Chapter 8

‘HAS ANYONE SEEN Michael?’ Jodi said, putting her head round the door of the meeting room where four out of the seven McCann Walsh agents were seated around the conference table, with Sandy at the far end ready to take the minutes.

‘We should be asking you that question,’ Zelda responded, looking at her watch. ‘Did you call his home?’

‘About fifty times,’ Jodi answered, avoiding Sandy’s eyes as Sandy stared across the room at her. ‘His mobile’s not on either and I’ve got Grungehart, or whatever his name is, on the line from Budapest. The man’s doing his nut.’

‘What’s the problem?’ Zelda asked, letting her half-spectacles slide down her nose as she looked at Jodi.

‘He says about six East European publishers are ready to do a deal on the Crazy Cult books, but he can’t finalize until he clears the figures with Michael.’

Zelda glanced over at Craig who was engrossed in the latest edition of Variety. ‘Did you hear that, duckie?’ she said.

‘What?’ he asked, as Diana nudged him.

Zelda repeated what Jodi had said. ‘So I thought,’ she continued, ‘as you claim to be our literary lunch ticket, that perhaps you might like to take the call.’

‘Where’s Michael?’ he asked.

‘Temporarily misplaced.’

‘I handled the TV series,’ Craig said. ‘Michael’s been dealing with the books.’

Zelda swivelled her chair back towards Jodi and peeled her spectacles from behind her ears. ‘Tell Grungehart, or whatever his name is,’ she said, ‘to add a third to the offer, then do the best he can and sign.’

‘Do I tell him the instruction came from you or Michael?’ Jodi asked, tucking her hair behind one ear as she noticed Harry looking her way.

Zelda rotated her head slowly in Harry’s direction, then, having got the measure of the subtext, said, ‘From me. Any word from Janey, before you go?’

‘Not that I know of,’ Jodi responded, with a quick last glance at Harry.

‘Was Michael at the Westlake party last night?’ Diana asked of no one in particular.

‘Didn’t see him,’ Craig answered.

‘He was going to Clinton Day’s preview, the last I heard,’ Harry chipped in. ‘Now, do you want to hear the rest of this joke, or don’t you?’

‘We’ve already heard it,’ Zelda responded. ‘Now, why don’t we get this meeting under way? Michael and Janey can pick up when they get here. Sandy, you’re taking the minutes?’

Sandy nodded and put a hand on the tape recorder ready to start it. She came to all the meetings now, not only to record what was said, but, because of the many extra duties she’d taken on of late, to contribute too.

This morning her sleek blonde hair was softly brushed into place behind her ears, with a full sweep across her forehead. Her shiny turquoise eyes were carefully circled in kohl and highlighted with a light Chanel shadow, her narrow cheeks were widened with blusher and her lips were darkly outlined with a fine bronze pencil. Her ear-rings and necklace were a matching Butler and Wilson set, and her Moschino tight-fitting black velvet suit contrived to be as sexy as it was businesslike. Beneath the table her slender, seam-stockinged legs were crossed at the ankles; beneath her impassive façade her heart was twisting with nerves. Michael had to come in today, he just had to. She’d gone to so much trouble to select her wardrobe and rehearse what she was going to say when he promoted her that she just couldn’t bear it if it didn’t happen now.

As the meeting got underway she returned her fingers to the keyboard of her lap-top, keeping her eyes lowered as the dread that he had overslept with a woman started wrenching at her heart. She swallowed hard and gazed blindly down at her crimson nails, thinking of all the things Nesta had said the night before. But then she forced herself past Nesta’s warnings and thought instead of what he had said yesterday about kissing her. Slowly the warmth of hope stole back into her heart.

‘Did Frank Rotter get back to you about the Christmas episodes of that terrible game show, whatever it’s called, Sandy?’ Zelda asked as the door opened and Janey McIntyre let herself apologetically into the room.

