She stared at him, narrow-eyed.
‘And how is Golden Boy?’ he asked.
‘Don’t call Alberto that.’
‘Might’ve known you’d leap to his defence.’
Annie released a pent-up breath. No. She wasn’t going to put up with this again. No way.
‘I’m not having this conversation with you,’ she told him flatly.
‘No?’
‘No.’
Max was half-smiling, but the smile was cruel, calculating. ‘So – why didn’t you tell me after you’d come back from the States?’
Because I didn’t want to speak to you or see you or even know you’re breathing, she thought. Because it hurts.
She wasn’t about to tell him that.
Aloud, she said: ‘By that time, Layla had already told me she’d been in touch with you. I knew you’d show up.’
‘And you’re delighted to see me, I can tell.’
‘Oh yeah. Ecstatic.’ Annie smiled sourly.
‘I took a ten-hour flight to get here.’
‘Yeah. In first class. With air hostesses dropping their phone numbers “accidentally” in your lap, I’ll bet. That must have been rough on you.’
‘Is there anything else I should know about?’
‘Not much. Unless you count the paper shamrock that was left in Layla’s trainer. And unless you count someone bombing my car.’
‘You what?’
‘My car was blown up. But hey – bonus – I wasn’t in it at the time. Someone was, though. Or at least they were near enough to get blown apart.’
Max was silent for a moment. Then he said: ‘What the fuck have you been up to?’
Annie sank back in her chair with a sigh. ‘Anything kicks off and it has to be my fault?’ She shook her head and stared at him. ‘You don’t change.’
He stood up. ‘Look, I came back to see that Layla’s all right. So where is she?’
‘At Ellie’s place,’ said Annie. ‘Locked up tight.’
‘I’d better get over there.’
‘Yeah you’d better, hadn’t you,’ said Annie, and picked up the phone.
He went to the door. Paused there.
Annie looked at him. She just wanted him to go, before she lost it completely and flung a heavy object at his smug face. ‘What?’ she asked.
‘I’m glad you’re OK,’ he said, and walked out the door, closing it behind him.
Annie sat there staring at the door in mute surprise. Then she shook herself and dialled her sister’s number.
‘Hello?’ It was Ruthie, picking up at her house in Richmond.
The sound of Ruthie’s voice calmed her a little. Her older sister was everything she was not. Ruthie was gentle, considerate, caring. She would have made a wonderful mother for Layla. So much more suitable than Annie was or could ever be.
‘Hi, Sis, it’s me,’ said Annie.
‘Annie. You OK?’
Hearing the smile in Ruthie’s voice, she hesitated. She hated to have to do this. Ruthie had her nice safe life. She was a dental receptionist, she had a nice home, she was straight. She was also single, and Annie was convinced that she liked it that way.