What She Wants (27 page)

He’d lose respect for her as a ball-breaking bitch if he discovered that she’d insisted that the pregnant woman kept her job, as had the young guy who’d just bought the big apartment. Sam had spent hours trying to find a solution to the problem and had finally come up with three members of staff who’d been actively looking for jobs elsewhere and who would be happy to take a lump sum, along with a glowing reference and a chance to move. Sam was now waiting for the last redundancy candidate to agree on their package. It was nearly eight when she stepped out of the Titus building and into lashing rain. As if rain wasn’t enough, it was freezing cold - the temperature had definitely dipped since Sam had left her flat that morning clad in her leather coat and no hat. Now she shivered like a whippet after the tropical heat of the office and wondered if she’d get a cab. The underground was miles quicker and the station was literally two minutes away but she couldn’t face trekking miles down the escalators into the bowels of the earth to get one. She was too tired. She was always tired these days. Maybe it was just the January blues. Or maybe she’d make an appointment with the doctor.

Hope’s e-mail was upbeat for the first time in ages. Hi Sam, how are you? You sounded tired on the phone on Sunday night. I hope you’re looking after yourself. You need to visit us and I’ll fill you full of good country food. A blast of Kerry air would be good for you. Listen to me! I even sound like a local now after two months! Seriously, though, you should have come to us for Christmas. I know you promised Catrina and the gang that you’d go to the cottage in Brighton as usual but Redlion is lovely at Christmas. Apart from the rain! Matt’s working hard and Millie and Toby are starting at a new playgroup next week. I can’t wait and neither can they. Millie is finally tired of playing

with the baby bens, who are all growing huge, by the way. I’ve ordered a book that tells you all about them because I can’t keep asking other people when they’re going to lay eggs or whatever. Apparently, you can tell when they’ve got an egg ready to lay by feeling their bums but I can’t bring myself to do it! No mention of how Hope herself was doing, Sam thought critically as she scanned through her sister’s chatter about their new friends and how she and Matt had started going out to dinner once a week. When are you going to take some holiday and come and see us? We’d love you to visit us. Please say yes soon. I miss you. Sam felt a lump in her throat. She missed Hope too. They’d been so close as children but when Matt had come along, some sort of barrier had grown up between them, a barrier Sam didn’t feel strong enough to break down. It was only natural, of course. Sam didn’t waste time getting jealous or feeling lonely about it. Siblings had to drift apart a little bit when they had their own families. Well, when one of them had her own family. But instead of getting used to being without Hope, Sam had found herself missing her sister even more lately. It was the sense of family she missed, she reflected. She’d managed so well for years with her own family of friends. People to spend Christmas with, people to go to dinner with. Now, that didn’t seem enough. She wanted more, yet she felt too proud to admit it. It would be too humiliating for strong, go-it-alone Sam Smith to admit that she really needed people, which was why she hadn’t gone to Ireland for Christmas. She did feel terribly guilty about it. Hope had certainly asked her often enough. But in Sam’s current state of mind, three days celebrating was as much as she could handle. She’d gone to Brighton to the cottage that Hugh and Catrina had owned for years and had managed two days of smiling with the gang until she could take it no more and

had used the excuse that she had to see an upcoming band who were playing on December 27th as an opportunity to escape. She’d hoped her dashing off sounded high-powered and not antisocial. Better fly, Sam. Matt’s just finished putting the kids to bed. Talk soon and I mean it about coming to stay here soon. We’ll only be here for a year and I want you to visit, love Hope

Sam sat at the computer for a moment and tried to imagine Hope’s life. What would it be like to live in a family unit, to have to constantly think of other people and worry about dinner or who was looking after the children? Would it be very strange? Having someone sleeping in your bed all the time, having two little people utterly dependent on you, demanding all your time and leaving you with nothing private? Not to be an individual any more but to be Mummy or somebody’s partner. Weird. She clicked onto the ‘reply’ button and composed her answer.

Hi Sis, I’m feeling great, she lied. I’ve been very busy with the new job and it’s getting busier. We’ve got some great new acts coming up in the next few months and I’m going to be up to my eyeballs with them. I know you love Manolo so I’ll send you his new album. He’s doing loads of publicity for us so I’ll be able to tell you what he’s like in the delectable Latin flesh. I’ve got to fly to Brussels next week for an international meeting which will be interesting. I’ve never been to one of the international meetings as an MD. They’re usually exhausting but at least I’m getting a suite in the hotel. There have to be some perks. Karen Storin is going too. I’ve told you about her, she’s great.

The e-mail was entirely about work, Sam realized, rereading. Probably because it was easier to rattle on and on about international meetings and new acts instead of telling her sister that she felt low, miserable and lonely. Yes, that was it: lonely. Fifteen years of slogging her socks off for an office with a view and now that she’d got there, the view was increasingly desolate and her sense of job satisfaction was disappearing faster than the months to her fortieth birthday. She tried again. Going to a dinner party tonight at Catrina and Hugh’s. I’m going with Jay, whom I haven’t seen since Christmas, nearly a month ago, despite meaning to phone her every day, Sam reminded herself guiltily. I must rush out and buy some flowers or wine to take, so I better go now. I’ll talk soon, Love Sam. She’d managed to avoid mentioning the suggested holiday in Kerry. In London, she could keep up the increasingly shaky facade of being in control of her life. With Hope’s big grey eyes watching her anxiously, searching for answers, knowing, Sam knew the facade would disintegrate totally.