Sandy smiled as Janey edged past the others and laughed at their teasing. She hated Janey with a passion, for at five foot eleven she was at least seven inches taller than Sandy, and was so damned sexy and gorgeous it made Sandy want to puke. The woman had barely turned thirty and already she’d had three successful careers, as a photographic model, an actress and now as an agent. Her relationship with Bobby Mack, the musician, was supposed to be great, but if that were true then why did she flirt with Michael the way she did? And where had she been until now? Sandy’s heart lurched violenty with the sudden fear that she might have been with Michael. It was bad enough that he’d had seven dates with the actress Fiona Atkins, but were he to break his own rule of no office relationships with Janey, rather than with her, then Sandy didn’t even want to think about what she would do.

‘Sandy?’ Zelda prompted, as Janey sat down in an empty chair and started to unpack her briefcase.

Sandy looked at Zelda. ‘You mean Hazard?’ she said. ‘They’re shooting fifteen episodes a week throughout November. I just need a list from everyone of the celebrities you’ve got who’ll be willing to do it.’ She glanced down at the pad beside her computer. ‘They’re paying two hundred and fifty an episode,’ she said. ‘No cars, no expenses, but make-up will be provided.’

‘Craig, did Bertie tell you that George Gordon is interested in directing the McInerny script?’ Diana said, noting down what Sandy had said and moving on.

‘Yeah,’ Craig answered. ‘That’s great news. I didn’t think he was free.’

‘If the BBC will agree to move it forward a month he will be,’ Diana told him. ‘Do you think there’s a chance?’

‘Talk to Michael,’ he said. ‘He’s the only one who can move mountains around here. Do you think he’s going to put in an appearance today? I need his thoughts on the rewrites Jill Allinson’s just submitted.’ He looked at Sandy and winked. ‘I’ll get you a copy,’ he told her.

‘Thanks,’ Sandy smiled. ‘I spoke to Jill yesterday, by the way. She’s telling everyone that the rewrites are mostly down to you and that you’re in the wrong job.’

Craig laughed, though he was obviously pleased by the compliment and Sandy knew that it would never even occur to him that she had just made it up.

‘Uh, Sandy,’ Janey said, slipping on a pair of Dior-framed glasses as she scanned the notes in front of her, ‘I just popped in on the EastEnders set, and Theo Jacks asked me to pass on his thanks.’ She looked up at Sandy and treated her to a dazzling smile. ‘I didn’t even know he was up for the part,’ she said, ‘so thanks from me too. When did you hear about it?’

‘Two or three days ago,’ Sandy answered. ‘I just happened to be speaking to one of their casting people and she asked me if I had any news on Theo. She said a script had been sent over, marked for your attention, and the part was his if he wanted it and she was surprised no one had got back to her. It’s only a couple of episodes I think, isn’t it?’

Janey nodded. ‘But he would have missed them if you hadn’t been on the ball,’ she said. ‘I can’t think what I must have done with that script. I don’t even remember seeing it.’

Sandy shook her head. ‘Me neither,’ she said. ‘But I got them to bike a copy straight to Theo, that way there was no more time wasted. The contract’s on its way, apparently.’

‘Well, thanks again,’ Janey said. ‘Further proof, I think, that I need to find myself an assistant.’

‘Speaking of the BBC and contracts,’ Freda, the contracts manager, piped up, ‘I’ve found a problem with the royalty clause on Gillian Peachey’s renewal. She’s yours, isn’t she, Diana? I’ll speak to you about it after.’

‘Next item,’ Harry declared. ‘The Cannes Film Festival. Seb Johnson’s offering us his house for the duration, but he needs an answer by the end of next week. So anyone who needs to go should speak to my personal Rottweiler, Thea. Apparently, Just Waiting is being nominated so …’ He stopped as the door opened and Michael walked in.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, kicking the door to behind him. ‘My mother arrived with breakfast and I don’t have to tell you what she’s like when her mind’s made up.’

‘Clodagh, God bless her,’ Craig responded in an Irish accent.

Laughing and ruffling Craig’s shock of fair hair as he passed, Michael edged his way round the room to the only empty chair left and sat down next to Sandy. He was wearing a dark Armani suit, white shirt and an unknotted burgundy tie. The gold watch he always wore hung loosely over the back of his hand, the keys to his Mercedes jangled as they hit the table in front of him.

‘So where were we?’ he asked, opening his briefcase and taking out a wad of papers.

