‘You’re the same age as Rowan.’
‘Yeah, but you’re older now. Half the man’s age plus seven years, that’s how old the woman has to be to stop the bloke from being a creepy perv.’
‘He was twenty-six, I was twenty. Do the math.’
He worked it out. ‘Bollocks! Although, hang on,’ he continued as she laughed, ‘how old were you when you started going out?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘Ha!’
‘And Rowan was a year younger as well.’
Another few seconds of mental arithmetic. ‘Definitely on the dodginess borderline. Anyway, I still think he’s got his eye on you.’
‘Only as a friend, Eddie.’ Her mood became one of reverie as her husband sat beside her. ‘He was a great friend, actually. He helped me through a really tough part of my life, when my parents died. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without him. Or what I’d be doing now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I almost gave up on archaeology. I mean, it got my parents killed - if they hadn’t been obsessed with finding Atlantis, they’d still be alive. I almost dropped out because for a while I didn’t want anything more to do with it. Rowan changed my mind. So I stayed on, got my degree and then my PhD, and, well, here I am.’
Eddie shook his head with a wry expression. ‘Can’t imagine what you’d be doing now if you weren’t an archaeologist.’
‘I dread to think. I once had a summer job in an office and I hated every minute of it. And what about you? Where would you be if you hadn’t met me?’
‘Christ knows. Running around the world getting into trouble, probably.’
‘Oh, so no change there.’
‘Ha fuckin’ ha. I’d still be doing the same kind of work as I was then, though. It’s what I’m best at.’ He looked at a shelf across the room.
Nina followed his gaze. ‘Thinking about Hugo?’ she asked softly. The shelf contained mementos of their pasts; propped against a Cuban pottery figurine of Fidel Castro was a photograph of Eddie and another man, who had a long face and a prominent nose.
‘Yeah,’ said Eddie. ‘Wish he could have been at the do tonight.’ Hugo Castille, his friend and comrade from his troubleshooter days, had been killed during the hunt for Atlantis. ‘Other people too. Like Mitzi.’ He shook his head. ‘Shit, maybe I’m getting old. Starting to lose more friends than I’m making.’
She gave him a sympathetic look. ‘You’ve made a friend of everybody you’ve helped, Eddie. And there have been a lot of them. Trust me, I’m one of them.’
‘Thanks, love.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘So I’ve kind of got Rowan to thank for us getting together? I suppose that makes him an okay bloke.’
‘High praise indeed, coming from you.’ Another reminiscent smile. ‘You know, when I was a teenager and he was helping my parents as a grad student, I had such a crush on him . . .’
‘Yeah, I really needed to hear that.’
She stroked his face. ‘Don’t worry. I made my choice. And I think it was the right one. Usually . . .’
He swatted at her playfully as he stood and headed for the kitchen. ‘I’m going to put the kettle on. You want anything?’
‘No thanks,’ she called after him. ‘Just a decent night’s sleep. The exhibition opens in two days, and there are still a hundred and one things I need to sort out.’
‘What?’
‘I said, there’s loads still to organise. I’ll be on the phone all tomorrow. Oh, the joys of management.’ She leaned back, then remembered something. ‘Eddie?’
No answer. ‘Eddie!’ she said, more loudly.
He appeared in the doorway. ‘Yeah, I heard you. What?’
‘Actually, it’s about you hearing me. Or not. Is everything okay?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Because a couple of times at the party you didn’t hear me - even when I was right behind you. And I’ve noticed it a few times recently. Maybe you should see a specialist, get your hearing tested. After all,’ she said, lightly humorous, ‘you’ve been