CHAPTER THREE
SAMANTHA paused in the doorway, turning to give a fleeting glance around the huge main living area of her penthouse loft apartment in London.
Her two sisters thought that she was quite mad—particularly the eldest, Edwina, living in cheerful disorder in Gloucestershire with her doctor husband and two noisy, rumbustious young daughters.
However, Samantha had always had an absolute fetish about making sure that her apartment was in pristine, apple-pie order when she left for work in the mornings. Mainly because, when she returned home after a long and exhausting day at the office, she’d found that she needed to relax in a calm, tranquil space which was completely uncluttered.
Now, as always, she got a good deal of satisfaction and enormous pleasure from the sight of the pale oak floorboards and the simply draped, white muslin curtains over the large floor-to-ceiling windows. The current vogue for ‘minimalism’—which seemed to involve having as little furniture as possible, with everything tidied away in vast storage cupboards hidden from view—was her idea of absolute heaven.
‘But it’s so terribly bare!’ her older sister had shrieked in dismay on her first visit to Samantha’s new apartment two years ago.
Shuddering as she’d viewed what seemed blank, empty acres of floor space—broken only by two, huge modern sofas and a deep leather chair, surrounding a long glass and stainless-steel coffee table—Edwina had turned to gaze at her with a worried frown.
‘I simply can’t believe that you really want to live in this great barn of a place? Quite honestly, Sam, it would drive me absolutely up the wall!’
But when Samantha had pointed out to her older sister that this was really what she wanted, Edwina had merely responded with a bewildered shrug of her shoulders. In fact, she had firmly placed the blame for her younger sister’s strange taste in interior decoration on a legacy from their Swedish grandmother.
‘Well, it has to be the answer, Sam. After all, you’re the only one of us who inherited Granny’s dead straight, pale flaxen hair.
‘Yes, I know...’ she’d added impatiently as Samantha had rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. ‘I know you probably only remember Granny as a white-haired old lady. But I’ve seen a photograph of her as a young girl—and it could easily have been a picture of you!
‘And besides,’ Edwina had continued with a laugh, ‘I reckon this place would definitely go down a storm in Gothenburg! However, if it’s what you really want—then I hope you’ll be very happy living here.’
And, indeed, she had been extremely happy, Samantha thought, closing her front door and taking the lift down to the ground floor, where her early morning taxi was waiting to take her to the office.
Traffic congestion in the city of London was now so bad that, as Samantha frequently told her friends, anyone who tried to drive to work clearly needed their head examined. Her apartment was situated in the up-and-coming district of Clerkenwell—only a short distance away from her office near St Paul’s Cathedral. So, it obviously made sense to leave her car safely parked in the underground car park, beneath her apartment, and take taxis to and from the office.
‘G’morning, Miss Thomas,’ her regular taxi driver called out as she climbed into the back of the black cab. ‘I reckon it’s going to be a lovely hot day. In fact, my wife thinks that it’s going to be a real case of flaming June!’
‘You may be right, Joe,’ Samantha murmured, extracting a file from her briefcase.
She generally found that this journey to work was a perfect time to make notes, or jot down any memos concerning the day’s work which lay ahead. But this morning, for some unaccountable reason, she didn’t seem to be able to concentrate on business.
Leaning back on the leather seat, she closed her eyes, trying to ignore the strange nauseous feeling in her stomach.
It was all the fault of that heavy, indigestible meal which she’d had last night, Samantha told herself ruefully. It had proved to be virtually impossible to refuse to eat the dishes, proudly produced by a newly married friend—who obviously needed to take an urgent course in basic, everyday cooking!
All of which clearly explained why she was feeling a bit rough this morning. But goodness—what a contrast to the wonderful food she’d had at the Four Seasons in New York, just six weeks ago.
She could feel a hot, crimson flush sweeping up over her pale cheeks at the memory of that lost weekend. A weekend when, to her astonishment, she’d seemed to completely forget all about plain, ordinary everyday life, and had completely abandoned herself to... to... Samantha paused in her thoughts, hunting for the right word to describe accurately what had happened, before giving a helpless shrug.