Sandy rewound the tape and played back the meeting so far. It was amazing, she was thinking, how different the room suddenly felt now he was in it. It was as though the ubiquitous humour in his deep-blue eyes had brought a new light into their surroundings, upping the mood, increasing the pace and relaxing any hidden tensions.

Sensing her eyes on him, he glanced briefly in her direction. She smiled politely, then returned her gaze to the tape.

‘OK,’ he said when it had finished. He was scanning the documents in front of him. ‘Janey, speak to me after about an assistant and Freda, have the Peachey contract on my desk by the end of the day. Now, Dan’s just given me the figures for the second half of last year and you’ll all be happy to hear next year’s Christmas bonus is already looking safe. We’re getting a touch heavy on the entertaining, though, so try to keep it down folks, eh? One bottle of champagne instead of two maybe; Joe Allen’s occasionally, instead of the Ivy. Reece Hawthorne called me this morning,’ he said, looking over at Craig. ‘He read your guy’s script, remind me of the name?’

‘It’s a woman,’ Craig answered with a quick glance at Sandy. This was a script they’d done a lot of work on together. ‘Molly Footman.’

‘That’s her. Hawthorne’s interested to meet her. He’s expecting your call to set up a time.’

Sandy was smiling as she looked at Craig. His pleasure, on behalf of his client, was both genuine and touching. And why shouldn’t he feel proud? Reece Hawthorne was one of the country’s leading film directors and one of the exclusive names whom Michael handled personally. And knowing Craig as well as she did now, Sandy was sure he would tell Michael how much she had contributed to the script. At least Craig thought she had, but all she’d done really was listen to his ideas, then field them back to him as though they were hers. It was a technique that was proving almost as effective as the system she had developed for rescuing situations that no one ever seemed to suspect she had created herself. In fact, some of them didn’t even exist, but they were still just as successful in bringing her to the attention of the actors, or putting agents in her debt.

‘Chantal Debussy’s coming over from Paris next week,’ Michael continued. ‘She’s sending a pile of the Cherchez la femme scripts over by courier …’

‘They arrived this morning,’ Zelda told him.

He nodded. ‘OK. The producers and a couple of the directors are coming with Chantal for the British casting. We need to be lined up ready for auditions by next Tuesday. Sandy, you’re co-ordinating it for us?’

‘Yes,’ Sandy answered. He was still looking at the notes in front of him, he could have spoken to anyone, but she understood that he would never flirt with her during a meeting like this.

‘This is a twenty-six-part series,’ he went on, sounding surprised. ‘Did you know that?’ he asked, looking up at Zelda.

‘I knew there was talk of it,’ she answered. ‘Lysette Hopkins is interested in playing the mother, by the way.’

Michael pulled a face. ‘They don’t have that kind of budget,’ he said. ‘But talk to Chantal, maybe they can come to an agreement. Harry, did you get anywhere with Pete Dawes?’ He looked up as the door opened and Jodi came in with his coffee.

‘There’s a call for you,’ she said, as she set the cup down next to him. ‘Do you want to take it in your office?’

Michael looked at her quizzically. He didn’t normally take calls when he was in a meeting. Jodi stared back and a flash of impatience crossed Michael’s face as her silence gave him a clue who was on the line. ‘Tell them I’ll get back to them,’ he said tersely and returned his attention to Harry.

‘They said to tell you it was urgent,’ Jodi persisted.

Janey was laughing. ‘Very discreet,’ she told Jodi, ‘but we’re none of us fooled, honey. Michael, there’s a woman on the line for you and it seems like she’s pretty desperate, so do the decent thing for once in your life and go put her out of her misery.’

Sandy looked at her and hated her more than ever.

Michael was laughing. ‘Wrong,’ he told her. ‘It’s someone from Esquire who, while inspired by the benevolence of bourbon at some party last week, I half-promised to give an interview to.’

Now everyone was laughing as they all knew how much Michael hated publicity and how often he managed to get himself into these situations.

‘The guy’s obviously on some kind of deadline, if he’s saying it’s urgent,’ Craig decided. ‘So give him a break. Give him his interview.’

