overview of where the project’s at right now?”
She giggled and tried to stuff doughnut in his mouth. He dodged, and she kissed him instead. “I think it’s coming along just fine,” she said. “Particularly now that Max has fixed that thing with the Heisenberg collimator.”
“Max—”
“Yes, I know.” She gave him a sympathetic grin. “He’s a pain in the ass, but you’ve got to admit, he’s good at what he does. And so long as he carries on doing it,” she added, with a faintly feral glint in her eye, “that means we get some time to relax and, um, pursue other interests. Don’t know about you, but that suits me just fine.”
She reached out and put her hand on the back of his head, drawing him towards her. He didn’t exactly resist, but she stopped and looked at him. “What?”
“Max,” he said. “I don’t know anything about him. Do you—?”
She shrugged. “What’s there to know? He’s a workaholic and a flake, with below average social skills and personal hygiene issues. But you know that, for Christ’s sake. You taught him for five years.”
“That was some time ago,” Theo managed to say. “People change.”
She shook her head. “Not Maxie. But hey, who gives a damn? And anyhow, from what I hear, compared to his brother, he’s Prince frigging Charming. Just be glad we got the lesser of two assholes.”
“His brother,” Theo said quietly.
“You know, Theo. The clown who blew up the—”
“Oh, right. Him.”
Thanks, Pieter. She was looking at him a little oddly.
“Didn’t you teach him too?”
“Yes, but I prefer not to dwell on it.”
She laughed. “Don’t blame you. I seem to remember meeting him once, at the Leipzig conference. Little bleary-eyed guy with a stammer and a runny nose. I can’t understand how you managed to put up with him for five years.”
“Ah well,” Theo said, having first ungritted his teeth. “Time, the great healer. Anyhow, let’s not talk about him.”
“Let’s not talk at all.”
He was sitting on something. The doughnut. “I need to see Max,” he said. “Now.”
“Now?”
“Yup. I’ve just thought of something that won’t wait. Where do you think he’d be at this time?”
She gave him a long, cool look. “In bed with a glass of milk and a learned journal,” she replied. “Not like you. Why, is that what you’d rather be doing?”
He managed to squeeze her out a smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have his address and phone number?”
She sighed. “Wait there,” she said, got up and left the room. A shame, he thought, a great big shame, but what the hell. Business before pleasure. Exactly why business had to come before pleasure, especially given that linear time wasn’t passing as far as he was concerned, he was at a loss to say.
“Here.” She threw a cellphone in his lap, and dictated a number. The phone rang. Max, he thought. My God. Max.
“Hello?” But it was a woman’s voice.
“Um, is Max there, please?”
Pause. “No.”
It had been the sort of pause you get when the person answering the phone turns away and mouths are you here? and the person you want to talk to pulls a face and shakes his head. He frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Course I’m sure. It’s not exactly a grey area.”
“Sorry, of course. Um, when’s he likely to be back?”
“Couldn’t say. Who is this?”
His tongue was between his teeth, shaping the th of Theo. “Pieter van Goyen.”
“What? Sorry, Pete, didn’t recognise your voice there. It’s Marge.”
“Ah. Look, can you give him a message, please? To call me, ASAP.”
“Sure. Where are you?”
Excellent question, referring back to an earlier question, your place or mine, which he hadn’t been there for. “This number,” he said, ignoring the ferocious scowl that earned him from whatever her name was, whose phone he was presumably using. Oh well, never mind.
“I’ll be sure to tell him. Ciao, Pete.”
He killed the call. She was glaring at him.
“Sorry,” he said, handing her the phone. “But it’s important.”
“In that case,” she said, pulling on a robe, “you should’ve said to call you back at home, because that’s where you’re going. Right now.”
In the background he could hear the faint, mocking crackle of burning bridges. Oh well. “Yes, right, I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”
“For crying out loud, Pete. It’s hardly rocket science.”
“Pity. I’m good at that.”
He headed for the door. She cleared her throat. “Far be it from me,” she said, “but aren’t you going to put some clothes on?”
“What? Oh, right.” He looked round, and the dim amber light picked out a tangle of discarded