The Honeymoon Prize - Jessica Hart

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with soap and shut it with a bang that made Freya wince. ‘He had no compunction about eavesdropping our conversation, and the next thing I knew he was telling me that he worked for some television company I’ve never heard of and demanding that I tell him everything I could about the coup so he could rush off and file a story on it.’

      Freya frowned as she tried to follow this. ‘What coup?’ she asked.

      ‘God, you really don’t remember anything about last night, do you?’ Max shook his head.

      There was a sizzle as he laid two rashers of bacon in the frying pan. ‘For someone who works on a foreign newsdesk you’re remarkably badly informed,’ he said astringently. ‘There’s been unrest in the region for weeks now. I’d have thought you would be expecting me back at any time.’

      ‘I’ve had other things on my mind recently,’ she said, unwilling to admit that she had no idea which region he was talking about.

      ‘What, like prats in leather jackets?’

      Freya looked at him coldly. ‘What exactly happened?’

      ‘I’ve been trying to set up a project out there. I’d hoped I’d be able to get more done before the situation blew, but as it was I only just got back to Usutu in time.’

      ‘Usutu?’ Startled, Freya jerked upright, spilling her tea.

      ‘The capital of Mbanazere,’ said Max impatiently. ‘Surely you know that?’

      ‘Of course I do. It’s just…’ She trailed off, one hand to her aching head, unable to explain the weird sense of déjà vu.

      It was as if her life had come full circle. Here was Max, back from the same country, with the same tanned skin, the same light eyes, the same competent hands. And here she was, with the same ability to humiliate herself in front of him. Six years, and nothing had changed.

      ‘I didn’t realise that was where you had been,’ she finished lamely. ‘It’s quite a coincidence, really. I was talking about Usutu only last night.’

      ‘To your friend with the hide of a rhinoceros, no doubt,’ said Max, a crisp edge to his voice. ‘For someone who’s being posted out there as correspondent, he doesn’t know much about the country. He was pestering me with inane questions about the situation there while people were leaving, and you were still pressing martinis on the rest of us.

      ‘Not that there was much I could tell him,’ he went on. ‘I was up country when the coup happened. The first I heard about it was when I went in to town to talk to the provincial governor, and everyone was shouting and waving their arms around. There were soldiers patrolling the streets, and I was ordered onto a plane forthwith. The RAF airlifted a whole lot of us and…well, here I am.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      YES, here he was. Watching his economical movements, Freya was taken aback by how familiar he seemed. It was as if she’d watched him making breakfast a thousand times. Surely it ought to feel a bit more bizarre to be sitting here in her towelling robe, nursing her hangover and discussing the political situation in Africa? A bit less…right?

      She could just imagine Max finding himself caught up in a coup, calmly and quietly assessing the situation while chaos surged around him. Shouting and arm waving wasn’t his style at all. He was one of those quietly calm and capable types that never got excited about anything—which could be, and usually was, utterly infuriating, but there were times—and let’s face it, finding yourself in the middle of a rebellion would be one of them—when that air of calm competence would come in very handy.

      ‘Couldn’t you have stayed?’ she asked, absently stirring the dregs of her tea.

      ‘Not without being a nuisance.’ Max turned his bacon over. ‘It’s not as if I’m a medic. I can’t do anything useful while the country is in a state of upheaval, so the sensible course of action was to come home, concentrate on raising funds for the project at this end, and go back as soon as things have settled down.’

      The sensible course of action. How typical of Max. Freya could only think of one occasion when he hadn’t taken that, and a hint of colour stole up her cheeks at the memory. Did Max remember?

      ‘How long will that be?’ she asked hastily.

      He shrugged. ‘It’s hard to tell. A month? Six weeks? Maybe longer.’

      ‘A month?’ Freya couldn’t hide her dismay. She looked around the kitchen regretfully. She really liked this flat. ‘I supposed I’d better find somewhere else to live,’ she sighed.

      There was a pause. ‘Have you got anywhere to go?’ asked Max.

      ‘I could stay with a friend in the meantime,’ she said, thinking of Pel.

      His expression hardened. ‘That journalist you were draped around last night?’

      ‘Dan?’ Freya was taken aback. ‘No, I don’t know him that well.’

      ‘You could have fooled me!’

      ‘I suppose I could ask him,’ she said slowly. Perhaps she should ask him? With an effort, Freya reminded herself of her mission. What better way to consolidate her relationship with Dan than by moving in with him for the few weeks he had left?

      What relationship, Freya? she asked herself. He might have seemed keen last night, but she could hardly turn up on his doorstep with a spotted handkerchief over her shoulder on the basis of a grope after a few too many martinis all round.

      ‘There’s no need to bother.’ Max poked irritably at the bacon in the frying pan. ‘You can stay here.’

      ‘But what about you?’

      ‘This flat ought to be big enough for both of us. It’s only for a few weeks, and I’m not likely to be in that much.’ He hesitated. ‘Lucy said that you were having some financial problems,’ he said after a moment. ‘That was why I agreed to let you stay here while I was overseas. Lucy’s always been good at emotional blackmail!’

      Freya was mortified. ‘I didn’t know she’d twisted your arm. She told me you wanted someone living here for security.’

      ‘Is it true?’

      ‘Is what true?’

      ‘That you’re short of money?’

      She tried to shrug. ‘Oh, well, you know what it’s like,’ she said as airily as she could. ‘I’ve just got rather a lot of financial commitments at the moment.’

      ‘What commitments?’ asked Max. ‘You’ve got no mortgage, no kids, no car. You haven’t even got a dog!’

      ‘I’ve got a pet credit card,’ she said, but he was un-amused.

      He cracked an egg into the frying pan. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you sorted out your finances?’ he asked disapprovingly.

      ‘You sound like my father,’ said Freya sullenly. ‘Not to mention Pel. As it happens, I am trying to sort them out,’ she told him, ‘which is why I was very grateful when Lucy said that I could live here and look after the flat for you while you were away in lieu of rent.’

      Max turned his bacon over. He didn’t say anything, but Freya knew that he was thinking of the state of his living room.

      ‘I really have been looking after it,’ she said with a defensive edge to her voice. ‘I know it’s a mess now, but I’ll clear it all up in a minute, I promise. It’s not usually like this.’

      ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Max, lifting the bacon and egg onto a plate and carrying it over to the table. Freya averted her eyes as he sat down. She wasn’t ready to even look at food yet.

      Reaching for a piece of toast, he buttered it briskly. ‘In the circumstances, I think it would be easiest if we both stayed here,’ he said.

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