‘I might if it were me he was interested in,’ Michael protested.

Zelda chuckled. ‘Fiona upstaging you, is she?’ she said. Michael’s eyebrows went up in a way that made them all laugh again.

‘So, is it serious between you two?’ Harry asked.

Sandy’s tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth as her insides turned hot.

‘Zelda would never forgive me,’ Michael responded.

‘Clodagh would,’ Zelda said with a grin.

‘Michael, what are you going to do about this interview?’ Jodi persisted.

‘Tell him to call me mother,’ Michael replied, in a broad Irish accent. ‘She’ll be happy to talk, so she will. She’s an expert at it.’

Laughing and shaking her head in exasperation, Jodi left the room.

‘Where were we?’ Michael said, looking around for enlightenment.

‘I think you were about to ask if I’d got anywhere with Pete Dawes,’ Harry reminded him.

The meeting rumbled on for the rest of the morning, with items of business being tossed randomly into the arena, while the rain outside drizzled down the windows. It wasn’t until everyone was getting up to leave that Michael addressed Sandy again.

‘We have a meeting scheduled for now, don’t we?’ he said. Sandy’s heart skipped and she kept her eyes lowered, not wanting anyone to see her reaction. ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Shall I come straight in?’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Give me half an hour,’ he said, ‘I should have cleared the more urgent calls by then.’

It was right on the tip of Sandy’s tongue to suggest lunch, but she didn’t quite have the nerve. She wasn’t in that kind of position yet. Besides, he was bound to have a prior engagement, and even if he didn’t she couldn’t bear the idea of him turning her down in front of other people. Not only that, there was a chance she was jumping to conclusions about the promotion and her heart started to thud with unease as she thought of what else it could be. But surely he couldn’t have found out about the conversations she’d had with some of the actors and writers out of the office. And even if he had, they could hardly be considered her fault. She never instigated them and what was she to do when there was nothing an artiste loved more than to bitch about his or her agent?

Walking into the ladies, she let the door swing to behind her and stood staring at herself in the full-length mirror. She looked good, and taking a deep breath she held it and waited for the fear and nerves to drain out of her. In half an hour she was going to go in there, smart and confident and ready to take on whatever challenge he threw her way. And after that … Her eyes closed as she allowed herself to dream of the day when he would realize that the real great love of his life wasn’t doing noble and dangerous things in far flung places of the world, but was sitting right here, under his very nose.

Michael had just finished his fourth call of the morning when Jodi’s voice came back on the intercom. ‘The High Fliers production office on line one,’ she told him. ‘Surprise on line two. And Sandy’s still waiting.’

‘What kind of surprise?’ he said dubiously, while scanning a billings sheet and picking up a stale cup of coffee.

‘Live dangerously,’ she responded and promptly put the call through.

‘Hello? Michael? Are you there?’

The voice was faint, but not to the point that Michael didn’t know instantly who it was and snatching up the receiver, he pressed it firmly to his ear. ‘Hey! Cavan!’ he cried down the line to his younger brother. ‘We were about to book the memorial.’

Cavan laughed. ‘It’s good to hear your voice,’ he said. ‘How’s Ma?’

‘Knitting – and dying to hear from her favourite son.’

‘Knitting? Is our Colleen preggers again?’

‘Cavan, it’s due in a couple of weeks so don’t for Christ’s sake let on you forgot. Where are you?’

‘Manaus.’

Michael’s brow creased as he did a rapid tour of the world. ‘Manaus, Brazil?’ he said.

Cavan laughed. ‘Is there anywhere on this godforsaken planet you’ve never heard of?’ he said.

‘Manaus is famous,’ Michael responded. ‘The Paris of the Tropics. So what are you doing there? How did you get there?’

‘We sailed along the Amazon. You’ve got to do this trip, Michael, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen in your life. We got into Manaus a couple of days ago, but we’ve only just left the ship.’

‘We? Ship? What happened to the Lazy Lou?’

‘I left her in Tortola.’

‘So what are you doing in Brazil, oh Cabral of the great discoveries?’

‘Rescuing Indians.’

‘Indians? Last time it was otters.’

‘Seals.’

‘How much are the Indians going to cost?’

