His face had the look of a man with a bad case of diarrhoea as fans and organisers lavished his rival with gifts, smiles and requests for autographs. Straussmann growled and snatched the serviette a waiter was about to lay on his lap. He demanded a drink and flicked him away like an annoying fly. ‘As charming as ever.’ Max shook her head and pushed her backpack beneath the table. ‘Maybe this is as happy as he gets.’ Linden shrugged and pushed his bag next to hers. ‘Even I could teach him to be happier than that.’ Linden smiled – one of those big, Linden, Mindawarra smiles that lifted right from the corners of his lips. ‘That’s good.’ ‘I can be funny sometimes.’ Max grabbed a bread roll from the table and munched into it. This was more like it, Max thought. The old Max and Linden. The one person she felt more comfortable with than anyone else she’d ever met. The one she didn’t have to worry would lean over and kiss her in some strange fit of dreamlike ridiculousness.