Unfortunately, there simply was no word which embodied all the extraordinary feelings and sensations which had so quickly swamped both her mind and body. And, however shocking it might be to admit the fact, there was no doubt that she had totally abandoned herself to the overwhelming power...of lust!
In fact, swiftly losing all track of time and space, she couldn’t remember a time of such intense, magical joy and happiness—all crammed into two short days.
After spending that early Saturday morning making thrilling and exciting love to one other, Samantha would have been quite happy either to sit dozing and reading by the fire, or go for a slow, leisurely walk down Riverside Drive, the broad, shady street outside Matt’s apartment. However, he had planned quite a different, and far more exhausting, itinerary.
‘Come on, lazy bones! Hurry up and get dressed. We’ve got a lot to do—and very little time in which to do it,’ Matt had declared, practically booting her out of bed and into the shower, before transporting her off to Bloomingdale’s massive shoe department.
‘You’re going to be doing a lot of walking. So, buying some flat comfortable shoes has to be the first item on the list,’ he’d announced firmly. And then, after insisting on paying for an expensive pair of Ralph Lauren loafers, he’d instructed his chauffeur to drop them outside an enormous and very grand mansion just off Fifth Avenue.
Leading her up the stone steps towards the arched portico, Matt had explained that the priceless art collection of steel magnate Henry Frick was displayed as if he were still alive and living in his old home, providing a rare glimpse of how the extremely wealthy had lived in New York during the Victorian era.
‘This city isn’t just a mass of business skyscrapers,’ he told her as they had a whistle-stop tour past wonderful paintings by Constable, Turner and Jan Vermeer. ‘New York has a very definite history all of its own, and I want you to see as much of it as possible.’
And he certainly did his best! In fact, by the time he’d given her a lightning tour of the Whitney Museum of American Art, the Guggenheim Museum, the National Academy of Design and Cooper-Hewitt Museum, Samantha was suffering from a bad case of mental indigestion—and very sore feet!
‘I’ve had it!’ she told Matt firmly. ‘Quite honestly, I don’t think I can face seeing another museum. Well, not for the next ten years, anyway,’ she added with a wry laugh. ‘It’s been really great. But now can we please go back to your apartment?’
‘You’ve done rather better than I expected,’ he admitted with a grin. ‘And it might be a good idea to take a breather. Because we’ve got a heavy schedule for the rest of the day.’
Almost groaning out loud at the thought of what might lie ahead, she was pleased to discover that Matt had only been teasing.
Goodness knows how he’d managed to obtain two tickets for La Bohème at the Metropolitan Opera House. But she was thrilled by the performance, and was still wiping a stray tear from her eyes over the tragic death of poor Mimi when she found herself being escorted into the Café Des Artistes.
‘I thought this place might cheer you up,’ he told her as they were led to their table. And, indeed, the boisterous, jolly café with its 1930s murals of frolicking nymphs proved to be an amazingly light-hearted place.
And so it went on. Another night of wonderful lovemaking, followed by yet another walk!
However, strolling through Greenwich Village on a Sunday morning proved to be a far more relaxing experience than the previous day’s frantic dash through New York’s premier museums. Eating sticky pastries at Caffè Vivaldi and viewing a beautiful row of Italianate houses, before ambling slowly through Washington Square, made it a day to remember. And in the evening, after returning home to Matt’s apartment, she was delighted to find that he’d arranged to have a romantic dinner delivered to his door, enabling them to have a last, quiet evening together.
‘It’s been a wonderful two days,’ she told him, slowly putting down her empty coffee cup at the end of the meal. ‘It’s going to be very hard...because...well, there’s no point in pretending that I’m not feeling very, very sad about having to fly back to London tomorrow.’
