“Why don’t we meet by the pool in, say, a half hour? That will give you time for a shower and a change of clothes. Then we can have a chat, and maybe a nightcap. That’s if you’d like to.”
Ella nodded. “Yes, Max. Thanks, I really don’t want to be on my own.”
“Then you don’t have to be. If you want anything, just yell.” Instead of walking along the corridor to his bedroom, a lengthy walk of perhaps a minute or so, Max opened the large glass doors and slid them back. He stepped out onto the cobbled courtyard and walked across to his own bedroom, passing the lush tropical plants that swayed gently in the cooling evening breeze. The soothing sound of the water cascading down the statues and marble plinths created a tranquil, relaxing atmosphere. He was already beginning to wind down as he reached his bedroom and swung back the glass doors.
By the time he’d showered and changed his clothes, Ella was already sitting in one of the comfortable rattan chairs by the pool. She wore a pale green sleeveless top, and a pair of white, figure-hugging trousers. He couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she looked in the lush surroundings, and how pretty her dainty little feet appeared in the delicate, gold crossover sandals.
“How do you feel?” Max asked.
“I feel fine, Max, really.” She held out her hand to show how steady it was. “Look, not even a tremor. I’m perfectly okay, now.”
“Do you feel up to that nightcap I promised you?”
“Please. I’ll have that white wine you so rudely stopped me from drinking at the club.”
“Okay.” He smiled as he opened the cooler at the minibar. “I can see you’re already beginning to relax.”
Ella sighed, a contented sigh. “You know I’ve always loved this place, Max. It’s just so…” She paused briefly as she searched for the right words. “Calming.”
He placed his hand on hers. “Ella, I need to apologize. I acted selfishly. I should have helped you come to terms with Kirk’s death before now.”
“No need to apologize, Max. We all deal with grief in different ways.”
“You needed me, and I wasn’t there.”
“But you’re here now.”
“True.” He handed her a glass of wine. “Have you spoken to a psychologist about your emotions? After all, Ella, you did find Kirk dead in the garage.” Max knew it must have been horrific.
She shook her head, making her ponytail sway from side to side. “No. My doctor suggested it, but quite frankly, I just can’t afford it.”
Max cursed inwardly. So much for a society that only helped those who could help themselves. He went over to the minibar to pour himself a stiff bourbon, realizing he needed it. Ella had to talk this through with a professional—someone totally independent of the situation. Thank God he’d come to his senses and asked her to stay. What she saw in that garage must have been almost too much to bear.
“I know an excellent psychologist. He’s a personal friend of mine. I’ll give him a call in the morning.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“No arguments, Ella. You need to talk things through with someone who won’t judge you. Hans Lindquist is a professional. He’ll be able to help you put things in perspective. Seeing your dead husband all the time is just not healthy.”
“Tell me about it.” She sipped at her wine as he came and sat beside her. “I guess I feel guilty, knowing now that he thought I was having an affair.”
Max caressed her hand. “I wish I hadn’t said anything now. I should have realized you’re not the sort of woman to be unfaithful to her husband. I blame myself. I should have known that Kirk was not well. For fuck’s sake, he was my best friend for almost thirty years.”
“It’s okay, Max. I blame the military system in this country. They sent him home without any help. I’m sure they’re far guiltier than either of us.” She sighed. “Usually, Kirk was fine when he came back from a tour of duty. He’d been to all the dangerous war zones in the world. He’d seen some terrible things no man should ever see. I know, because he confided in me once, and I asked him how he coped. Do you know what he said?”
Max shook his head.
“He said he had the ability to block what he’d seen from his mind. He said he could compartmentalize events. A bit like putting all your unpleasant memories in a box and then putting a lid on it.”
“So what happened this time?”
“I don’t know. Something awful must have happened, because the moment he returned home, he was not the man I knew. He seemed frightened, bewildered even.”