‘I came out for a whisky.’
‘It won’t help the jet lag. Or the eulogy.’
‘I know that,’ he told her. ‘And I don’t need it any more. You’ve given me all I need.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
She grinned. ‘Hooray. Advice by Auntie Sunny. Off you go then like a good boy and get it done.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said and cast her a look she didn’t understand. A look full of questions she couldn’t hope to answer.
He rose and left.
She settled Phoebe again with care, and told herself to sleep.
Sleep didn’t come. For some reason the memory of that appalling time, her mother’s dreadful funeral, was suddenly all around her.
She was thinking too of the grand funeral waiting for Max tomorrow, and she was thinking there were similarities.
She hugged Phoebe because she suddenly needed the comfort and she thought again of the man through the bedroom door. Who did he hug?
It wasn’t any of her business, but the question stayed with her until finally sleep overcame her.
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