‘So what happened? Really?’ asked Annie as they sat in the dining hall an hour later.
Max looked at her. They were alone in the room and it was cold, no fire burning in the hearth. Upstairs, Alberto was coming to terms with losing his father. The others were cleaning up. Mrs McAllister had gone to her room, shattered by the night’s events. Down in the kitchen, she hadn’t heard the gunshots. Alberto had assured her that the trouble was over, told her to go to bed, there was nothing to worry about.
‘Really?’ Max looked at Annie. ‘I’ll tell you. He snatched the gun off me and shot himself. It was a happy release, for God’s sake. The poor old sod was fucked, anyway.’
‘You didn’t encourage him to do it?’ Annie’s eyes were narrowed with suspicion.
‘No. It’s done. Let it rest. How’s your throat?’
Annie shrugged. There was a thin angry red line on her neck, but what little bleeding there had been was stopped, crusted over.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘It’s just so bloody sad, what’s happened here tonight.’
‘It had to happen,’ said Max. ‘He thought I was Nico, and he seemed to be waiting for Nico to appear. When he did, he could rest.’
The door opened and Alberto came in. He looked strained and pale, but composed. He crossed to where they sat and slumped into a chair and put his head in his hands.
‘Jesus, what a night,’ he groaned.
‘I’m sorry, Alberto,’ said Annie. ‘Really.’
Alberto looked up at her. ‘Why be sorry, Stepmom? We lost him quite a while ago, didn’t we. That wasn’t my father up there, rambling on like some sad old fart. Fucking incontinent and not holding his fudge. Eating baby food. Not recognizing people. Even me, you know that? Last week, he asked who I was. No . . . it’s better, what happened tonight. And Max? You mustn’t blame yourself for it. It was kinder, really, that it ended that way.’
‘So now what?’ asked Max.
‘Now?’ Alberto heaved a sigh. ‘Now I make the arrangements for the funeral. Bury David Sangster once and for all. Constantine Barolli is already long dead. And you know what? I think it would have been better, really, for him if he had truly died when that bomb went off in Montauk, instead of the poor sap who died in his place. That would have been a better end for a great man, don’t you think?’
‘If there is anything we can do . . .’ said Annie.
‘There’s nothing,’ said Alberto with an attempt at a smile. He stood up. Looked at them, sitting there. ‘It’s been a tough time. Losing Aunt Gina, and now Papa.’
‘Gina?’ asked Annie. She glanced at Max, who looked blankly back at her. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.’
‘And now I guess you’ve resolved your differences, you two?’ said Alberto.
‘Is there anything you don’t know about?’ groaned Annie.
He smiled. ‘Very little. Stepmom, two abductions in the space of a week! I was scared for you. My people saw to the first two guys, but the second lot . . . I told them to hang back on that one. Had a feeling they were your people, Max – the ones in the boiler suits?’
‘They were,’ said Max.
‘Thought so.’ Alberto glanced between them. ‘I hope you can resolve this.’
‘I’ve explained everything,’ said Annie.
‘And been believed? I hope so.’
‘I hope so too,’ said Annie, and looked at Max, but his face told her nothing.
‘I’ll get your transportation fixed up, get you back to London.’
‘How’s Layla?’ asked Max.
Alberto relaxed a little. ‘She’s happy and she’s well.’ He walked over to the door and paused there. ‘And she’s pregnant,’ he added, before leaving the room.