Think fast, Ward. “No. I’m driving.”

“And I’m allowed?” she asks, an ironic smile on her face. A glass, yes. She can forget it if she thinks she’s sinking the whole bottle.

“You may.”

She dives in, and I watch as she takes that first sip. “You bought Kate a van.”

I rest back in my chair, gauging her reaction. “I did.” I can see she’s got a pile of questions locked, loaded, and ready to fire. I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea for more reasons than delaying getting my hands all over her.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you being tossed around in the back of that jalopy.”

She seems to accept my reasoning, which is good. Yet, I should stop and ask myself what lengths I’ll go to in order to maintain the calm inside I’m coming to depend on and, worryingly, what only she can supply. I seem dead set on eliminating all things that could tip me over the edge of the cliff I’ve recently found myself on. It’s paramount. Impossible?

“I want to know how old you are.”

“Twenty-eight,” I say, ignoring my conscience. Holding back is natural, and if it comes naturally, I’m going with it. “Tell me about your family,” I say, and she looks at me in disbelief.

“I asked first.”

“And I answered. Tell me about your family.”

Her shoulders drop, defeated, and she takes another sip of wine. Sips. Sips are good. “They retired to Newquay a few years back.” There’s a certain edge of sadness in her tone. She misses them. “Dad ran a construction firm, Mum was a housewife. My dad had a heart attack scare so they took early retirement to Cornwall. My brother is living the dream in Australia.” Oh, she has a brother? “Why do you not speak to your parents?” she adds, and it’s a bolt out of the blue. I swallow hard, yelling at myself to give her something. Start the process. Build the picture.

“They live in Marbella,” I tell her, delving deep to find the strength required to speak of my past, even if the information is relatively inconsequential. It’s a start. A step in the right direction. “My sister’s there too. I’ve not spoken to them for years.” I still don’t understand why Amalie continues trying to reach me. Why bother? Why does she still want to know me? “They didn’t approve when Carmichael left me The Manor and all of his estate.” Hated him was more apt and, subsequently, hated me for accepting and embracing it. For falling into the lifestyle. For not listening to them.

Her surprise is warranted. “He left it all to you?”