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“Yes. Two houses. We could make that the staff quarters.” Maxim points outside.
Staff!
“Oh,” says Alessia.
Upstairs there’s a sweeping reception room that spans the whole length of the house, tastefully decorated in muted cream, beige, and taupe.
“We can redecorate,” Maxim says, his brow furrowed with what Alessia thinks is concern.
“It’s lovely,” she says automatically.
Alessia’s intimidated by the sheer scale of the house. There are five bedrooms, all with their own en suites. The principal suite comprises a large bedroom, a bathroom with two sinks—in marble—an egg-shaped tub, a shower big enough for four people, and two walk-in closets that would more than serve her and Maxim’s needs.
“What do you think?” Maxim eyes her anxiously.
“You want to move here?”
“Yes. We need the space.”
“Five bedrooms?”
“You’d prefer something smaller?” He frowns.
“I had not thought somewhere so big… I suppose one day, we’ll have children.” She flushes at the thought, though she doesn’t know why.
“Yes. One day,” he says quietly and closes his eyes as if this is a painful idea.
“One day,” Alessia responds, wondering why this should be a painful thought for him. “You do want children. Yes?”
He nods, but his eyes say something else. He’s fearful.
Why?
“Could we put a piano in here?” Alessia asks brightly to distract him.
He laughs. “Of course. I’m not leaving the baby grand behind. Let me show you the basement.”
* * *
Hand in hand, we walk back to the flat.
“Have you lived there before?” Alessia asks.
“No. I’ve never even been inside until today.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.” I squeeze her hand. “Do you? We can make our own memories there.”
Alessia regards me with—awe, relief—I don’t know, but she offers me a beautiful smile. “Yes. It will be just us.”
We round the corner, and I’m relieved to see no paparazzi lingering outside the front of the building. We’re yesterday’s news.
As we head into the flat, my phone buzzes.
It’s my mother. Finally.
Chapter Fifteen
“It’s Rowena. I need to take this,” I mutter, and leaving Alessia to close the front door, I head into the privacy of our bedroom and answer the phone. “Rowena. Thank you so much for returning my call.” My sarcasm is heavily laced through every word.
“Maxim. Your messages are insufferably rude. Why would I want to talk to you? And what the fuck do you mean, you’ve cut me off?”
Swearing now! My mother is in a snit.
“Exactly what I said. I rang you days ago, and you’ve not replied. That’s insufferably rude.”
“Once you’ve learned to be a little more gracious when leaving messages, you’ll receive a quicker response. You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Maxim. Surely a man of your appetites understands that.”
What!
“Lord help the estate with you barking down the phone at everyone,” she continues.
“That makes you the fly in this analogy,” I snap. “And it’s only you that elicits that response, Mother. And I don’t think you’re one to preach about appetites!”
She inhales sharply. “So you’ve cut me off to bring me to heel?”
“No. I’ve cut you off because you’re overspending the allowance you’re entitled to under your divorce settlement.” She’s silent on the other end of the phone, and I know she’s seething. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Perhaps Kit let you get away with it.” Again I don’t get a response—and this isn’t helping my cause. I take a deep calming breath in an attempt to bring my temper under control. “But this isn’t why I called. Did you know that Kit was seeing a genetic counselor?”
There’s an audible gasp on the other end of the phone. “What?” she whispers, and I know by her quiet tone that she’s been shocked into next week.
“Yes. I was hoping you could enlighten me as to why.”
“No.” She chokes back a gut-wrenching exclamation that makes my scalp tingle and my entire attitude shift.
“What do you mean no? What do you know?” I sound breathless.
“This is nothing to do with you, Maxim. Nothing. Just forget it.” She’s curt and panicked.
“What do you mean?”
“Forget about it!” she shouts, and the line goes dead.
She’s hung up on me!
She’s never done that before, and she was shouting, which is completely out of character—she’s normally so cool and detached. I press Redial, and the call goes straight to voicemail. I do it again, with the same result.
Something’s wrong. Seriously wrong. I stare at my phone in a chasm of confusion.
What the fuck?
I phone Maryanne and get her voicemail. “M.A., call me. The Mothership is behaving more irrationally than usual.”
As I slip my phone into my pocket, it buzzes.
I glance at the screen and answer. “M.A.”
“Maxie. What the hell did you say to your mother? She’s just slammed the front door as she went out.”
Bugger. I have to come clean with my sister.
“My mother! She’s your mother too. And I didn’t want to bother you with this, Maryanne.” I give her a brief explanation about the letters that Caro found from Kit’s GP and the genetic counseling place, Dr. Renton’s refusal to shed any light, and now our mother’s refusal too.
