Page 89 of Love and Loathing

“But it has to be done,” Andrew continued, as though Aubrey hadn’t spoken.

“I won’t discuss her.”

“Fine. Then we go with your word against theirs. We’ll compile a list of character witnesses. Let me know any names we should—”

He broke off at a commotion outside. Raised voices. A man, and a woman. Evie.

Both men stood. Andrew walked over to the door and looked through the glass into the corridor. “Ah.”

Aubrey seemed unable to move.

Andrew glanced at him. “Shall I deal with this?”

“—as I keep explaining, I just need to see him,” Evie’s voice, forceful, determined, an edge of anger to it, and something else,a hundred layered emotions. “This isn’t a police state,” she said, irate now. “I’m not breaking the law.”

“This is a private building, ma’am. And you do not have permission to—”

“One word, that’s all I want, for the love of God!”

Aubrey, despite everything, almost laughed. It was the imperious Blackton voice. The cut-glass vowels. All the generations of privilege that she so rightly despised flaming to the surface of her blue blood.

He went over to the door, saw her in the corridor with a lurch of his heart, pain and pleasure both.

“Ma’am.” A flustered looking security guard was blocking her path. “I must insist that you leave.”

Evie tried to walk past him. The security guard grabbed her arm. And Aubrey wrenched open the door.

“Get your hands off her.”

The security guard whirled round, letting go of Evie. Evie herself was utterly still, staring at him, eyes as wide as he’d ever seen them. She looked pale, drawn, fragile despite her determined rage, hair plastered to her head, coat drenched. What the fuck was wrong with him that he wanted to go to her, wrap her in his arms, make sure she never turned up anywhere again looking so pathetically wet and cold?

He felt Andrew give him a quick, assessing glance. “It’s OK,” Andrew instructed the security guard. “Evelyn Blackton can stay.”

The security guard hurried away with a quick backwards glance, relieved to be escaping, and Evie took a step down the corridor. She stopped, maybe quelled by the way he was looking at her. Maybe by Andrew’s presence at his side.

“I… I need to talk to you,” she said.

“Why?”

“To…to explain.”

“Should I stay?” Andrew asked him quietly.

Should he? Was it wise to be alone in a room with Evie? He was frightened of the things she might say. That he might be desperate enough to believe them. It would be Liv all over again.

“Please, Aubrey,” Evie begged.

There. That was the decision made. Evie asked, looked at him with that face, and he told his brother to go, held the door open for her, closed it behind them and stood there, waiting to see which way the blade fell.

“It wasn’t me. Aubrey. It wasn’t, I swear.”

“I saw your emails.”

“My emails?”

“From you. To your friends at FTP. Planning it all.”

She managed to go paler still, a tremor running through her. He had to look away, couldn’t keep the edge of tears from his own voice. It was worse, facing her, reliving it all afresh with her eyes on him.

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