Never Too Late (58 page)

stand up.

‘How’s the patient?’ said a voice.

Max! He hadn’t gone with the others after all. Had he

heard her puking?

‘Go away,’ croaked Evie, so weakly and feebly that he

barely heard. She wanted him to leave her to her misery.

But instead of going away, he marched into the room, saw

her on the bathroom floor through the wide open door

and hurried in to comfort her.

‘You poor baby,’ he crooned, hugging her, regardless of

the fact that she smelt hot, sweaty and sick,

Another spasm grabbed Evie and she had no option but

to retch again, this time with Max’s strong arms supporting

her,

‘That’s right, Evie, get it all out of your system. You’ll

feel OK when it’s all gone.’ She sank back on to the floor,

too sick to feel embarrassed. At least whoever had dragged

her clothes off the night before had put a T-shirt on her, so

she wasn’t naked. But with her hair plastered to her head

and her face green, she might as well have been. She

certainly felt vulnerable and bare enough.

‘Sit there and I’ll clean you up,’ Max said, his voice as

gentle as if he was talking to a small child or a frightened

animal. He soaked a face cloth in cool water and gently

washed Evie’s face, neck and hands with it until she felt

marginally better.

‘Your T-shirt’s a bit manky,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you a clean

one of mine.’

He returned quickly with a soft marl grey T-shirt, a small

tablet and a glass of water with some grainy powder

dissolving inside.

‘Maxolon, perfect for your stomach, and this is something

to replace the lost salts in your body,’ he explained,

gesturing to the glass. ‘I’ll look away while you pull off

your T-shirt and put on mine.’

She was so weak she’d almost have let him change her

clothes, but she didn’t. As she pulled his T-shirt over her

head, a faint hint of the cologne she always associated with

him filled her nostrils. A fresh, clean smell, like seawater on a warm summer’s day. She breathed it in, her heart tender

with longing. It felt wonderfully comforting to be wearing

his clothes.

If this was the closest she was going to get to him, it was

still wonderful.

Max made her drink the water and take the tablet before

he picked her up and carried her back to bed. She felt too

weak to reflect on the fact that he must have carried her

like this the night before when she was roaring with drink

and had passed out. Tucking her in like she used to Rosie,

he kissed her on the forehead tenderly. ‘Sleep for a couple

of hours, my darling, and you’ll feel much better. Then, I’m

getting you up and making you something to eat.’

‘I’ll never eat again,’ she said weakly.

‘Yes, you will, after a few hours and those tablets, you’ll

feel fine and be ravenous.’

He shut the curtains, blocking out the sun to Evie’s

relief.

‘Thank you,’ she said, even in her weakened state

unbelievably touched by how kind he was being to her.

Max didn’t reply. He merely blew a kiss to her and left

the room quietly. Snuggled up in his T-shirt, Evie let Max’s

face fill her thoughts. He was so kind, so sensitive. Imagine

him holding her as she had her head down the loo. Not

many people would do that for someone other than their

own child.

She certainly couldn’t imagine Simon doing it, He was

the queasiest person imaginable: hated the smell of hospitals

and nearly got sick at the sight of blood.

But then, Simon wasn’t Max, was he?

The next time she woke up it was midday and she felt a

hundred times better. Her head still hurt but the Kangohammer

was gone. So was the nausea and the sense that

the entire bed was quivering like a jelly.

Tentatively, Evie stretched one leg to the floor and

levered herself into a sitting position. She felt weak but her

skull didn’t threaten to explode and her stomach felt

almost normal.

Grateful that the worst was over, she padded into the

bathroom and ran a bath. The restorative powers of the

warm water soothed her aching body and by the time she

was wrapping herself in one of the big towels, she felt

quite good.

A soft tap on the door made her jump nervously.

‘It’s me,’ said Max, ‘with breakfast or lunch, whatever

you want to call it.’

He laid the tray on the small iron table on the sun-filled

balcony and Evie was amazed to find she was hungry. The

scent of the coffee and the aroma of the mound of

succulent scrambled eggs made her stomach contract.

Silently, Max laid places for two people before sitting

down with his back to the sun facing Evie. Strangely

enough, she didn’t feel in the least uncomfortable even

though she was only wearing a huge bathtowel wrapped

around her body, with her still damp hair hanging limply

on her shoulders.

Max had seen her at her worst - plastered drunk and

puking desperately into a toilet bowl. Washed and clad in a

towel was an improvement, surely? She grinned to herself

at the thought of what Lorraine and all the girls at

Wentworth Alarms would do if they saw her now, sitting

undressed with the most gorgeous dark hunk imaginable.

‘You lucky cow!’ Lorraine would certainly screech

delightedly. Evie found she couldn’t keep the laughter to

herself and it bubbled out of her.

Max raised one eyebrow. ‘Have you been slurping back

the vodka again?’ he joked.

This made Evie laugh even harder. ‘No,’ she gasped,

pulling the edges of her towel together as it threatened to

come undone. ‘I’m just thinking how this looks.’ She went

off into howls of laughter again.

‘You, me in a towel, having late breakfast.’

‘For it to look really bad, you should let your towel drop

and I should eat my scrambled eggs off you,’ pointed out

Max, pouring coffee. ‘Then you could shriek a bit in

passion and we’d see the neighbours peering out of their

windows to find out what was going on. The nonresident

neighbours,’ he added. ‘The Spanish ones are so laid-back,

they’d just shrug and smile to think that the beautiful Irish senorita was having fun.’

Evie grinned broadly. She was having fun, although a

couple of hours ago she wouldn’t have believed she’d ever

have fun again.

‘Was I terrible last night?’ she asked, picking up her fork.

‘Forget last night and eat up,’ chided Max.

