Olivia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “She’s been through a tough time, that’s all. She’s getting better, but I still have to keep an eye on her.”
Tamir’s expressive dark eyes narrowed. “Are you being intentionally vague?”
“No,” she grunted, crossing her arms. She could no longer meet his eyes, and instead, focussed on the elaborate chandelier that hung in the middle of the plane. “My mum is depressed. It happened just after dad died. She hit rock bottom.”
A tingle ran down Tamir’s spine. He understood depression better than most. He’d had a front row seat to the insidious beast it could be. “Meaning?”
“She self-medicated with whatever she could find, to make the pain less profound. I didn’t know.”
Again, that sense of comprehension filled him. “You were doing your own grieving, I imagine.”
“It’s no excuse. I should have realised.”
He didn’t say anything about that. It wasn’t his place. And sympathy for this woman was not something he was prepared to feel, even though he could appreciate the worry she’d been experiencing. “And now?”
“She’s doing better, as I said. But I always worry that she’s only one bad day away from all that again.”
“I see.”
He looked at her for a few moments, then reached across and picked up a newspaper. Olivia turned and watched as he flapped open the cover and casually began to regard the inside text. And that was it.
No sympathy.
No reassurances.
Nothing. It was like opening up to a brick wall.
She sank further down into her seat and did her best impersonation of a belligerent teenager. Her scowl was particularly impressive. The bleak darkness beyond the jet perfectly echoed her feelings. She was tired, suddenly. Tired of worrying and stressing and working so hard.
Working!
She sat bolt upright in the seat.
“Tamir,” she murmured. “I have to let my boss know that I’m away.”
He shrugged. “Be my guest.” He nodded towards the phone mounted beside his seat.
“Now?”
“If it’s worrying you.”
She checked her watch. It was not yet nine o’clock in England. She reached across for the phone, ignoring the way her body seemed to spark when her arm brushed against his leg. The phone was substantial in her hand.
“Do I need a dialling code or anything?”
Tamir made an impatient sound and put his newspaper aside. “What is the number you are calling?”
Olivia fished her phone from her pocket and found her boss’s mobile, then handed the phone to Tamir. He looked at the number and then deftly dialled into the aeroplane receiver. He passed it to Olivia without a sound, but his silence spoke volumes. Feeling stupid and technologically illiterate, not to mention unsophisticated as hell, she leaned back in her own chair and twisted the phone cable around her pointer finger.
It made a high pitched beeping noise then began to ring. Elise picked up on the third ring.
“Darling, it’s me.”
“Olivia? Where are you calling from? It sounds crackly.”
Olivia’s cheeks infused with colour. Tamir was studying h
er without bothering to hide his fascination. Who was she referring to as ‘darling’?