‘It won’t be for long, darling,’ he said, firmly clasping her hand in his and raising it to his lips. ‘You know I’m crazy about you. So, I’ll be seeing as much of you as I can. As I said yesterday, it only takes four hours to cross the Atlantic Ocean by Concorde. Besides, I’m hoping that it’s going to be a two-way traffic. So, if you should just happen to find you have a free weekend, you can hop on a plane to New York. Which is why,’ he added with a grin, handing her a long white envelope, ‘I thought you might find this useful.’
‘Oh, Matt!’ she exclaimed, gazing down in amazement at a letter from a well-known travel agency, with offices in London and New York, confirming that they would provide an unlimited number of first-class or Concorde airline tickets to Miss Samantha Thomas—for travel on any date during the coming year. ‘I really don’t know what to say!’ She looked at him helplessly. ‘It’s very generous of you. But there was no need...I mean, travelling in that style is so utterly and horrendously expensive, and...’
‘Nonsense!’ Matt waved a dismissive hand. ‘The whole point of the exercise is that I’m determined to have you in my bed—as often as possible!’ He grinned. ‘After all, what’s money for—if not to buy the things that one really wants and desires? And, believe me, my darling,’ he added with a husky laugh, ‘I most definitely want and desire you!
‘Obviously we can’t abandon our own two, individual lives at the drop of a hat,’ he continued. ‘But when I said that, having found each other once again, we can make it work this time—I meant every word. In any case, quite apart from being lovers, we’ve had a lot of fun together. Haven’t we?’
Samantha smiled at him. ‘Yes, you’re quite right. It really has been great fun—even if my feet are still aching from that mad dash around the museums!’
‘There will be problems from time to time, of course,’ he told her with a shrug. ‘Principally because we’re both such busy people—with hectic jobs and often an exhausting schedule of work to get through. But nothing that we can’t handle, right?’
Yes, once again Matt was quite right, Samantha told herself. They’d had a lot of fun together. And, while she realised that, like all good things, it was now coming to an end with her flight back to England tomorrow, she felt comforted by the thought that they would see each other again, very soon. As for her ability to ‘handle’ their semi-detached love affair? All her original fears and trepidation about becoming involved once again with this man seemed quite ridiculous, if not totally absurd.
But now, as the congested traffic brought her taxi to a sudden, juddering halt, Samantha wasn’t quite so sure that she was absolutely, one hundred per cent in charge of her emotions.
Because what had actually happened, following Matt’s avowed intention to see her as often as possible? Nada...zilch...absolutely nothing!
Despite knowing that she was being totally unreasonable, she was becoming increasingly fed up at only receiving tantalising short phone calls, or brief, highly unsatisfactory messages—even if they were attached to large bouquets of flowers—from Matt, who, for the past month, seemed to have been travelling non-stop around the globe. All of which meant that their love affair wasn’t just ‘semidetached’—it was virtually non-existent.
Oh, come on—get a grip! And stop behaving like a neurotic teenager, she told herself roughly, simply not able to understand why she should be suffering from such acute, emotional mood swings as she had during the past week. One moment it seemed as though she was dreaming about their lovemaking—utterly frustrated as she lay alone in her bed, wanting him like crazy. And then, a few moments later, she’d find herself full of doom and gloom, convinced that the whole idea of a love affair with Matt was totally ridiculous—and not even sure that she wanted to see him again.
However, the worrying factor, as far as she was concerned, was the simple fact that she really was spending far too much time thinking about Matthew Warner. Which was damn silly.
Most men of her acquaintance were easily capable of keeping their private and business lives quite separate—mentally closing a door in their mind when they went off to work, and opening it again when they returned home. So, why was she having such a problem? Why did she—who normally had no trouble concentrating on the job in hand—now find her work disturbed by visions of Matt’s dark, handsome face? Or spend time daydreaming about the time they’d spent together in New York, when she should have been fully absorbed by a company balance sheet?
However, if her private life seemed highly unsatisfactory—and her brief affair with Matt almost over before it had ever really begun—she still found her job a particularly busy and fulfilling one. So, clearly it was time that she devoted more attention to the development of her business career.
