‘Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning? You told Alberto. Why not me?’
Max drank some of the Chivas Regal. ‘That’s a very fine malt,’ he said, holding the glass up to the light.
‘Rosa has excellent taste in drinks. Don’t bullshit me, Max. Why didn’t you let me in on it? I was in shock from the minute you shot that fool straight through the foot.’
‘Do you think he’d have told me a damned thing otherwise?’ asked Max, coming to stand in front of her.
‘You,’ said Annie succinctly, ‘are a complete bastard.’
‘Yeah, but I get answers.’
‘Actually no. You didn’t. All you got was a pack of lies. Or a false trail. And who the hell is “Rufus”? That was the first time I’d heard the name mentioned.’
‘Didn’t it crop up back when you were all cosied up with Kieron Delaney? You and he were quite an item once, as I recall. And Redmond… I always felt there was something there, with you and him.’
Annie sighed bitterly.
‘Max, you’d suspect there was something there between me and the cat.’ Annie thought of Kieron, once a promising artist but, deep down, as dangerously unhinged as the rest of the Delaney tribe. Dead now. Just as Redmond was supposed to be dead. But then Orla was supposed to have been dead too – eighteen years had gone by, with not so much as a whisper about her, until she showed up at Annie’s house in the middle of the night with a knife in her hand. At least this time there could be no doubt whatsoever that Orla was dead. But as for her twin…
Annie thought of the paper shamrocks, fluttering out of Layla’s trainer, out of her Filofax. Someone was saying Look, I’m here. Be warned: I’m coming to get you.
Max finished his whisky, put the glass aside.
‘You cut me out,’ said Annie. ‘You let me go into that situation tonight and you knew it was going to be dangerous, but you didn’t even think to warn me.’
‘Didn’t want to risk you signalling our intention. Things would have gotten even more dangerous if you’d given the game away.’ Max gave a slight smile. ‘You always were a lousy poker player.’
‘And I can’t drink. One glass of sherry and I’m out of it. Something else to add to my list of accomplishments, as outlined by you.’
‘And you’re a bad shot, in case you were building up to asking why I didn’t get you a gun, too.’
‘Thanks for that. Can’t drink, can’t play cards, can’t shoot, worth a single solitary damn.’
‘And your point is…?’
‘My point is, where the fuck do you get off, thinking you can treat me that way? Like the dopey little woman! You’ve got some bloody nerve.’
Max sat down at the other end of the sofa. ‘Jesus, a man can’t do right for doing wrong around you.’