‘A question for your conscience.’

‘I’ll give you five hundred, and I want my name on the title deeds to a rain forest. It’s tax deductible. Where does the ship come into it?’

‘It’s a cruise ship. I worked my passage here.’

‘You’re earning money?’ Michael cried in amazement. ‘Do you know what to do with it?’

‘Sure, I drink it. I miss you.’

‘We all miss you. Can you get back for your birthday? It would make Clodagh happy.’

‘I’m aiming for it,’ Cavan answered. ‘I should be heading down to Rio in a couple of weeks. They’ve found a wreck, sixty miles or so off the coast. The experts are going down some time next week, but word is it dates back to the seventeenth century.’

‘I thought you were rescuing Indians, now you’re dredging up Conquistadors.’

‘It’s a busy life, Michael,’ Cavan answered, the grin audible in his voice. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to go. Send Clodagh my love. Tell her I’ll call at the weekend if I can. And thanks for the donation. I’ve already given Jodi the address to send it to.’

‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me,’ Michael said drolly. ‘Take care of yourself. Até a vista.’

As the line went dead, Michael was smiling and shaking his head in exasperation. They were a close family by any standards, but Cavan held an extra-special place in all their hearts, possibly because he was so much younger than Michael and Colleen, but more probably because there was nothing about Cavan, from the top of his shambolic head to the soles of his oversized feet, that it was possible not to love.

The lad was going to be twenty-three in less than six weeks; it was hard to believe how fast the years had gone. Harder still, Michael found, was convincing himself that Cavan was old enough to take care of himself now, even if he did need a little financial back-up here and there. Actually, it wasn’t Cavan who needed the back-up, it was Cavan’s causes, as the fertile nature of his concerns was only matched by the cavernous hole in his coffers. Michael tried to imagine Cavan sitting behind a desk and almost laughed out loud. Since dropping out of university three years before, Cavan had either driven, walked, cycled, but more often than not sailed the globe in search of adventure. And he had found plenty, that was for sure. The Lazy Lou, a ten-year-old, thirty-foot catamaran, had been a gift from Michael in an effort to provide his wayward brother with something akin to a home. What it had also provided was an escape for the brothers as often as Michael could make it, when they would fish, or dive, or simply sail aimlessly off towards the horizon in pursuit of nothing more than each other’s company.

‘Michael?’ Jodi’s voice came over the intercom. ‘The guy from Esquire is on the line again, what do you want me to tell him?’

Michael thought for a moment. ‘Tell him how Zelda helps me deal with my Oedipus fixation, then call Hello and tell them to be there to curse the wedding.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Not really. Tell him I’ll stick to the agreement if I get copy approval. If he goes for it I’ll call him around four this afternoon.’

‘OK. Sandy’s wondering when she should come in?’

Michael’s spirits instantly sank. ‘Is she there?’ he said.

‘She’s just popped to the loo.’

He thought for a moment, then, realizing it wasn’t fair to put it off any longer he said, ‘Send her in when she gets back. Meantime, get on to Interflora and have them deliver some flowers to Fiona. She’s at rehearsals today, in Kensington. Make it a big bunch, I’ve got some making up to do.’

‘And that’s all you’re giving her, flowers?’ Jodi cried in feminine disgust.

Michael was stymied for a moment, then, with a wicked twinkle in his eyes he said, ‘If I told you what else I had in mind, Jodi, they’d take us off the air. So you just see to the flowers, OK, and leave the rest to me.’

‘Over and out,’ she responded.

Michael was still smiling when Sandy came in a few minutes later, which was lucky, for there was something about Sandy Paull that made him want to do anything but smile.

‘Hi,’ she said, closing the door behind her. ‘Oops!’ she laughed as a sheaf of papers cascaded from a file she was carrying to the floor.

Despite his antipathy, Michael couldn’t stop himself looking at her shapely rear as she bent to retrieve the papers. He wondered if she’d dropped them on purpose but decided not to pursue that, for he had no desire to go where it would inevitably lead.

‘Sorry,’ she said, straightening up and smiling straight into his eyes. ‘I’m a real butter-fingers.’

