Annie swiftly locked the door and listened to his heavy footsteps descending the stairs. After the front door had been pulled shut with an almighty and unnecessary bang, Annie crept downstairs and pulled the latch and chain across the door before scurrying back up to the flat and collapsing on the sofa. She wasn’t sure if she believed in an afterlife, but if it was possible for deceased loved ones to influence the living, Annie would put money on her parents lending her their strength from beyond the grave just then. It felt like a breakthrough; she would never have stood her ground like that before, not that she wasn’t a trembling like a leaf right now, but most of that was exhilaration. Today had been a day of remembrance, but it had been a momentous day too.

Chapter 58

Oh my God!” Gemma exclaimed. “Thank goodness you didn’t sleep with him.”

It was book club night and the women were discussing Lady Audley’s Secret by Elizabeth Braddon; or at least, they were supposed to be. So far, Annie’s close encounter with Max had rather eclipsed the naughtiness of Lucy Audley. Every time they got back on track, something would bring them back round to Annie again.

“Annie is reinventing herself like Lady Audley,” said Maeve.

“Without the child abandonment, faked death, and attempted murder,” added Sally.

“Imagine if you’d had sex with him.” Gemma was off on her own tangent. “You might have given all this up and gone back to Max.”

“That would never have happened,” said Annie. “It was a momentary lapse, which actually ended up crystallizing what needed to be done. I think I just felt a bit wobbly, what with the day it was and everything, and Max was being all let’s take a trip down memory lane. It was just so familiar and comforting, I suppose.”

“You leaned on him like a crutch,” said Gemma.

“Or a crotch,” added Maeve.

Gemma spluttered into her wine.

“How did you get on at the solicitor’s?” asked Sally.

“Really well. You were right, she is great. She doesn’t see any of it as being a problem because I’m not asking for more than is owed to me. If anything, I’m asking for less.”

The conversation slipped back to book club business.

“Interesting that Braddon made Lucy blond and innocent-looking. If the same story were written by a man, would Lucy have a full mustache and sideburns?” asked Sally.

“No,” said Maeve. “If she were written by a man, he’d have made her a whore. She’d have had dark hair and dark eyes and massive tits! She certainly wouldn’t have begged Sir Michael Audley for a platonic relationship; she’d have straddled him the moment she’d met him and trapped him under her sex spell.”

“Crikey!” said Gemma.