‘What about you? Would you talk to us?’

‘I think,’ said Nina, who couldn’t help but smile, ‘you should quit while you’re ahead.’

Chapter 12

‘What’s the story with the luggage?’ asked Conor, as he heaved two suitcases into the back of the car. ‘I don’t know if you’ve forgotten what Kilmitten is like, but there’s not much call for finery. We’re a fairly basic people.’

‘Gosh, you’re on top form this evening,’ said Tess, folding herself into the front seat of his Ford Escort. ‘I’m going to New York on Monday and then on to Buenos Aires for a shoot. It’s winter down there, so I’ve got to be prepared.’

‘It’s well for some. You’d better make sure Cora Crossan doesn’t hear about your New York trip or she’ll be asking you to take a parcel of sausages over to Dympna. And put on your seatbelt there, would you?’

Tess did as she was told. She was grateful for the lift and delighted to see Conor, her brilliant, uncomplicated friend. Her antidote to all the London madness. No, that wasn’t fair: he was too intelligent for that. But when you spent most of your time with people who were all artifice and show, it was great to have a friend who was so straightforward. Who had no agenda. It helped that Conor didn’t have any sexual interest in her. Tess had considered the possibility that he was gay. He had a girlfriend in Cork, though, so it seemed the planet contained at least one straight man who didn’t fancy her. No, make that two. Tom had only ever been interested in Nina. For a moment, she tried to imagine Conor in London. It occurred to her that he was more likely to arrest than befriend some of the people she hung about with. The thought made her smile.

Since she’d become well known, she’d dated a series of minor-league actors and singers. Most of them had turned out to be major-league idiots. Her last boyfriend, Striker Gibson, a singer of little note (and fewer notes), had left her for another model called India Tufton Black. India was famed for her willingness to let men snort cocaine from her – almost non-existent – breasts. While Striker was no loss, Tess feared she’d inherited her mother’s talent for attracting losers. Thankfully, Jim Duignan was gone from the scene, as was his equally repellent successor, Lar McBride. Now that she thought about it, an age had passed since she’d heard mention of a man.