Jessie Keane - Ruthless

Annie shot a look at Max, then back at Layla.

‘Did you tell either one of them where we were going today?’ she asked.

‘Of course not. I don’t blab, you should know that.’

It was true, thought Annie, she should have known that. Layla, unlike many women, was entirely capable of keeping her mouth shut.

Running an agitated hand through her hair, Annie said, ‘Sorry. It’s been a day and a half, that’s all. Think I’ll go up and take a shower.’

As she headed upstairs, Max came and gave Layla a hug. She didn’t push him away, Annie noted as she reached the landing and looked down. She paused there, unnoticed.

‘You OK?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine.’

‘OK,’ he said, and patted her head like she was five years old, and went off towards the kitchens.

The heavies dispersed. Layla turned back towards the drawing-room door.

‘Layla?’

Alberto was standing right beside her.

‘What?’ she asked, still hurt from earlier in the day when he had practically fucking well ignored her, after she had tried so hard to impress him.

‘Let’s talk,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’ve missed talking to you.’

Something going on there, thought Annie, watching the pair of them from up on the landing. Something serious. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Happy or sad. If that was the direction Layla wanted to go in, well, it wasn’t going to be easy for her, that much was for sure. Alberto had big trouble coming, she knew that. She wished she hadn’t felt the need to bring him in on this; she knew he had enough on his plate, that she had only made matters worse for him. Sighing, she carried on to her room.

Layla’s heart had picked up speed. She led the way into the drawing room and Alberto followed, closing the door behind him. Layla sat down on one of the big Knole sofas, and Alberto took off his coat, tossed it aside, and sat on the opposite one. He leaned back in the chair, raising his arms over his head, stretching, rubbing at the nape of his neck. Layla found herself having to suppress a moan.

He looks tired , she thought. She was used to seeing Alberto as all-powerful, able to solve any problem, able to handle anything, however tough, however dirty. Like her dad, he sometimes came across as frightening, aloof, invulnerable. But now she saw that he was exhausted. That his muscles were aching. That he was human.

‘What happened?’ she asked, watching his face. ‘At the Essex place?’

‘It was rigged. And we got another four-leaf clover to add to the collection.’

‘Rigged?’

‘With an explosive device.’

Layla’s eyes widened with fright. And all the time she had been sitting here, unaware. She swallowed hard, tried to compose herself. But the thought of Alberto hurt was excruciating. She remembered Constantine, his father. She’d adored him. And he had died in an explosion.

‘Your dad saved my life today,’ he said.

‘Well, that’s ironic,’ she said with forced lightness, ‘given that Dad seems to think you’ve ruined his.’

‘Your mom,’ said Alberto, nodding.

‘You know he thinks there’s been something going on between the two of you. He’s always thought so.’

‘I’m aware of that, yes. And it’s crazy. You know, if he really wanted me out of the way, all he had to do today was keep quiet. I was about to open a door with a bomb attached to it. But I guess he couldn’t sink that low. I also guess he wishes he could have.’

‘He doesn’t think straight where Mum’s concerned,’ said Layla, shuddering at the image he’d just conjured up.

‘Crazy, uh?’

‘Yeah. Crazy,’ she agreed.

A silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Alberto was staring at Layla.

‘What, have I got a spot on my nose or something…?’ she asked, half-laughing, horribly self-conscious. She knew that if Precious could see her now she’d be pissed off. She wasn’t acting as she should – cool, alluring. Oh, she knew she looked fine. Her hair was puffed out, voluminous, framing her carefully made-up face. She still wore the white silk shirt above a tight-fitting black pencil skirt, with nude sheer tights and high heels. Precious would have approved of her appearance. But she was finding it incredibly awkward, sitting here talking to him.

‘You look… so different,’ he said, his eyes moving over her.

Layla could hardly breathe. ‘In what way?’ she asked, her voice sounding tight and unnatural to her own ears.

He hesitated for a moment. ‘You don’t look like my little sister any more,’ he said at last.

Layla took a gulping breath. So he wasn’t completely blind, after all. Merely distracted.

‘Alberto – I’m not your sister. I never have been. I never will be. My mother happened to marry your father once upon a time, that’s all.’

His eyes held hers. ‘This is going to take some getting used to.’

‘Is it?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Do you think you could get used to it?’

‘Let’s wait, shall we? And see.’

Next morning Layla was up early, doing laps in the pool. Alberto had gone out. Annie was passing Max’s room on her way down to breakfast when she caught sight of him in there, combing his hair in the mirror. It was still damp from the shower. He’d changed his shirt. Curiosity got the better of her. She approached the half-open door, and knocked. Max turned.

‘Something I can help you with?’ he said, tossing the comb down on the dressing table.

Annie walked into the room, pushed the door closed behind her.

‘Yeah. There is, actually. You can answer a question.’

‘Shoot.’

‘Why didn’t you let Alberto open that door?’

Max stared at her, said nothing.

‘Well?’ she prompted.

Max came over to where she stood. Looked hard into her eyes. She caught a fragrant whiff of his skin: clean, male, mingled with the tangy lemon scent of his cologne.

‘You know what?’ he said at last. ‘I nearly did.’

‘But you didn’t. You had the chance to get rid of him, if you hate him so much.’

‘And I didn’t,’ he said.

‘Why not?’ Annie was staring at him as if trying to see inside his mind. She couldn’t, of course. She had never been able to do that. Max was unfathomable. ‘He’s my lover, according to you. You keep taunting him and you hope – what? – that he’ll lose it, fight you? Alberto’s the most restrained person I know, but I tell you, if he did lose it, you might be sorry. Don’t be fooled by that cool exterior of his.’

Max’s face had grown still as a rock while she spoke. His jaw was tight. ‘But he won’t lose it, will he? Because he don’t want to upset you. ’

‘So we have stalemate. And that doesn’t answer my question. You had the chance to finish him. You didn’t take it. Why not?’

Max shrugged and turned away, hunted around for his shoes.

‘I don’t know. Maybe because of his father.’

‘His father ?’

Max sat on the bed, started putting his shoes on. Annie went and stood in front of him, watching.

‘Constantine and me, we were in tight together for years. We shared a lot.’ Max tied his shoelaces then looked up at her face. ‘Come to think of it, we even shared you, didn’t we.’

‘I thought you’d let that go.’

‘I have. He’s dead, after all. And I -’ he tied his other shoe and stood up – ‘am still here.’

Annie stepped back a pace. ‘And so’s Alberto,’ she reminded him. He wasn’t the only one who could goad people.

And he’s getting involved with Layla, she thought. She wasn’t about to tell him that. He’d blow a fuse. But she couldn’t suppress a smile.