Slightly disconcerted by the directness of her stare, Michael shifted in his seat and tried not to notice the swell of her breasts as she came towards him. He was sure they hadn’t been so noticeable during the meeting, or maybe more buttons than she realized had popped open on her jacket. Whatever, for such a small and compact woman, there were times when she had a way of displaying herself that made her about as easy to ignore as a Playboy centrefold.

‘I thought I’d take this opportunity,’ she said, putting the file on his desk and spinning it round for him to see, ‘to give you what I have so far on the Cherchez auditions.’ As she leaned forward he received a generous view of a soft and pliable breast cradled by a black lace bra.

He lowered his eyes quickly, but knew she had seen him looking. ‘I’ll go over it later,’ he said, closing the file and sliding it to one side. ‘For the moment there’s something else I need to discuss with you.’ He gestured towards the chair she was standing next to. ‘Please sit down,’ he said.

Sandy smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But I was wondering,’ her voice faltered for a moment and a faint colour rose in her cheeks. ‘Uh, as it’s twelve thirty already, maybe you’d like to talk over lunch. My treat,’ she added with a self-conscious laugh.

Despite his efforts to appear friendly, Michael felt his jaw tighten. ‘Thank you,’ he said politely, ‘but I already have a lunch date.’

Though her smile remained, he saw the warmth seep from it and half expected to see her thick, glossy pink lipstick start to run.

‘I was talking to Fiona Atkins yesterday,’ he said, as she sat down.

The pause in her movement was barely perceptible, but it was enough to tell him that, despite the innocent curiosity on her face, she knew exactly what he was coming to.

‘She was extremely upset,’ he continued.

Sandy’s expression flooded with concern. ‘Oh?’ she said, putting her head to one side. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Nothing serious, I hope.’

Michael took a breath. ‘She was upset for several reasons,’ he said, ‘the first being the way you had spoken to her on the phone when she called on Tuesday.’

Sandy’s eyes widened and a small ringed hand moved to her cleavage. ‘Whatever I said, I’m sorry,’ she told him earnestly. ‘But I think she must have misunderstood, because I’d never say anything to upset her. At least, not intentionally.’

‘She claims you were rude when she asked you to give me a message.’

Sandy frowned. ‘What message?’ she said.

‘That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,’ he replied, admiring her performance as much as he abhorred it. ‘She claims you told her that I’d asked not to be interrupted, which I know was true, and you’d pass her message on if I wasn’t too busy later.’ He rested his chin on his bunched hands. ‘Do you have the message?’ he asked.

Sandy was looking perplexed. ‘But she didn’t leave a message,’ she replied. ‘All she said was to tell you she’d called, which I would have done if you hadn’t already gone by the time I came in to tell you.’

Michael’s bottom lip jutted forward. ‘She says there was a message, a very specific one, in fact.’ His manner was mild, but underneath he was seething. ‘Is she lying?’ he asked.

Sandy’s wide eyes moved around the room, as though hunting out a response. Then, with a small, uncomfortable laugh she said, ‘Look, I know Fiona is a close friend of yours, so I’m in a very awkward position now, aren’t I? I mean, on the one hand I don’t want to call her a liar, but on the other I don’t want to own up to not passing on a message I know nothing about.’

To his surprise, Michael felt suddenly sorry for her, though was at a loss to say why. The moment was only fleeting. ‘You’re aware, I’m sure,’ he said, ‘of how much trust I put in you because of how closely you work with Jodi. And I’m afraid, Sandy, that this isn’t the first time a friend of mine has complained about your telephone manner, which is leading me to wonder how many other messages haven’t got through. In Fiona’s case she was left sitting in a restaurant for an hour and a half waiting for me to turn up, which of course I failed to do.’

He could see the heat colouring her cheeks as a convincing blend of hurt and confusion clouded her eyes. ‘So you’re calling me a liar?’ she said, swallowing.

Michael sighed. ‘What I’m calling you is stupid for thinking you could get away with it,’ he said. ‘So in future maybe you’ll make sure that all messages are on my desk by the end of the day at the latest, and when we’ve finished here I’d appreciate it if you called Fiona yourself and apologized for the misunderstanding.’