As if on cue, and just as she had finished giving herself such good, prudent and wise advice, the taxi came to a halt outside a large modern office block.
After entering the building and taking the elevator up to the fourth floor, she was surprised as she walked down the corridor leading to her office to find some of her young business partners huddled in a group, whispering urgently to each other.
‘Hi—what’s up?’ she asked as her assistant, Henry Graham, followed her into her office.
‘Paul Unwin has gone.’
‘What?’ Samantha frowned, spinning around to face him. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
Henry shrugged. ‘Apparently, Paul handed in his notice late on Friday night, after we’d all gone home.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘No.’ Henry shook his head. ‘There’s a strong rumour that he’s been head-hunted to join all those new guys at Paramount Asset Management. But nobody knows for certain.’
‘Good heavens!’
Samantha sank down into the chair behind her desk, stunned by the news of the sudden departure of the head of their department, Paul Unwin. ‘Are you absolutely certain about this?’
‘Well, we haven’t had the “official” news from the powers that be on the top floor,’ Henry told her, with another shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘However, there have already been one or two calls from reporters, asking whether we can confirm the rumours about Paul joining P.A.M. So, I reckon it must be kosher, don’t you?’
‘I suppose so,’ she muttered, still not quite able to believe that her boss had departed, so suddenly, for pastures new.
‘What’s going to happen to the department?’
‘There’s no point in asking me,’ she told him, opening her briefcase and extracting some files, before adding wryly, ‘After all—I only work here. Right?’
Henry waved an elegant, dismissive hand. ‘I meant...who do you think is going to be promoted to Paul’s job?’
‘How the hell would I know?’ Samantha snapped, before taking a deep breath and giving him a slight smile of apology.
‘I’m sorry. I’m just a bit shaken by the news, that’s all. However, as far as Paul’s job is concerned, it’s far too early to think about something like that. In any case,’ she added dismissively, ‘I reckon that they could well bring in somebody from outside.’
‘They might...’ Henry murmured doubtfully. ‘But I reckon it’s a lot more likely that the management will promote someone from within the department. In fact—’ he gave her a wide grin ‘—I reckon I could have some fun running a sweepstake on just who will get the job. What do you think?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Henry!’ Samantha sighed, wondering—not for the first time—what on earth she’d done to deserve being burdened with the Honourable Henry Graham.
The eldest son of an aristocratic father, who also just happened to be one of the directors of Minerva Utilities Management, Henry had a bad track record in the past, as far as gainful employment was concerned. Which was clearly a pity, since at first sight he would appear to have everything going for him.
Approximately her own age, Henry was tall and always extremely well dressed, with dark gold hair brushed back from an extraordinarily handsome face. He possessed great charm, an infectious laugh, and was extremely easygoing. But, oh Lord, was he dim or what? Just about as thick as two planks of wood!
In fact, if there was anything in that handsome head of his—other than an extensive, encyclopaedic knowledge of London high society—Samantha had yet to discover it!
As Henry was the son of one of her firm’s directors, and also appeared regularly in the social columns of the tabloid newspapers, she’d had a good idea of the problems which might lie ahead when she’d been called into the office of her boss, Paul Unwin, six months ago.
‘Oh, no!’ Samantha had groaned, on being informed that Henry Graham had been appointed as her new assistant, and was due to start work the following week.
‘Come on, Paul—give me a break?’ she’d begged. ‘I need someone like Dopey Henry about as much as I need a hole in the head! Can’t you allocate him to someone else?’
‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ he’d shrugged, before explaining that it was the head of the company who had made the decision.
‘Apparently, our chairman thinks that you’re the only one likely to be tough enough to cope with the rich, idle layabout. Which I suppose, when you think about it,’ Paul had added reflectively, ‘is really quite a compliment’
‘Oh, yeah? Well, I’m not exactly thrilled to hear that the chairman views me as a “tough” woman. So, I reckon it’s a compliment I can do without,’ she’d told him with a hollow laugh, before glumly trudging back to her own office.
