Read Online Scissors by Stephane Michaka - Free Book Online Page A

in front of her window. There was a chance she could see them.
    “I could get some that are already in bloom,” Emma said.
    “I don’t like that idea. Their scents are going to get mixed up.”
    “That’s the point.”
    “I told you I didn’t want intrusive fragrances. I’d rather replace the petunias with—”
    “Columbine isn’t intrusive. It has a fresh, subtle scent.”
    “You’ve smelled it?”
    “Nikos has some lovely columbines.”
    “Who’s he?”
    “Nikos. His shop’s across the street from where I work.”
    The name meant nothing to him.
    “He’s a
florist
,” she said, emphasizing the word.
    Robert looked at her. “I’ve never seen the guy.”
    “He’s got excellent taste,” Emma assured him.
    “I don’t see what taste has to do with it.”
    She made a little rebellious face. “You can trust him. He’s good at what he does.”
    “Why should I trust him?” Robert grumbled, his eyes on the ivy. “I’ve never seen this guy in my life.”
    He gave in on the columbine front. Emma wanted columbine, and the garden was, after all, their jointundertaking. But those columbine plants annoyed him. With them, his conception of a healing garden was shattered. Emma’s fondness for aromatic plants that smelled of sophistication and luxury carried all before it.
    No more sage, fennel, angelica, or verbena, the herbs to which he’d wanted to consecrate his acre of land. Emma banished them with a declaration; she said they made the yard smell like a hospital.
    “A hospital?”
    “Some sterile place,” she replied, shears in hand. “I want a garden, not an old-folks home.”
    Robert protested: “I agreed to the white roses, and now they’re the only things you can smell.”
    “Of course. That’s the dominant note.”
    “We never talked about any dominant note.”
    “All gardens have one.”
    “But not mine! Mine’s supposed to be soothing!”
    “
Yours
?
Yours
?” she said, throwing away her shears. “I thought we were sharing this garden!”
    With her cheeks aflame and her shoulders hunched, she went back inside the house.
    She passed within a few inches of Robert, but he couldn’t distinguish her scent.
    A promiscuous jumble of fragrances prevented him.
    He’d restrained himself from mentioning the florist. But that man—the Greek, as Robert called him—was no stranger to their quarrels.
    Nikos Kalifatides (Robert had made inquiries) weighed heavily on his mind. And what was worse, he was infringing on his flower beds.
    Nikos had supplied the seeds, the fertilizer, and the watering advice that had fomented many an argument between Emma and Robert.
    Sitting by the window of a coffee shop, Robert paged through a newspaper with one eye on the building where his wife worked. The Greek’s shop ( NIKOS—FLOWERS AND NATURE ) was also on this side of the avenue. The lettering of his sign was heavily embellished with flourishes.
    “ ‘Flowers and Nature,’ ” Robert grumbled aloud. “What do you think you are, an herbalist?”
    At ten minutes past five o’clock, when Emma still hadn’t come out, he ordered another cappuccino. He was waiting to be served when he saw her, accompanied by a colleague. The two women were laughing, as though about a confidence they’d just exchanged.
    They crossed the avenue and headed straight for the coffee shop. This was so unexpected that Robert remained at the counter, paralyzed by surprise.
    Emma came in first. “What are you doing here?” she said.
    She hesitated to smile.
    “I came looking for you—”
    “Cappuccino latte, mocha,
latte mocha
!” the barman shouted, pushing a cardboard cup toward him.
    “Is something wrong? The children?”
    Robert shook his head vigorously. Reassured, Emma turned to her colleague. “My husband,” she said.
    “I see.”
    She looked as sorry as Emma did.
    His wife must have guessed that he suspected her of having an affair. Nevertheless, she made no effort to set his mind at rest. She even came home