Sam blinked. Shafts of sunlight peeked between the city buildings, filtering through the blinds into the bedroom. She could hear Hal breathing in a steady rhythm behind her, feel his hand resting on her hip, his leg nestled against hers. She sighed. She had slept so deeply, she couldn’t even remember dreaming.
Morning had arrived with undue haste. Morning meant they were going to have to face each other. Say something. Sam shivered. The last time she had found herself naked in a man’s bed, she had fled the scene. But she didn’t want to this time. She wanted so much more, and that frightened the life out of her.
She knew this would happen. She knew if she allowed herself to feel anything, it was going to be too much. She started to bite on the edge of her thumb. God, she was so naïve. They had sex, so what? Sex was a physical drive. People did it all the time without making such a big deal about it. Grow up, Samantha, welcome to the real world.
But then she remembered the things Hal said, the way he kissed her. It was so . . . intimate. Not because they were naked, not because of the sex, but because of what was in his eyes when he looked at her.
The phone suddenly rang into the silence. Sam nearly cleared the bed, she jumped with such force.
Hal stirred, snuggling closer. ‘Let the machine get it,’ he murmured, half asleep.
Sam listened to Hal’s brief recorded announcement. ‘Can’t come to the phone right now. Talk to the machine, I’ll get back to you.’
Then a woman’s voice came on the line.
‘Janet Murphy calling, Mr Buchanan. Just confirming your travel arrangements. You are booked onto Qantas flight QF 41, departing Monday the eighth of December at eleven a.m., one way, direct to New York. Sydney airport recommends you arrive at the terminal . . .’
Sam wasn’t listening any more. She wasn’t breathing either. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. She felt Hal’s hand on her back.
‘Sam,’ he said. ‘I was going to tell you.’
She stood up, dragging the sheet with her. ‘I really have to get going, I’ve got a ton of things to do today,’ she said, trying to wrap the sheet around herself as she reefed it from the bed. It looked a lot easier when they did this in the movies.
‘Sam, wait a second,’ Hal said, grabbing at the quilt to cover himself as the sheet slid away. ‘Let me explain.’
She walked with some difficulty around the end of the bed, dragging the metres of sheeting, before tripping and falling onto her knees.
‘Are you alright?’
She popped up again. ‘I’m okay.’ She bunched the sheet up around her and headed for the bathroom.
‘Sam, wait,’ Hal was sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Talk to me.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about, Hal. You’re going home, I’ve got stuff to do. Life goes on. Let’s be grown-ups about this,’ she finished, walking into the bathroom and locking the door. She turned around and saw herself in the mirror. She collapsed back against the door, sliding down, her face crumpling as tears rose into her throat. She was such a fool.
She jumped as a knock sounded on the door above her.
‘Sam?’
She buried her face into the sheet, stifling her tears.
‘Sam?’
She took a couple of breaths. ‘I’ll be out in a minute,’ she called, hoping her voice didn’t give her away.
Sam hauled herself up and unravelled the sheet, letting it drop to the floor. She splashed cold water on her face, staring at her reflection in the mirror, the hurt in her brown eyes. She slipped her shirt off the rail. It had dried overnight. Bugger, her underwear was still out there. Bad luck. She wasn’t going out again till she was fully clothed. She buttoned up her shirt and pulled on jeans that were still damp, all the more uncomfortable with no underwear, but she’d put up with it until she got home.
Sam bundled up the sheet, took a deep breath and opened the door. Hal was dressed, pacing outside, his hands thrust in his pockets. He stopped when she appeared.
‘Sam, I’m not letting you leave until you give me a chance to explain.’
‘Sure,’ she said briskly, tossing the sheet onto the bed. She spied her bra on the floor and bent to pick it up, stuffing it into her bag. Now, where were her underpants? She got down on her knees.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Getting my things,’ she replied, feeling under the bed.
He knelt down on the floor and took hold of her arm, pulling her upright so she had to face him. ‘Will you listen to me, please?’ He looked frustrated.
She watched him, waiting.
‘Sam, I’m not going home for good. The company called me back to fix a glitch in the system. It’s my system. I’m the only one who can do it. I’ll be back in a few weeks.’
For a moment Sam felt like throwing her arms around him and holding him tight. But something didn’t sound right. She had to stay in control.
‘That’s fine Hal, you do what you have to do. I’ll see you in a few weeks, we’ll get together then.’
She stood up and walked out into the living room, rummaging in her bag for her mobile. She found it and tried to turn it on. Damn.
Suddenly Hal grabbed her arm from behind and swung her around. He was past frustrated. He looked upset, even angry.
‘Sam, what’s this bullshit? Why are you doing this?’
‘Doing what?’