In fact, rather surprisingly, she and Henry had managed to get on reasonably well. Just as long as she double-checked everything he did—and never made the mistake of expecting him to finish even the smallest job on time—he’d proved to be extremely good company.
An unexpected development had been the fact that, for some strange reason, Henry had also developed a bit of a crush on her.
However, after making it crystal-clear that she never, under any circumstances, mixed business and pleasure, Samantha had to admit that it was very nice to receive so many bouquets of exotic flowers. And she wasn’t averse to accepting his invitations to dine at very glamorous, if hideously expensive restaurants occasionally.
But now, as she handed him a report which she’d prepared over the weekend—asking him to check the figures and let her have it back later on, that afternoon—Samantha knew that she’d be lucky if she saw that piece of paper again before next weekend.
Because, knowing Henry, he’d undoubtedly be spending his time more profitably, and having a lot more fun, by running a sweepstake on who would get her old boss’s job.
And she was absolutely right. Throughout the rest of the week, despite trying to concentrate on the work in hand, she was constantly disturbed by Henry popping into her office and quoting the latest odds on who was likely to get the position.
‘Everyone seems to think that Alistair is going to land the job,’ he’d told her only yesterday, referring to a newly married and slightly older colleague who’d been with the firm for some time.
‘Well...why not? He’d be a good choice,’ she had muttered, far too busy to be bothered with her assistant’s current preoccupation with the betting odds in the office sweepstake.
‘You could be right, I suppose. Unfortunately, Alistair sort of lacks any charisma, if you know what I mean?’
‘Yes, I do happen to know what the word means—which I guess is more than you do!’ she’d retorted. ‘Now, for goodness’ sake, go and get on with some work. Incidentally, have you organised the purchase of those investment bonds yet?’
But it was like talking to a deaf child. Henry clearly wasn’t interested in anything as boring as investment bonds—not when he could spend his time more enjoyably, and with the prospect of making some easy money.
‘Actually,’ he’d said slowly, ‘I reckon the really smart money would go on a bright, long shot—like yourself.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! If you’re as successful at betting as you are at investment, I reckon that you’re going to lose your shirt, Henry,’ she’d retorted crossly. ‘Now, go away. I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense.’
‘Well, I reckon I am going to put my money on you, Sam. Nobody seems to think you’ve got a chance, of course. Which means that if you do get the promotion I’m going to scoop the pool!’
‘OK, Henry—that’s it! It’s time for you to get a life...get lost—and, above all, get the hell out of my office. Right this minute!’ she’d yelled, thoroughly fed up to the back teeth with all his nonsense.
However, she wasn’t an idiot. She was well aware that quite a few of her fellow workers had been manoeuvring, and networking like mad, in the hope of obtaining Paul Unwin’s job.
Well—there you go. That was life in the fast lane, in the City of London, she told herself that evening, feeling tired and weary at the end of a long, hard working day as she let herself into her apartment.
Although she was technically in the running for her old boss’s position, Samantha saw no point in bothering to get involved in any of the ongoing intrigues.
Quite apart from anything else, she was quite certain that the senior directors and chairman of her firm were more than capable of making up their own minds about who should get the job. And to be seen as too ruthlessly ambitious might well prove counter-productive. Besides which, even if she had felt inclined to canvass support for herself, she was actually far too busy to find the time to do so. And if that meant Henry losing his shirt, by placing his money on the wrong horse, that was just his bad luck!
As always, the peace and serenity of her surroundings did much to soothe her tired mind and body. Entering the main room, she automatically checked her telephone answering machine, remembering to set it to audio call-screening—for single ladies, living alone, the most sensible way of not taking unwanted calls—before going through into the kitchen to make herself a cool drink.
After preparing a quick supper, and sitting out up on her roof terrace, enjoying the sight of so many wonderful old buildings spread out in a panorama before her, Samantha suddenly realised that she hadn’t bought a card to accompany her niece’s birthday present. Since she was due to visit her sister’s family in Gloucestershire that weekend, it would be black marks all round if the present—a fluffy white ballet skirt—wasn’t accompanied by a suitable card.
