“Yes, some sweetness with a touch of the blarney,” his sister replied. Her smile creased the skin around her eyes like a concertina. “Your wine and smooth talk might work on me but I’ve always been too soft on you. I think Flynn will take more winning over.” She put down her glass and spoke softly. “You’ve been gone a month this time, Euan, and nothing but a few text messages. You don’t answer our calls. Would it be that hard to keep in regular contact?”

“You always call when I’m not available.”

Her eyebrows raised. “You could ring back.”

He dug his phone from his pocket and glared at it. “The battery doesn’t seem to hold charge for long these days.”

“That phone’s archaic. Time to get a new one.” She sat back and took another sip of wine.

Sometimes he wished she would get angry with him. The gentleness of her words always made him feel far worse than if she’d yelled at him. She took after their French father; never loud, always calm, immaculately presented. Euan flicked his gaze around her South Perth apartment. It was exquisitely furnished with things from her world travels, but the pervading influence was definitely Parisienne. Heavy drapes, gilt edges, statues and mirrors dominated, but here and there were touches of bright Australian colours, just to remind you that the apartment was in Perth and not Paris.

“If anything was wrong you would have heard in a wink of an eye,” he said.

“Euan Levallier, you are a rascal.” She laughed. It was a warm sound. Maggie may have taken after their French father but they both had their Irish mother’s easy sense of humour.

“But you love me.” He chuckled too, and tossed the phone aside. “Now, are you going to feed me, I’m wondering? My stomach’s still back on Byron Bay time and it thinks it’s ten o’clock.”

“Ah, pauvre petit.” She put down her glass and glanced at her watch. “It is getting late. The food is all prepared. It won’t take long to cook.”

Half an hour later they were enjoying a delicious Dijon chicken and Maggie was telling Euan about her latest gala event; a fundraiser for one of the major hospitals. It promised to be a grand affair with the ‘who’s who’ of Perth in attendance. Maggie was in her element. She was a wonderful organiser and a natural at getting people to part with their money by the bucketload.

“It’s only a week away. Why don’t you come back and be my beau for the night?” she said. “Several people have asked after you recently. It would be a good chance to be seen.”

“No thanks, Maggie. I’d better stay put for a while once I get home. Besides, you know I hate those black-tie affairs.”