‘Sol, Tobey needs my help. I’m not going to turn my back on him.’
‘Callie, I really, really hope you know what you’re doing.’
I swallowed hard. That made two of us.
‘Hello?’
‘Hey, Callie, it’s Tobey.’
My smile was instantaneous. I held the phone closer to my ear. ‘What’s what, Tobey?’ I asked, playing his usual greeting back to him.
‘Not much. You OK?’
My smile faded. ‘I’m fine. Any reason why I shouldn’t be?’
‘None that I know of.’
My antennae started to quiver. ‘Tobey, what’s wrong? You sound … off.’
He sighed. ‘It’s just been a bitch of a week. I know it’s late but I wondered if you fancied grabbing a bite to eat with me?’
I glanced at my watch. It was almost ten. Well, my brother Troy had stood me up earlier so dinner with a friend would be welcome. And as for my brother? No text, no email, no message to tell me why he was a no-show. We’d have words about that the next time I saw him.
‘You haven’t eaten yet?’ I asked.
‘I’m lucky if I manage more than a few cups of coffee a day at the moment,’ said Tobey. ‘But it is late. You’ve probably already eaten. Forget I asked. It was just—’
‘I’d love to have dinner with you,’ I interrupted. ‘I’m just back at my office, doing paperwork that can wait. Where shall I meet you?’
‘How about we have dinner at mine?’ said Tobey. ‘I could have something delivered.’
Pause.
Tobey sounded so desperate for company. ‘But if you’d rather not—’
‘No, that’d be lovely,’ I said. ‘I already have your address. Shall I meet you there in thirty minutes?’
‘Sounds good. See you in half an hour then.’
I disconnected the call, staring down at my phone. I hadn’t been alone with Tobey since … since we were teenagers. Damn! Had it really been that long? Racking my brains, I realized I was right.
Dinner at Tobey’s.
Be careful, Callie.
Be very careful.
sixty-five. Tobey
* * *
Callie walked into my apartment before me, then stopped. I’d met her down in the foyer, arriving as we did within seconds of each other. Part of me wondered why she’d agreed to meet me, but I wasn’t about to argue or check this gift horse’s teeth. Leaving two of my close-protection officers in the foyer and the other two outside my front door, we entered my apartment.
‘Computer, switch on the lounge lights,’ I ordered.
The lights above immediately came on.
Closing the door, I moved to stand beside her, watching as she looked around, taking it all in. I’d paid Amber and Dyson, the famous interior designers, an absolute fortune to put this penthouse together for me. The apartment had three reception rooms, one of which I used as my study, and four bedrooms, each with its own en-suite. Every time I opened the front door, I felt like I’d arrived. But now I was seeing it through Callie’s eyes, with its sterile white walls and its dark oak hardwood floors. The white leather sofas were all sharp angles and straight lines. Even the artwork on the walls was geometric by design. The other rooms continued the theme of monochrome hardwood floors and furniture that was designed for effect rather than comfort. The place looked like what it was: an expensive bachelor pad, a conquest den, made for my comfort alone and no one else’s.
Callie turned to me and smiled. ‘It’s very … functional.’
‘You hate it, don’t you?’
She shrugged. ‘Well, it’s not to my taste but it’s your home. You’re the one who has to be comfortable here.’
Though the words were lightly said, I was disappointed, like I’d failed a test I didn’t even know I was taking.
‘Ready to eat?’ I asked.
‘You got FeedMe on speed dial then?’ Callie teased.
FeedMe was just one of the fast-food delivery services available in the capital. I never used them.
‘Our dinner is already here.’ I indicated the dining table across the room. A trolley filled with covered plates sat behind the table and a bottle of champagne was cooling in the ice bucket.
‘Oh.’ Callie regarded me, eyes narrowed. ‘You were so sure I’d agree to your suggestion to have dinner here? Am I that predictable?’
A verbal trap. If I walked into this one, it could take my head clean off.
‘No, Callie, you’re not predictable at all. I was hoping, not assuming.’
‘Oh.’
A lot of meaning in one syllable.
‘Well, as you’ve gone to all this trouble, let’s eat. I’m starving.’
Callie shrugged off her jacket, throwing it over the arm of my sofa as she went, like she was laying down a challenge. She was at the table and pulling out her own chair before I’d got it together enough to follow her. Removing the named warmers from over our starters, I placed a bowl of soup in front of Callie, before setting my own plate down on the table. The name of a well-known restaurant was written round the rim of our crockery. No chance of pretending I’d cooked our dinner! Callie waited till I was seated opposite her, then said, ‘Food from Bertollini’s. I’m impressed. I didn’t even know they did takeaways.’
‘I asked them nicely,’ I said. Plus being PM didn’t hurt.
Callie waved her hand in the direction of the food trolley keeping the food warm beside us. ‘This is all stuff from their current menu?’
‘I asked for your favourites,’ I replied. ‘Minestrone soup with fresh brown rolls, petti di pollo al burro and tiramisu.’
‘You remember? After all this time?’
I smiled. ‘Of course.’
A moment’s pause to share a smile.
Callie said, ‘What’re we waiting for?! Let’s eat.’
Smiling, I reached for my napkin.
Our dinner conversation flowed like the champagne. It was as if all the intervening years between us rolled up, then rolled away until they were out of sight. Callie teased me throughout the meal. She teased me about getting into law school and then dropping out. She teased me about getting all that money from her nan and then giving it all away. She teased me about being a borough councillor and then becoming Mayor of Meadowview. For Shaka’s sake, she even teased me about my hairstyle. My PR person and my hairdresser had got together and decided a shorter, more regimented cut would appeal to more voters than my usual unruly, wavy hair flopping over my forehead. On this one, I’d overruled them. Callie teased me like she’d been there while they were discussing it.
‘You look like you’re ready to join a boy band,’ she said.
‘You’ve heard me sing,’ I pointed out. ‘Not gonna happen.’
Callie took another mouthful of her chicken. ‘So you never took singing lessons to round off your can-do-anything Superman image.’
‘Is that what I have?’ I asked, surprised.
‘You know you do. You are Prime Minister. My God, I’m having dinner with the PM.’ Callie’s eyes were wide with mock wonder. ‘But, seriously, look at everything you’ve achieved through sheer hard work, intelligence and determination. Women love you. Men admire you. Even dogs and cats adore you. You sure know how to work it, Tobey!’