Unfortunately, after hunting in vain through various drawers for a spare birthday card, Samantha drew a blank.
Oh, well—it would be easy enough to buy one tomorrow, in her lunch hour, she was just telling herself as she tidied all the papers and cards back into the drawer, when a small photograph fluttered down onto the floor.
‘Good Lord! Didn’t we look awful?’ she muttered to herself, walking slowly across the room, before sinking down into a wide leather chair and holding the black and white photograph under the light of a nearby lamp.
It was almost bizarre how much fashions had changed in the last eight or nine years. Because there she was, with two of her best friends at university, all dressed up for an evening out on the town—and thinking they looked the cat’s pyjamas! She still saw a lot of Philippa, of course, but what on earth had happened to Marie?
Marie Holden had been easily the brightest of the students studying economics, and it was strange that Samantha hadn’t heard the other girl’s name mentioned as a high-flyer in the City before now. And, of course, with the clear-minded logic which she’d brought to bear on her studies, it had been Marie who’d pointed out to Samantha, all those years ago, that she was playing with fire.
‘Going out with a professor is bad news. Being stupid enough to fall in love with him is a disaster!’ Marie had told her bluntly.
But, of course, she hadn’t listened to such sage advice, had she?
Leaning back in her chair, Samantha recalled just how dazed she’d been at having attracted the attention of her tall, handsome tutor. And equally thrilled to know that she was the envy of all her friends.
It had been the start of her third year at university and, naturally, she’d had several semi-serious boyfriends and one or two mad infatuations for highly unsuitable men. However, as the days had passed and their relationship had progressed, she’d known that she was, for the very first time in her life, deeply and truly in love.
Totally deaf to all advice, utterly blind to the harsh realities of life, she’d had absolutely no doubt that what she felt for that tall, dark, highly intelligent and clever man, Matthew Warner, was absolutely the real thing. And, when he’d suggested spending a weekend in a small inn by the river in Minster Lovell—sufficiently far enough away from Oxford, to enable them to escape detection—she’d been so desperately in love that she’d have willingly followed him to the ends of the earth, if necessary.
The inn itself had been a delight. And, as they’d walked down by the river in the late autumn evening, before dinner, the night air heavy with the aromatic smell of wood smoke and damp greenery, Samantha had known that she had never, ever been so deliriously happy in all her young life.
Nor had she ever been able to forget their first nights of passion in the large, four-poster bed—the softly soothing yet arousing touch of his bands on her body, the mastery with which he’d led her gently from one erotic sensation to another, until she had truly thought she would die of ecstasy.
It had seemed to her young and still very inexperienced mind and body that he somehow possessed an extraordinary ability to carry her far beyond the universe, to the stars and on to infinity, where nothing existed but fierce waves of both unimaginable and totally unexplainable pleasure. Pleasure that spiralled and exploded into a myriad of shooting stars, before leaving her to free-fall back through the stratosphere, gliding slowly back down to earth, and into a deep sleep, held closely within his warm embrace.
As the weeks had passed, and because liaisons between lecturers and their students were obviously frowned upon by the university authorities, they’d been forced to be circumspect and careful about where and when they met to make love. And that, she could see now, had merely added an extra, thrilling spice and excitement to their affair—an affair which, if she had only known it, was clearly doomed from the start.
Totally gripped by an emotional intensity that hitherto she’d only found in books or poetry, she had undoubtedly been intoxicatingly in love, with love itself—and existing in a fool’s paradise.
Samantha was older and wiser now, of course. And she couldn’t reasonably blame Matt for taking the hard, tough decision to end their affair. Especially as she would never have found the strength to do so herself.
It had all happened on one cold Sunday winter’s afternoon when, after they’d been making slow, delicious love by the roaring log fire in the small house which he rented during term time, Matt had broken the dreadful news.
‘But you can’t mean it? You can’t possibly mean that we’re never to see each other, ever again?’ she’d cried, totally unable to believe what he was saying. ‘Not...not just after having made love to me...?”
