Try as she might, Max couldn’t stop thinking about Luke. She had thrown herself into work and partying in the weeks since Marj’s visit, but still he consumed her thoughts. He must think her awful, ignoring his texts and calls. As much as it hurt, Max knew she couldn’t talk to him. Cutting him out was her way of coping. But she hated to think of how confused and hurt he must have felt. She hadn’t heard from him for at least a fortnight so guessed he must have got the message. Poor Luke. Jesus, all Max really wanted to do was see him and experience that wonderful high again.
Marj’s news had been such a blow. She had made everything sound so positive but Max couldn’t escape the realization that her mother had been through something quite terrifying. She was very close to Marj, as was Lucy, and couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to her. She couldn’t wait to spend time with her family in Scotland over Christmas. But for now she had to clear her head; she needed a new project.
There was only one thing for it. She had to remove herself from London, and she could think of nowhere better to go than the city that never slept. She resolved to fit in a trip before Christmas.
For the past three years Max had worked in New York in April, covering Scotland Week for the paper. As she was a ‘sweaty sock’ or Jock, as the English guys in the office fondly called her, she would be best for the job – and what a job it was. The Scottish government set up a series of events like the Scotland parade down Fifth Avenue, with clans gathering in a march.
Last year Max had interviewed Sir Sean Connery in his hotel room before the annual Dressed to Kilt fashion show and, for the first time, had been star-struck. Even in his seventies, he had more presence in his pinkie than Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise put together. When he sat down wearing his kilt, with his legs placed wide apart, Max asked him if he was a true Scotsman, and had melted when he raised one eyebrow just like when he played James Bond in Dr No.
‘Yesh, Max, of coursh I’m a true Shcotsman,’ he had told her in that shexy voice.
She might not meet Sir Sean this time round, but the Big Apple would be just the ticket.