‘Acting like it was nothing last night, like it was just casual sex. Didn’t it mean anything to you?’
She sighed. ‘I can’t allow it to mean anything, Hal.’
‘Why not?’
And then she knew. ‘You said you were going home.’
‘I told you, it’s only for a few weeks.’
‘This time. But there’ll be a next time. And there’ll be a time when you don’t come back.’
‘How do you know that? I don’t even know that.’
‘You called it home.’
He looked blankly at her. ‘It’s just an expression, Sam.’
But he’d given it away. He didn’t know when the day would come that he would go home, but it would come. And Sam didn’t want to be the one left behind again.
‘My phone’s gone flat,’ she said finally. ‘I really do have to go.’
His arms dropped from her shoulders and she walked away from him to the front door. He didn’t move. He didn’t say anything as she left the apartment.
As soon as the lift doors closed, Sam started to tremble. She leaned heavily against the wall of the elevator, but it only took a moment to arrive at the ground floor. She walked out onto the street. At least it wasn’t raining today. Sam hesitated. She didn’t have a clue where she’d parked the car. All she remembered was that it had taken her probably ten minutes to walk to the apartment building. And most of that had been uphill. She looked down the street uncertainly, before glancing back into the foyer. Hal hadn’t followed her. Of course not. He couldn’t argue with what she had said. She sniffed back tears and started down the street.
More than an hour later Sam arrived home. It had taken her most of that time to find the car. She’d started to panic, but had calmed herself down again, mentally cordoning off a few blocks at a time and covering them methodically.
She was close to tears when she walked inside the house. She noticed the light on the answering machine flashing, no surprise, but first she had to get out of these clothes. The day had turned steamy and Sam had never felt so uncomfortable, trudging the streets with no underwear, her damp jeans chafing her bare skin. She shed them on her way down the hall into the bathroom. Standing under a cool shower, she let the water wash over her until she felt cold, until any threat of further tears was extinguished. She wasn’t going to cry any more. She was going to stop feeling sorry for herself, be an adult and get on with her life.
Sam wrapped her hair in a towel and dressed in the softest T-shirt and old shorts she could find. She was ready to face the answering machine.
She listened to an irate message from Patricia Bowen, followed by another one. Then one from Sheila. Then one from Max. She sounded worried. Then another one from Sheila. One from Rosemary. Another from Patricia Bowen and yet another from Sheila. Sam sighed wearily. Sheila was not happy. She supposed she’d better deal with her first. She picked up the phone and dialled.
‘Hello Sheila, it’s Samantha Holmes,’ she said when Sheila answered.
‘Samantha,’ she said, sounding like a disapproving school principal. ‘I have been calling since yesterday evening. Where have you been?’
It was within her rights to say ‘none of your business’, but she did owe her some kind of explanation.
‘I’m sorry, Sheila, I’ve been absolutely swamped.’
‘Well, I have had Patricia Bowen on the phone to me half a dozen times claiming you’ve let her down, that you were supposed to deal with something important for her yesterday.’
‘Unfortunately an emergency came up.’
‘She said something about that. And I know your time is your own to organise, Samantha, but if you have made arrangements with a client –’
‘It was for another client,’ Sam interrupted. ‘I had to make a judgement call.’
‘I see. Who was the other client?’
‘Vanessa Blair.’
‘Oh yes, there was a message from Mr Blair yesterday. I didn’t have the chance to get back to him with everything going on.’
‘Well, he would have been calling you because he wants to terminate my services.’
‘Pardon?’
‘There was a crisis with his wife yesterday. He didn’t appreciate . . . my involvement.’
‘It’s not your place to step in between a couple, Samantha. That’s not your role.’
‘Well sometimes it’s hard for me to figure out just what my role is, Sheila.’ Sam felt as though a tightly strung cord inside her, which had somehow been holding her together, had just snapped. ‘Is it my role to run around after Mrs Bowen listening to her incessant, trivial complaints while she changes her mind every hour, on the hour, and blames everyone around her because they should know what she wants before she does, but she doesn’t even know what she wants, so how can anyone else have a hope of knowing?’ Sam took a breath, but she was on a roll. ‘Or is it to book a termination clinic at Dominic Blair’s request because he wants to end his wife’s pregnancy, despite the fact that she doesn’t? Or is it to take Vanessa Blair to the hospital when she loses the baby in question? Or is it to listen to Dominic telling me he’s got a meeting and won’t be able to get to the hospital? That it’s for the best that Vanessa lost the baby, and not to worry about her, she’ll get over it?’ Sam’s tone had become progressively louder till she was almost shouting.
‘Take the weekend off,’ Sheila said quietly. ‘Don’t call Mrs Bowen, I’ll handle her. And come into the office on Monday, we need to have a chat.’