‘Is it true you have twin brothers as well?’
At that, Annie sent a scowl to the journalist and leaned down closer to Max. ‘Don’t answer them, dearest. Just go straight to the car.’
Henderson put a strong arm around the pair and shepherded them to the waiting SUV, standing to block the photographers’ view as they stepped in. With the door closed, they were protected by the darkly tinted windows.
‘That was weird,’ Max commented, wrinkling his nose.
Annie burst out laughing. ‘Yes, that’s one word for it.’ She kept laughing because it felt good, and because she was glad for her son’s resilience and calmness. She reached across, squeezing his hand.
‘Look, Mummy,’ Max said as the car pulled out from the kerb. ‘There are drinks again.’
‘Coffee,’ she remembered. ‘And that looks like a hot chocolate for you.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’ His eyes darted nervously towards the front of the car.
Her heart tightened in her chest. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’
His eyes lit up as he reached for the cup, blowing across the top before taking a sip. His smile was the only response Annie needed. He ate his toast and drank his hot chocolate, clearly feeling very special as they drove to school. At the gates, Annie walked him in as normal, though nothing felt normal. Parents—even parents she considered her friends—were regarding her strangely, and Max’s teacher looked as though she wanted to ask a thousand and one questions.
Annie’s manner was not expansive. She crouched down, lifting a hand to Max’s face, brushing away his thick, dark fringe.
‘It’s probably best if you don’t talk too much about all the changes, Max. There’ll be plenty of time to explain to your friends, but why don’t we let the dust settle first?’
He nodded. ‘Okay.’ His nose wrinkled. ‘I don’t think I’d know what to say, anyway.’
Something inside her ached. She felt his vulnerability in myriad ways. ‘No,’ she said quietly, roughing his hair. ‘You know you can ask me any question at any time, don’t you?’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I know.’
Annie kept her head ducked as she left school, not wanting to engage in conversation with anyone. Henderson was waiting beside the car, arms crossed.
She strapped herself in, pushing her head against the leather head-rest, her eyes closed.
It took a few moments before Annie realised the car was travelling in the wrong direction. She frowned, leaning forward. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Mr Papandreo asked me to bring you to him.’
To bring you to him. As though she were a possession. ‘It would have been nice for him to ask me first,’ she said under her breath, though a quick glance in the rear-view mirror showed the remnants of a smile on Henderson’s face—confirming he’d heard her comment.
She sighed softly. How was she going to avoid snapping at Dimitrios when he was so...so...overbearing? Most people would naturally seek approval before organising someone’s schedule, but not Dimitrios. He told a member of his staff to ‘bring her to him’, without considering that she might have other plans or might simply not want to ‘go to him’.
Her eyes fell to her tightly clasped hands sitting in her lap, and the enormous diamond on her finger sparkled brightly.
It was rush hour, and traffic was thick, but the SUV dug through the cars, drawing Annie deeper into a gridded city cast into shade by the glass-and-steel monoliths that towered overhe
ad. She didn’t come into the CBD often, so found it hard to get her bearings. Eventually, the car stopped—she thought she caught a glimpse of a sign that read ‘Castlereagh Street’. The door was opened and Annie stepped out, breathing in that unique city smell of bitumen, leather, engine exhaust and corporate toil.
‘This way, ma’am.’
She smiled hesitantly. ‘Henderson, if you’re going to be driving me regularly, would you consider calling me Annie?’
He didn’t respond.
‘After all, you look about my age. It feels ridiculously stuffy for you to be calling me “ma’am”.’
‘Is it making you uncomfortable?’
‘Honestly, yes. It really is.’