was for sure, but she did seem to have a human side. It was a surprise she would go so far as to send the card—I still hadn't fully convinced myself but all the evidence pointed at Rosamunde—but you could see a certain attraction. I ran my eyes up and down her body, admiring the smartness of her dress, noticing how it rode up slightly when she sat, the black contrasting perfectly with the paleness of her legs. I had to admit that she would come across as rather attractive to those who loved the powerful types. Was that my Dave? Did he love the powerful ones?

"Rosamunde," I started, plucking up courage. "Can I ask you?"

"Go ahead. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"I don't want to upset you. I like my job here... but... I just need to know. Did you send Dave a Valentine's?"