Henk chuckles, and so Max does too, then says, “Thanks for seeing me.”
“I was expecting you,” says Henk. “Lot of problems at your current agency. Can’t be so easy for you to stay loyal?”
“I stay loyal to Max Highfield,” says Max.
“That is a moral paradox,” says Henk.
“Thanks,” says Max. “Someone said Jeff’s dead? Like, in real life?”
“Jeff?” says Henk, as if remembering a forgotten childhood friend. “He is no longer my concern, Max. Sometimes people who live by the sword also die by the sword.”
Max looks quizzical. “Are you talking about that film I did? Die by the Sword?”
“No,” says Henk. “It’s an idiom.”
“Agree to disagree,” says Max. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in looking after my close-protection needs?”
“In looking after you?” says Henk. “I think that sounds wise. I think even our friend Spinoza might approve, don’t you?”
“I mean, if I joined you,” says Max, “I have certain needs. Expectations.”
“Full security cover,” says Henk, “twenty-four seven, and you take your pick of my people. And I give you two million a year to act as an ambassador.”
Max picks up a book from the oak table beside his armchair. It is called Fourteenth-Century Iran: The Howl of Uncertainty. He puts it down.
“Is there something else, Max?” Henk asks.
Max takes a card from his jacket and gives it to Henk.
“You’re dead. My, my. Any idea who this might be from?”
“None,” says Max. “I’m universally loved. They even said that in Grazia.”
“I shall look into it for you,” says Henk. “It seems that Maximum Impact are not taking care of you as they should.”
Max picks up his book again, before remembering that it is called Fourteenth-Century Iran: The Howl of Uncertainty. He puts it down once again.
“Have a lot of Jeff’s clients come to you?” says Max.
“The seagulls follow the trawler,” says Henk.
Max nods. “And did you really tell Jeff I didn’t hold my gun properly?”
“Excuse me, Max?”
“In Rampage 7?”
“I don’t know what Rampage 7 is.”
Now Max laughs. “Nice one, Henk.”
“Thank you, Max,” says Henk.
Max stands and slaps Henk on the back. “You get a contract knocked up, and I’ll sign it.”
“Pleasure seeing you, Max,” says Henk, returning to his book. “I will ensure that nobody kills you.”
As Max leaves, he sees that the old woman reading the book about grief is silently sobbing. Max studies her for a while, pretending to be reading a magazine about yachts. Max has never quite been able to cry on camera. If he ever sees crying in a script, he makes sure they change it to “a roar of anger,” which he can do very well.
He approaches the woman, places a hand on her shoulder, and gives his kindest smile.
“Would you like an autograph?”
The woman looks up, tears still streaming down her face. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you are, dear. I would advise you to take your hand off my shoulder, though.”
Max nods, slowly. He gets it. Grief does the funniest things to people.
44
Amy has been in mortal danger in many countries over the last few years, but St. Lucia has to be one of the most beautiful.
“Only country in the world named after a woman,” Rosie tells her.
“What about Georgia?” says Amy.
“Georgia is named after St. George,” says Steve, and he and Rosie roll their eyes at each other. Amy could live without that little alliance developing.
They are climbing higher and higher on the coast road. Endless blue falling away to one side of them, and endless, mountainous green rising up on the other. Colorful villages cling to bends in the road, with wooden porches looking out over the Caribbean.
