Have you eaten?’
‘No, thanks—nothing.’
He walked on into the apartment and up to the spare bedroom, knocked swiftly on the door, cocked an ear and entered. The smell of booze hit him square in the face. He walked to the sleeping mound and stood over her. She was zoned out. Totally. So she had hit a wall last night.
He moved to the window and pulled open the curtains. Then back to the bed.
‘Morning, Fernanda.’
‘She needs to sleep, Michael—leave her be.’
Angelica had come in and was fussing about, lifting clothes and folding them. The room looked like a thrift shop. There was a huge glass of water at the side of the bed and jewellery and clothes trailed everywhere.
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