Hallway lights reflected off a paint job that was new since Serena had lived in this apartment block. It was the last place she’d expected to find herself again—ever—and yet, here she was.
She needed to see Max before she talked herself out of her plan. Doubting she’d have the courage to do this again, she took a deep breath. Half-shutting her tired eyes against the glare, she sent up a silent prayer as she raised her hand and knocked on the door. Please let him be home.
Seconds ticked by.
Serena straightened her jacket and smoothed her hair.
Gritty-eyed after the drive from Mindalby, she questioned her decision to come to Sydney. Paul had been clear; he wanted her to butt out of family business.
And out of his life?
Better to cut ties before she got closer to him. And his family. After all, she and her mother had all the family they needed with just the two of them. Although—
That look between Dawn and the woodworker had promised so much more. Remembering her promise, she tapped out a short text to her mother: Arrived safely. About to put plan into action. Wish me luck. S. xx.
She raised her hand and knocked again. The door opened a crack and a distinctly female eye checked her out. Heavily made-up, with smudges of mascara beneath the lower lashes, it suggested she’d been interrupted at play.
A hitherto unsuspected sense of grim satisfaction filled Serena.
‘Hello, I need to talk to Max.’
‘And you are?’ The voice was bored and cigarette-husky.
‘Send them away, babe, and come back to bed.’ Max’s post-coital voice reached her ears from the bedroom deep within her old apartment; their apartment before he’d called it quits on her. She waited for the old feeling of loss.
There was nothing but a whiff of stale cigarette smoke as the woman unlatched the door and let Serena in. ‘Come on in. I’m going anyway. I’ve got to work tomorrow.’ She was of average height with bleached blonde hair, and wore lipstick-red satin lingerie that left little to the imagination. Adjusting her boobs in the bra cups, she strolled into the bedroom. The back and forth lilt of Max cajoling and the woman’s firm refusals filtered through the partly open door.
Serena sat on the brown suede lounge they’d bought together when she first moved in with Max. The colour had never appealed to her but Max liked what he called its understated elegance, so she had given in and accepted his choice. Looking around the apartment now, there was nothing that suggested she had ever lived there. No soft furnishings or piles of cushions like she’d bought for her tiny bedsit. It was as if Max-and-Serena had never existed as a couple.
She didn’t care.
The clack of high heels on wooden floorboards drew Serena from her musing as the woman walked past without a word. The front door shut behind her as Max emerged from the bedroom, tying his bathrobe.
The annoyance in his expression disappeared, replaced by a smug smile as his gaze met Serena’s. ‘Darling, so pleased to see you decided to come back.’
‘Yes, your friend was most welcoming.’
A rare flash of sheepishness at being caught out crossed his face before he shrugged with that elegant, open-handed gesture she remembered all too well. ‘A man has needs. You understand that, but here you are now and—’
Serena put up a hand to stem the flow of words. ‘Just so we’re clear about this, I’m in Sydney for a very particular reason, and it’s not to get back with you, Max. We were over long before you called it off. I was just slow in realising it.’
Max frowned and sat on the sofa. As he crossed one leg over the other and stretched his arms along the sofa back, his robe fell open, revealing a little paunch that his immaculately cut suits disguised.
Uncharitably, she put it down to his over-indulgence in cognac, and red wine with lunch and dinner. Not that any of it mattered anymore.
Max drummed the fingers of his right hand on the sofa.
Another of his little habits she now realised had contributed to her tension when they’d been together. Too often, Max’s disappointment in her less than thorough housekeeping, or her failure to be home waiting for him, had been revealed through those fingers. Drumming, tapping, accusing her of not being good enough.
Ending their relationship was the nicest gift he could have given her.
Pinning a smile on her face, she relaxed into the armchair.
Max frowned and the drumming fingers ceased. ‘Then why did you drive all the way here?’
Did she have the right to ask on behalf of Paul? He’d made it very clear he didn’t want her help. In effect, he’d told her to butt out, so what was she doing here now?
She shrugged off the thought. Whatever happened, she would do what she could to help Paul. If it worked out as she hoped it would, he didn’t need to know she was responsible.
‘You have connections and contacts; I have a favour to ask.’