Page 70 of The Summer Guests

“It’s just my left leg, so I can still drive. I have plenty of food in the freezer. And I’ll sleep on my living room sofa.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Have you always been this bossy?”

“Have you never paid attention?”

“Obviously, I missed this aspect of your personality.”

“You’re going to stay here with me, at least for tonight. You’re still pumped up with drugs, and I don’t want you falling at home, where there’s no one around to pick you up. Besides, I owe you.”

“For what?”

“For February. When I needed a place to hide, you took me in. Then you came with me, all the way to Bangkok.” She sat down on the ottoman and faced him. “You were there for me, Declan. Now I’m here for you. That’s just the way it’s going to be.”

“I should have listened to you.”

“It’s generally a good idea.”

“About climbing that tree, I mean.”

“I know.”

“I thought it’d be an easy climb.”

“It was an easy climb. The hard part was coming down.”

“But I did retrieve those swim goggles.”

“Yes, you did. And Jo is going to be annoyed.”

“Why? It’s evidence, isn’t it?”

“Which she and her officers missed. That’s going to sting.” She stood up. “Now, let me start dinner. Roast chicken?”

“Yes, please. And a glass of whisky, if you don’t mind sharing your stash.”

“On top of the morphine?”

“My liver’s been through far worse.”

She eyed him for a moment, wavering between indulging him and nannying him. He might have been battered and in pain, but Declan was not a man who liked to be coddled. In his position, she would be calling for whisky too.

In the kitchen, she slid potatoes and a chicken into the oven, then poured a generous splash of her sixteen-year-old single malt into two glasses. One for him, one for her. She carried the drinks and the bottle to the living room, handed him a glass, and sat down in the armchair. They sipped in silence, not looking at each other. They’d been friends forfour decades, yet at this moment, words seemed to elude them. Perhaps it was the awkwardly intimate circumstances in which they now found themselves. They had never been lovers. Their assignments in different countries had kept them apart for most of their careers, and her brief and tragic marriage to Danny had left her wary of emotional entanglements. That’s what her marriage had taught her: the more fiercely you loved someone, the deeper the pain when you lost them.

But she wasn’t blind. She’d seen the way Declan looked at her, and also the way he quickly avoided her gaze when he knew she was watching him. For a man who so confidently knew how to navigate the world, around Maggie, he seemed unmoored.

“Why don’t I bring out the chess set after dinner? It’ll be like old times,” she said. “You, me, and a whisky bottle.”

“You make us sound like a pair of alcoholics.”

“Well, a pair of something, anyway.”

“And are we?” he asked quietly. “A pair?”

She heard the plaintive note in his voice, and she finally looked at him. This time, he didn’t look away. “Declan, you know you’re my dearest friend.”

“Ah, the ‘friend’ word. And you don’t want to ruin that friendship. I think that’s what you’re trying to tell me.”

---