‘But …’

‘Is that clear?’ he barked.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘But she didn’t leave a message. At least not with me.’

For a moment he was sorely tempted to let rip, for getting angry with Sandy Paull held the promise of an extremely pleasurable experience. It was only when he realized how deeply he wanted to let go, how tempting, almost irresistible, the prospect of hurting and humiliating her suddenly was, that he firmly reined in his control.

‘Let’s leave it there,’ he said, picking up his cold coffee as though it were a barrier he could put between them. Then, making a supreme effort to lighten his mood he said, ‘I imagine you probably know how many people have been in here banging the drum for you, so I’ll spare your blushes and tell you that I’m prepared to let you take over as Diana’s assistant until Marlene comes back after the baby.’

He watched her as she struggled to deal with the sudden move from misery to euphoria and felt rotten, for he’d known he would ruin her moment by bringing up the problem with Fiona first. He wondered if that was why he had done it, to get some kind of sadistic revenge in wrong-footing her the way her sexuality and shyness wrong-footed him.

‘I’m sorry.’ She laughed. ‘It’s just … Well, I’m sure you know, I’ve been really hoping … I won’t let you down. I swear it.’

He forced a smile. ‘That’s a relief,’ he said, making a joke that didn’t quite come off. ‘I should also tell you,’ he went on, ‘that if Janey’s agreeable, which I know she will be, I’d like you to act as her assistant too. If you think it’s too much to take on …’

‘No!’ Sandy cried. ‘I’d be happy to. I was going to ask, but I didn’t quite know how to.’

Her uncertainty was as plain as her childlike eagerness to please him and, feeling he had been unnecessarily unkind in the way he had treated her, he found himself saying, ‘You should think about building up a list of your own, once you get settled into assisting. Unless, of course, you want to go back to being a clerk at the end of the six months.’

Sandy’s amazement showed. ‘No, of course not,’ she said hurriedly. She looked down at her hands, bunched in her lap, then returned her eyes to his. ‘I really don’t know how to thank you for this,’ she said simply.

Gone was the amateur vamp. In her place was a grateful, pretty young girl who looked more out of her depth than Michael had ever seen her before. ‘Just prove you’re as good as they say you are,’ he responded. ‘And don’t be a stranger in the evenings. The job comes with a great social life, so make sure you take advantage. It’s where most of the business gets done.’

Sandy looked at him. ‘You can count on me,’ she assured him. ‘After work, the thing I love best is to … socialize.’

His expression was unreadable as he looked back at her, but the way she had turned socialize into a euphemism for something else had not passed him by. He wasn’t sure, as he continued to stare, whether he was more repelled by the idea or surprised by her nerve. Her neck, he could see, was blotched with a telltale colour, her breasts were rising and falling like those of a woman about to make love.

‘OK, you can go now,’ he said, picking up his pen. ‘Liaise with Diana and Marlene about a hand-over period and tell Jodi she can get on to an agency for a temp to cover your old job.’

To his relief she went without uttering another word, leaving her expensive scent lingering in the air and the promise of her body clear in his mind. He sat where he was, staring blankly at the script in front of him. His breath felt suddenly short, his throat was tight and the partial erection in his trousers appalled him. This certainly wasn’t the first time he’d felt the urge to screw Sandy Paull, and he could only thank God for how swiftly and easily he managed to suppress it.

Pressing his fingers to his eyes, he took a deep and bewildered breath. He couldn’t remember ever coming across a woman who affected him the way she did. He hoped to God he never let it show, for he despised her almost as much as he desired her. She felt like a sickness, an aberration; it was as though she walked the darker side of his instincts like some kind of she-devil, exposing his weaknesses and mirroring his depravity. Yet there was that other side of her, the one that appeared tender and vulnerable, so easily hurt and bemused by his cruelty. It was a side he tried hard not to see, for in his soul he feared it would be his undoing.

He looked across to the door, half expecting to see her, still standing there like some gaunt and ghostly image of Medusa. Then suddenly Jodi’s voice burst into the office announcing an emergency on the set of Invisible Difference, and Sandy Paull and her almost naked breasts were, for the moment at least, forgotten.