“Come, Mr. Delacroix,” she said. “Science shouldn’t be performed in a vacuum. Why can’t we pool our resources and expertise?”

“Because I don’t trust the government,” he stated flatly. “I know exactly what you would do if I gave you a cutting from my orchid.”

“And what is that?”

“You would slice pieces off to study under a microscope. You’d press the rest of it, glue it onto parchment, and store it away in one of your attics. Am I right?”

Actually, they stored their specimens in metal drawers, but mostly he was right. If the sample was large enough, they might try to reproduce it and establish another vine. But why did he have to be so intrinsically hostile to the entire principle of scientific study?

“The Smithsonian is curious about all forms of plants, which are constantly evolving. Yes, of course we need to collect and preserve samples.”

He nodded to the sunflower brooch pinned to her collar. It was the only jewelry she wore, a reminder of Kansas. “Is that what you specialize in? Sunflowers?”

“My specialty is cereal grasses. All kinds of wheat, barley, and in a pinch, I know a little about millet. I wear the sunflower because it’s impossible not to smile when you see a sunflower.” The corners of his mouth twitched, and she pounced. “See? Even you can’t do it. Just thinking about a field of sunflowers is making you smile. Go ahead, admit it.”

For the first time she saw a genuine smile from him, along with another weak laugh as he conceded defeat. He gestured for her to take a seat in the chair opposite his desk, and she sensed she had successfully cleared her first hurdle. She sat, then lifted the portfolio onto her lap.

“If you won’t show me your orchid, may I show you some newly arrived specimens of vanilla orchids from the African coast?”

It was the right thing to say. He straightened, his entire attention swiveling to her portfolio. “Is that what’s in your bag?”

“Yes. Eight newly arrived species of vanilla orchids.”

It was as if a bolt of electricity shot through him. His nonchalant air vanished, and he pushed her cheap map aside and cleared the surface of his desk. When he stood to reach for the portfolio, he lurched as though about to keel over. She instinctively rushed to his side, propping him up. His skin was scorching!

“Can I get you something? A glass of water? Or call for someone?”

He shook his head but lowered himself back into his chair, as though winded by that momentary burst of energy. “I’m fine. I should know better than to stand so quickly. No more delays. Let’s see what you’ve got.”