Detained

“I’m not going to do that.” Peter used his lawyer voice.

“You’re not?”

“I think it’s safe to say you and Will aren’t good for each other.”

At her desk in the studio, Darcy pulled a paperclip apart. Finding Will was supposed to be the easy bit. Talking to him was going to be a wrench, and convincing him to do the interview was where she’d expected to sweat and maybe have her hopes die. But Peter was giving her enough grief to make her suspect unemployment was her immediate future. Not good enough. It wasn’t his call.

“Ah, let me make sure I understand, Peter. Not more than two months ago you sat across from me at M and convinced me to go and see Will in rehab a second time. That wasn’t a good experience for any of us. Then I tell you he’s in Australia, during which he outs me publicly and messes up my life, and now you’re saying you won’t give me a contact for him.”

“Excellent summary of events.” Peter the lawyer again.

The paperclip was in four pieces. She started on another one. “What am I missing here?”

“Nothing. Like I said, excellent summary.”

“Peter, does Will want contact from me blocked or do you?”

“Will doesn’t want much of anything.”

“I see. So you’re making Will’s decisions for him now.”

Peter gave a bitter laugh. “The day I make more than the most cursory decisions for Will is the day pandas dance down the Bund in leather chaps.”

“He owes me one.”

“You’re not serious, Darcy?”

Darcy shifted in her

seat at the anger in Peter’s tone. “I am. He turned my life into a circus.”

“You mean your boosted public profile, your enhanced ratings and the inconvenience of losing your privacy?”

Her hands stilled. She was alone, but she picked up the receiver. She’d heard Peter sound like this, sound like Will—hard and uncompromising—twice before. Both times he was protecting Will. Something was wrong.

“You’re right, but—”

“I never thought I’d have to remind you that when you interfered with Will’s privacy he lost his liberty and almost his life.”

“Peter.”

“Kind of a bigger deal than being asked for your autograph one time too often. So, am I being protective of Will? Too right. Do I want you to stay the hell away from him? You bet I do.”

Darcy sighed. It started in her toes. By the time it reached her lips she felt nauseous. “Peter, I’m very fond of Will. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, you know that. But I need to talk to him. Tell me why I can’t do that.”

Peter breathed heavily down the line. Darcy bit her tongue to stop from jumping into the conversation. She needed to give him time to answer. She picked up a pen and doodled on the pad in front of her, a couple of lines that turned into a tree.

“I don’t know where he is.” Peter sounded agonised. “Oh, he checks in once a day, reliable as religion, cheerful as sunshine. Says he’ll be back when he’s finished doing what he needs to do.”

“Do you know what that is?” She put squiggles for birds in the tree.

“I have no fucking clue. You have to understand, Will was always my North Star. I always knew where I was in the world by where Will was, or where he told me to be.” Peter grunted in annoyance. “I’m making myself sound rudderless. That’s not what I mean, but you don’t know what it was like for me as a kid, and what Will did for me.”

“He told me he put you in hospital over jigging school.” She grounded the tree in wavy lines to represent earth.

“He told you that?” Peter sounded embarrassed. “He didn’t mean to hurt me. And he never did again. He was right. I should’ve been at school. He’s always been right and always been where I could find him. This whole year, it’s been rough on me too.”

Now she drew a square, added a triangle on top. She looked down at the pad.