‘I couldn’t help myself,’ he’d sighed heavily, a deep flush rising over his cheeks. ‘I know it was wrong. But I couldn’t resist...not just one more time...’ His voice, heavy with self-disgust, had trailed away into silence.
‘But why?’ she’d demanded hysterically. And, even when he’d patiently explained, time and again, that, rumours having come to the ears of his superiors, both his job and her future career were now in jeopardy, she still hadn’t been able to grasp fully what was happening to her.
Totally devastated by his rejection, she’d virtually withdrawn from university life. It had only been the kindness and patience of her friends and family, together with the caring support of her old friend, the artist Alan Gifford—who’d seemed happily prepared to allow her to weep copious tears on his thin, bony shoulders—that had enabled her to complete her studies and, against all the odds, obtain a good degree. And, when Alan had declared that he wanted to marry her, Samantha, who at that point hadn’t much cared what she did, had apathetically agreed that, yes, maybe it was a good idea.
Samantha gave a sigh, putting down the photograph and leaning back in her chair. Poor Alan. There had never been any chance that he and she would live happily ever after. And there had been nothing that either of them could do about it. Not when she’d still been so madly in love with Matt.
However, the passage of time had, as always, blunted the pain of that unhappy love affair. When she and Alan Gifford had finally called it a day, Samantha had known that the break-up of her marriage had been mostly her fault. Which was one of the reasons why she had never blamed him in any way, and why she’d made a considerable effort always to keep in touch, and remain good friends with her ex-husband.
The distant sound of a church clock chiming the hour brought her sharply back down to earth—together with the realisation that there was no point in sitting here, indulging in sad memories.
Her marriage to Alan was now something that she must consign to the past, together with her unhappy memories of that feverish, brief first love affair with Matt. Although if she didn’t get herself off to bed right away she might well not have much of a future, she told herself grimly. Because the prime requisites for a successful fund manager were robust good health and steady nerves—both qualities relying heavily on a good night’s sleep.
But, as her stomach gave another of the weird, strange lurches which she’d been suffering from lately, she decided that it probably was time she saw a doctor.
Maybe it was her nervous system acting up for some reason? Or possibly she was suffering with some strange form of summer flu. But, whatever the cause, she couldn’t go on feeling slightly sick most of the time. Especially not at this stage of her career, when she had more than enough work to get through each day, without the additional burden of not being in good health.
 
Busy at work the next day, Samantha forgot all about her intention of seeing a doctor until, following a hurried lunch at a small, local city restaurant, she once again experienced that slightly nauseous feeling in her stomach.
Back at her desk, she took out her address book, and was just about to lift the phone, to call her doctor for an appointment, when the instrument gave a sharp ring.
Lifting the receiver, all she could hear was a loud crackling in her ears, followed by a distant roaring sound, but no trace of a human voice.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she muttered, replacing the phone. Immediately she’d done so, it rang again.
Muttering under her breath, she picked it up for the second time.
‘Hello, darling...’ A faint voice broke through the crackling background.
‘Matt! Is that really you?’ she shouted, not one hundred per cent certain that it was him at the other end of the line.
‘Relax; there’s no need to yell!’ Matt’s voice was very clear as the background atmospherics suddenly disappeared. ‘I’m sorry not to have been in touch for a while, darling. I’ve been heavily involved with a lot of business problems.’
‘Where exactly are you, at the moment?’
‘Well, let’s see...’ He gave a low chuckle of laughter. ‘I think I’ve still got a toe-hold in the Far East But I’m catching a plane in an hour’s time to Zurich—and I should be landing at London, Heathrow, late Friday afternoon. So, at least we’ll be able to spend some time together. OK?’
‘Oh, Matt—that’s wonderful!’ she gasped breathlessly, all her doubts and fears that he might have had second thoughts, and decided that their love affair wasn’t such a good idea after all, vanishing into thin air. And then she suddenly remembered a pressing engagement.
