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hug Donna briefly.
     
    ‘When you didn’t call me back I thought I’d come round and see how you were. I hope you don’t mind,’ he said.
     
    ‘It’s very thoughtful of you,’ she told him as they walked into the sitting-room.
     
    Julie was glancing at a magazine when Connelly entered. She looked up and saw him, smiled tightly and nodded a greeting.
     
    ‘Martin, this is my sister Julie,’ Donna announced. ‘Martin Connelly. He was Chris’s agent.’ The two of them shook hands a little stiffly and Connelly looked at Donna.
     
    ‘If I’m interrupting,’ he apologised. ‘I just wanted to see if you were okay. I won’t stay.’ He smiled at Julie again.
     
    ‘Stay and have a drink.’
     
    ‘If I do it had better be coffee. I’m driving,’ Connelly explained.
     
    ‘I’ll make it,’ said Julie. ‘You two talk.’ And she was gone, closing the sitting-room door behind her, leaving them alone.
     
    Connelly wandered over to the fireplace and glanced at the framed book covers that hung there. Donna studied him.
     
    He was in his mid-thirties, smartly dressed (he was always smartly dressed, she remembered), his light brown hair impeccably groomed. He had been Ward’s agent for the last five years. The relationship between them had never been business-orientated, though; it was something stronger than that. Although it was not powerful enough to be true friendship, there was nevertheless a mutual respect of each other’s abilities coupled by a ruthless streak they also both possessed. It had been a formidable combination.
     
    ‘You’re okay for money, aren’t you?’ Connelly asked her.
     
    ‘I won’t starve, Martin.’
     
    ‘I always made sure Chris had enough insurance policies and stuff like that.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘But if you need anything, anything at all, you call me. Right?’
     
    She smiled.
     
    ‘I mean it, Donna,’ he insisted. ‘Promise me you will.’
     
    ‘I promise.’
     
    He reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a packet of cigarettes, lighting one with his silver lighter. He regarded her coolly through the haze of bluish smoke. Despite the dark rings beneath her eyes and the fact that her hair needed brushing she still looked extremely attractive. Prior to Ward’s death he’d seen her dressed up, her make-up done to perfection. On some of those occasions the only word he could find to describe her was breathtaking. Now he ran appraising eyes slowly over her, a little embarrassed when she looked up and caught him in the middle of his furtive inspection.
     
    ‘How long’s your sister here for?’ he asked, feeling the need to break the silence.
     
    ‘For as long as she wants to be. Certainly until after the funeral.’
     
    ‘Do you know when it is yet?’
     
    She shook her head.
     
    ‘I’ve got to sort all that out tomorrow,’ Donna told him.
     
    ‘Do you need any help?’
     
    ‘I’ll be all right. Thanks, anyway. It’s probably better in some ways. The more I’ve got to do, the less time I’ve got to sit around and think about what’s happened.’
     
    ‘I know what you mean. No good brooding about it, is it?’ He realized the clumsiness of his statement and apologised.
     
    ‘It’s okay, Martin. Say what you think. People can’t tip-toe around the subject for the rest of their lives. Chris is dead, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Ignoring it isn’t going to make it any more bearable.’
     
    ‘You know that he had it written into all his contracts that, if anything happened to him, you were to become beneficiary of all his money from royalties and advances?’ Connelly said.
     
    She nodded.
     
    ‘I remember when we first met, before Chris was earning decent money from his books. People used to tell me I was crazy to stay with him, that he’d never earn a good living. Then, when he did start earning good money, those same people told me that was the only reason I’d stayed with him.’ She shook