Chapter 39: WaitingMargaret Thatcher once said, “I'm extraordinarily patient, provided I get my own way in the end.”
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Scarlett sat on the wooden bench and tossed a nugget of brown bread at a small grouping of ducks. The birds swarmed around the morsel, nipping at each other and squawking. Ahead was the large pond the birds claimed as their home.
“Don't you think this is a little cliché Mr. Collier, meeting at a duck pond? I mean, it's a little spy movie-esque.” She kept her head straight, forcing herself not to look at the husky man.
A light breeze ruffled the thin hair on the top of his head. “I suppose it is. Still, it is a nice way to break up the day.” His raspy voice was present, even without his usual cigar.
She tossed another scrap of bread. “Mmmm, I s'pose.”
“Your messag