‘I know I was,’ Evie said, through a mouthful of eggs.

‘God, these are delicious. I want to say I’m sorry, Max. I

never drink Martinis, I don’t know what came over me.’

She grimaced. ‘Ever heard the old joke about how some

people have to be taken to certain places twice - once to

go and once to apologise?’

‘Forget it,’ he repeated. ‘You needed to let your hair

down. Eat up because we’re going out.’

‘But I’ve no clothes,’ she protested.

‘Your suitcase arrived first thing this morning and I

brought it upstairs. Cara dragged it into your room earlier.’

‘I never even noticed it,’ Evie groaned, ‘I must have been

in a bad way. Where do you want to go and what about the

others?’ she asked. ‘They’ll be back soon and they’ll expect

us to be here and …’

Max touched her face tenderly with one hand, tracing

the curve of her cheek with infinite gentleness. ‘You’ve had

to spend too much of your life looking after other people,’

he said, his voice as soft as his hand. ‘This is your holiday

too. I want you to enjoy yourself, just have fun. We’ll leave

a note saying we’ll be back later. Rosie will hardly come to

any harm with your dad and my mother, will she? The

white slave trade doesn’t get going until at least midnight!’

Evie wondered if the pretty backstreets of Marbella would

have looked as lovely if she had seen them with someone

else, someone other than Max? Wandering slowly through

winding streets, past orange-tree-filled courtyards and little

shops selling gorgeous blue and white pottery, the afternoon

slipped by in a blur.

She wasn’t sure how it had happened - perhaps it was

when the kids on bikes had sped dangerously fast down

one narrow lane, so that Max had to pull her safely out of

their way - but he was holding her hand. Not loosely, the

way Simon did when he briefly forgot his motto of never

demonstrating affection in public and held on to her

tensely. Max’s strong fingers curled around Evie’s small

hand in a way that felt very different from when Simon

did it.

They walked like that for ages, looking in shop windows,

admiring the architecture and talking. They talked about

everything imaginable, with just one exception: what was

happening to them. Evie didn’t want to break the magic

spell by discussing how she felt or mentioning Simon’s

name. Not that he was at the forefront of her mind,

exactly. But she couldn’t help but think about him when

they passed a jewellery shop crammed with ginormous

engagement rings. She was getting married in a few weeks’

time, Evie realised dully, and here she was having the most

wonderful time of her life with a man who wasn’t her

fiance. A man she was crazy about.

She couldn’t think about that now; she’d blank it out

and deal with it later. Just enjoy the moment, she told

herself, desperately wanting to break the habit of a lifetime

and stop worrying. And, incredibly, she managed it. Simply

being with Max made her block out all the anxious, tense

feelings. She let them go and let herself drift off into the

pleasure of the here and now.

After they’d strolled along the beachfront and had a cup

of coffee in a tiny bar listening to the sea lapping gently

against the sand, they walked back up to where they’d

parked the car.

On an impulse, Evie turned to Max. ‘Why don’t we go

to dinner ourselves here, have something early instead of

waiting to go back to the villa? The others won’t mind.

We’ll phone and say what we’re doing.’

The gleam in Max’s eyes was her answer.

Andrew answered the phone, saying he was exhausted

after practically an entire day spent sightseeing instead of

the planned couple of hours. ‘Vida was navigating and

we took a wrong turn, nearly ended up heading for

Madrid. We’re all shattered and are thinking of just

nipping out for a pizza in that place near the Andalucia

Plaza. When will you be back? Will we bring home a

takeaway for you?’

‘No, Dad, that’s kind of you but don’t bother. Max and I

have been shopping in Marbella and we’re hungry, so maybe we’ll grab something to eat here,’ Evie said, trying to sound blase.

‘OK. I’m glad to see you two are getting on after all,’ her

father confided in a low voice. ‘It means a lot to me that

you’ve accepted Max. He’s Vida’s only family, you know.

I’ve got you three girls. Anyway,’ his voice returned to

normal, ‘I’ll see you later.’

Evie hung up, feeling like a teenager who’d just got away

with lying about being at her friend’s house doing homework

so she could see her boyfriend.

Giddy with the delight of spending more time with

Max, she chattered away nineteen to the dozen as they

walked, hair swinging on her shoulders and her eyes

shining.

She looked beautiful, Max thought, watching her

animated face as she chattered eagerly, huge hazel eyes

alight with energy. Flicking back strands of hair as she

talked, Evie was like a little whirlwind, lively and

fascinating. How much more relaxed she looked when

the weight of the world was off those narrow shoulders,

Max realised. How he wanted to take away all her

worries and make her look like this all the time: happy,

carefree and able to enjoy life. He felt there were so

many things he didn’t know about Evie, things nobody

knew. She was too proud.

Max could tell that she’d suffered in her life, that she

still hid the scars of past sadnesses under that usually

uptight facade. If only he could let her see that he loved

her so she would let him past the facade, they could be so

blissfully happy together. If only. Yet she was like a deep

lake, full of uncharted depths she’d never revealed to

anyone, and if he dived in the wrong place at the wrong

time, she might never forgive him. Evie would have to

reveal her secrets when she wanted to and not before.

‘You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying,’ she teased,

swatting him lightly. ‘It’s like having a conversation with

Rosie when she’s glued to Friends.’

‘Excuse me, missus, I always listen to you, except when

you’re muttering on about how the other women in the

place looked gorgeous and you haven’t a thing to wear.’

‘Pig!’ squealed Evie, slapping him this time. ‘Did I say

that?’ she asked with a grimace.

Max let go of her hand and wrapped his arm comfortably

around her shoulders before replying. ‘Yes, and I don’t

know why. You’re fifty times more beautiful than any one