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then poured a gla.s.s of Perrier for herself.
His smile seemed easier when she sat on the ottoman across from him.
"I've always liked this place." He pointed to the mural Marianne had
painted on the plaster. "Where is she?"
"In Paris." She glanced at her watch. "Or nearly. She's going to spend
a year studying there."
He s.h.i.+fted his gaze to the photographs that lined a nearby wall. "I saw
your photo study of Baryshnikoy."
"The greatest thrill of my life. I was stunned when Runyun let me have
the a.s.signment."
"And the alb.u.m cover." He drank, and felt every drop of the brandy slide
down his throat.
"Wait until you see the new one." She kept her voice light and easy, but
there was concern in her eyes as they skimmed over Luke. "It should hit
the stands by the end of the week. Of course, the music's not bad,
either."
Emma saw his fingers whiten on the stern of the gla.s.s. "How is Johnno?"
"He's fine. I think they've talked him into doing a cameo on Miami Vice
... I'm sure he'll get in touch if he comes down your way."
"Yeah." He drank again. "He's not in town."
"No, he's in London." The opera singer began soaring over scales.
"They're prepping for the tour. I'm going along. In fact, I'm flying
out day after tomorrow."
"You're going to see him?"
"Yes, in a couple of days. There's an enormous amount of work to be
done before we start. Luke, what is it?"
He shook his head. Carefully, he set the cognac aside, then reached
inside his jacket. Taking out a plain white envelope, he handed it to
Emma. "Would you give this to him for me?"
"Of course."
"As soon as you see him."
"Yes, if you like." She started to set it on the table, but caught the
look in his eye. "I'll just put it in my suitcase." She left him
sitting there, looking dully out of the windows. He was standing when
she returned, holding the empty wine gla.s.s in both hands. She started
to speak, then he swayed. The gla.s.s shattered on the floor before she
caught him. She had braced for his weight. The brittle fragility of
his body shocked her more than the paller.
"Sit. Come on, sit down. You're ill." She knelt on the cus.h.i.+on beside
him, stroking his hair as he wearily closed his eyes. "I think you've
got a fever. Let me take you to a doctor."
"No." He let his head fall back. His eyes were bright with fury when
they met hers. "I've been to a doctor. A whole tucking fleet of
doctors."
"You need to eat," she said firmly. "You look as though you haven't
eaten in a week. Let me fix-"
"Emma." He caught her hand. She knew. He could see by her face that
she already knew, but refused to believe. He'd spent quite a while
refusing to believe himself. "I'm dying." It sounded easy, almost
peaceful. "It'S AIDS."
