‘How did you find out about him?’
‘I saw a photo of him in the press,’ he said, remembering the earth-shattering moment he’d wondered firstly exactly how much morphine was in his system and secondly how the hell a picture of himself had made it into the papers. ‘At the launch of his hotel in Paris.’
Carla sat back and frowned, lost in thought for a moment. ‘That was taken back in March.’
He gave a brief nod. ‘Correct.’
‘What took you so long?’
‘I’ve been recovering from an accident.’
‘What kind of accident?’
‘A bad one,’ he said, lifting his glass to his mouth and knocking back a third of its contents. ‘A BASE jump in the Alps went wrong.’
‘A BASE jump?’
‘It stands for buildings, antennae, spans and earth. Four categories of fixed objects you can jump off. Spans are bridges and earth includes mountains. Mont Blanc on this occasion. I landed badly.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Esattamente,’ he agreed, although ‘ouch’ was something of an understatement. Having crashed into a tree and plummeted to the ground, he’d lain on the rocky terrain battered and broken, the physical pain unlike anything he’d felt before.
‘I haven’t been fit to travel,’ he added, putting the accident from his mind, since it was in the past and he’d be done with it just as soon as the aches and twinges disappeared.
‘Until today.’
Not even today, in all honesty. But the Finn-lined walls of his house in the Venice lagoon had been closing in on him and he hadn’t been able to stand the not knowing any longer. ‘That’s right.’
‘So, having spent three months recovering from an accident that must have been pretty severe if it did that much damage, you travelled to Finn’s house with the intention of meeting him and then you left, without actually having done so.’
‘Yes.’
She tilted her head and her gaze turned probing. ‘A bit strange, after going to all that effort, don’t you think?’
‘Not at all,’ he said, feeling a flicker of unease spring to life in his gut. ‘Simply a change of plan.’
‘Aren’t you at all curious about him?’
Yes, very, was the answer that immediately came to mind before he shoved it back in the cupboard in his head where it belonged. ‘No.’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘So why aren’t you interested?’
‘I don’t really have the time.’
‘Even if that was true, you should make time for family.’
‘Do you make time for yours?’
‘We’re not talking about mine,’ she countered swiftly, and he could practically see the barriers flying up.
‘I’ll take that as a no.’
‘You can take it any way you like,’ she said with a defensiveness that suggested he’d hit the nail on the head.