‘But...but I can’t make next weekend,’ she cried, her high spirits plummeting into the depths of despair. ‘I’ve simply got to go down to Gloucestershire. It’s Rosie’s birthday party.’
‘Who on earth is Rosie?’ he ground out, his sudden flash of anger clearly audible down the line.
Samantha gave a heavy sigh. ‘She’s my niece, the youngest of my older sister’s two daughters—and I’m her godmother as well as her aunt. I haven’t been down to see the family for simply ages. So, I gave my word that I’d definitely be there, this coming weekend I...I simply can’t get out of it,’ she wailed.
‘Hey, relax, sweetheart,’ Matt said. ‘There’s no reason why I can’t come too, is there?’
‘What...?’ she muttered, playing for time, her mind racing at a speed of knots as she tried to work out all the angles raised by his suggestion. ‘You mean...you mean come down with me, and stay the night with my sister, in Gloucestershire?’
‘Yes, why ever not?’
‘Well...’ She hesitated, easily able to think of at least half a dozen reasons why it would not be a good idea for him to accompany her to her sister’s house in the country at the weekend.
For one thing, she didn’t know exactly what he felt for her. Nor was she entirely certain of her feelings for him. And, knowing her older sister as well as she did, there was always the ghastly chance of Edwina deciding that Matt was the best thing since sliced bread—and indulging in a mad bout of matchmaking. Or, possibly even worse, taking an instant dislike to him, and treating Matt with arctic coldness and freezing him out of the family. Besides, she didn’t want her sisters to feel sorry for her if her new love affair—which had hardly begun—suddenly went down the tubes.
‘Come on, Sam...what’s the problem?’
‘There’s no problem, Matt. It’s just that...’ She paused, suddenly going hot and cold as she realised how she’d lied about her marriage. Why, oh, why hadn’t she told him the truth, that night in the Four Seasons restaurant, in New York? On top of which, her younger sister, Georgie—who’d never been known to keep her mouth shut about anything—was almost certainly bound to let the cat out of the bag.
‘Sweetheart, this is ridiculous.’ His impatient sigh was clearly audible down the phone. ‘Do you or do you not want to see me?’
‘Yes...yes, of course I do!’ she assured him.
‘But you don’t want me to meet your family? Or your sister can’t cope with unexpected guests? Or you’ve got some other boyfriend turning up, and things could get just a little awkward? He gave a sardonic laugh. ‘I hope it’s not the last one, Sam?’
‘No, of course it’s not,’ she retorted firmly, quickly deciding, What the hell? Yes, she’d be taking a risk, but ‘risk management’ was what she dealt with every day of the week. Right? And if the whole visit went pear-shaped, well...that was life.
‘I was just...well, the thing is, Matt, I couldn’t quite see you in the midst of a whole mass of seven-year-olds, singing “Happy Birthday” along with the rest of us,’ she muttered, ashamed of telling a very small white lie. ‘But if you feel strong enough to hack it, then of course I know my sister would be very pleased to see you.’
Matt laughed. ‘Relax, sweetheart. I’m a dab hand at birthday parties,’ he told her, before giving the flight number and time of his arrival from Zurich. ‘See you on Friday,’ he said, then there was a click and the phone went dead.
With a heavy sigh, Samantha slowly replaced the receiver. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Matt—because, of course, she could hardly wait. But how he would react to her older sister’s chaotic household she had absolutely no idea.
Besides, he wouldn’t just be meeting Edwina, her husband David, who was a busy doctor, and their two young daughters. There was also the problem of her sister, Georgie.
A feather-brained, dark-blonde-haired girl, with an amazing figure—and someone who definitely didn’t believe in letting work get in the way of her social life!—Georgie had never been known to think before saying the first thing that came into her head. A real case of foot-in-mouth syndrome which, in the past, had caused untold embarrassment to each and every member of the family.
All of which meant that, quite apart from all her other problems, Samantha could practically guarantee that next weekend was likely to prove to be an absolute disaster!