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As soon as they’d landed and transferred from the plane to a chauffeured black sedan, Emily fished her phone from her bag. She hadn’t checked for messages in more than twenty-four hours. She powered the phone on and held her breath, waiting. Praying.
Seconds later, the air left her lungs on a little exhalation of surprise.
&n
bsp; On the screen was a text from Maxwell.
Ramon sent her a questioning look. ‘Is something wrong?’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, and slid her phone back into her bag.
* * *
Emily chose a small, quaint restaurant nestled in one of Mayfair’s quiet side streets, just a few blocks from The Royce, in which to meet her father. Their phone call, three days previously, had been brief, just long enough for Maxwell to ask if she’d be willing to meet with him and for Emily to agree. He’d turned the choice of time and place over to her and told her to text him the details.
She paused outside the restaurant.
Would he turn up?
She stepped inside and Maxwell rose from a table in the rear corner, gesturing to catch her attention.
A dart of surprise shot beneath Emily’s ribs. She was ten minutes early, yet he was here waiting for her.
Dry-mouthed, her hands clammy, she propelled her legs forward and made her way over.
Maxwell stayed on his feet, hands by his sides, waiting until Emily had seated herself before taking his chair again.
‘You look well, Emily.’
‘So do you.’
She couldn’t hide her surprise. There were no hollows carved into his cheeks, no dark shadows beneath his eyes. His complexion was healthy, and the whites of his eyes weren’t bloodshot. He looked as if he’d spent a month at an exclusive health spa.
‘I’ve been in Switzerland,’ he said, as if her expression had broadcasted her thoughts.
‘For two months?’ The query came out more sharply than she’d intended. But she’d not had a scrap of communication from him until his recent message. It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear for weeks on end, but two months was the longest he’d ever gone incommunicado.
‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I was at a private rehab clinic. For gambling and...other addictions.’
Shock suspended Emily’s breath. Her gaze went automatically to the table top. There was no whisky tumbler, she realised. No bottle of expensive wine. Just a carafe of water and two glasses.
A waiter approached and Maxwell raised a hand. ‘Could we have ten minutes, please?’
When they were alone again, she said, ‘I don’t know what to say, Maxwell.’
He shook his head. ‘There isn’t anything you need to say. But, if you’re prepared to listen, there are some things I’d like to say to you.’
Emily nodded; she didn’t trust herself to speak. Her mouth was too dry, her throat too tight all of a sudden.
‘I’m sorry, Emily. I know those words are inadequate,’ he said, his voice thick, a little uneven. ‘But I want you to know that I am sorry. For everything. You deserved better than me for a father.’
His gaze held hers and she felt as if it was the first time her father had ever looked at her.
Really looked at her.
The ache in her throat intensified. She had deserved better.
Silence cloaked them for a long moment.