She left the carrier bag containing a bottle of champagne in the taxi and ran up to Jay’s apartment block. She pressed the buzzer for Jay Raskin. ‘Jay, it’s Sam,’ she said when Jay answered. ‘I’ve got a cab waiting, will you be long?’ ‘Down in a minute,’ said Jay in the soft Atlanta accent that hadn’t changed despite twenty years in the UK. Sam got back in the taxi and leaned tiredly against the seat. She half-wished she’d made more of an effort with her outfit instead of staying in her businesslike black suit and mannish white shirt. With her hair tied back, it looked a bit butch. But she simply hadn’t had the energy to put on anything else.

Catrina was infinitely stylish and always dressed as if a glossy magazine was just about to photograph her. She’d undoubtedly be wearing something divine from an unknown designer who, in a month’s time, would be on the cover of Vogue. You’d think she was a designer herself instead of a recruitment consultant. The only consolation was that, no matter how career-woman Sam’s outfit was, Jay’s would be equally unpartyish, albeit in a different way. Jay’s style was a cross between the Merchant Ivory wardrobe department and Sixties hippie chick. Her favourite garments were trailing antique lace skirts worn with biker boots and little Tshirts with messages on them. It was a look a million miles away from Sam’s career lady chic and Catrina’s style queen image. When the entire group of friends were out at dinner, Sam often noticed people looking at the disparate crowd and trying to figure out what they were doing together. Jay looked younger than the rest, Hugh looked older. Jay dressed like a student, Catrina dressed like a fashion editor and nobody would have worked out that they had all gone to the same university. Jay’s front door slammed and Sam looked up. She blinked in astonishment. Jay didn’t look like Jay. Instead of the usual trailing outfit, Jay was unrecognizable in a slim little pistachio-coloured skirt that came to the knee and was finished off with sheer tights and high heels that looked like Jimmy Choos. She was without her famous astrakhan coat (Oxfam, Ł8) and sported a fitted winter white number that was definitely cashmere and could only have come from some expensive boutique. Jay normally avoided expensive boutiques like the plague. Sam wished she could stop goggling. ‘You look so different,’ she gasped as Jay got into the taxi. Jay blushed prettily and tucked a strand of poker-straight dark hair behind her ear. Another change. Jay’s hair was normally curly and uncontrollable. ‘You haven’t met Greg,

have you?’ she said, sitting down to reveal a man climbing in behind her. ‘Hello,’ said Sam politely, as if she wasn’t utterly astonished. Jay had vowed never to lay a hand on a man after her last boyfriend, a futures analyst named Stefan, had run off with his sister’s best friend. It had taken a year and many vodka-fuelled nights with Sam for Jay to wash him out of her hair. ‘Nice to meet you,’ said Greg in a seductive Scottish burr. Sam shook his big hand and tried to eye him up and down without looking as if she was eyeing him up and down. Not tall, he was lean with pale reddish hair and the blond eyelashes and striking blue eyes that often went with such colouring. His complexion was freckled and sported a healthy golden tan as if he’d just come back from somewhere very hot. With his big engaging grin and intelligent, laughing eyes, the whole effect was very attractive and Sam could see why Jay had that daft, besotted smile on her face. What she couldn’t see was why Jay hadn’t told her about this new amour. He sat on the bucket seat of the taxi and grinned across at Jay, who was dimpling back at him. Sam couldn’t have felt more like a gooseberry if she’d suddenly turned round, hairy and green. ‘We met in Lanzarote,’ Jay said to Sam, without taking her eyes off Greg. ‘I didn’t know you’d been to Lanzarote,’ Sam said lightly. ‘You must have gone right after we got back from Brighton.’ Jay patted her on the knee. ‘You’ve been so busy with the new job and everything, we haven’t talked since Christmas. I went on the spur of the moment - I needed a break. It was just a week in the sun.’ Greg, who appeared to know the area, directed the taxi driver to an off licence. ‘We’ve got to get a gift for Catrina,’ Jay explained. ‘Won’t be long,’ Greg said, hopping out of the taxi athletically, his dark raincoat flapping around his legs.

‘You’re a dark horse,’ Sam said as soon as he was gone. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ ‘I wanted to surprise you,’ Jay smiled. ‘I’m surprised. Now tell me everything? Jay ticked it off on her fingers: ‘He’s thirty-four, runs a landscape garden business, has never been married, comes from Fife and I’m crazy about him. It’s only been three weeks but this is for real, Sam. This is the Big One.’ Sam gave her a hug. ‘I’m so glad.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Does Catrina know he’s coming tonight?’ Jay nodded but looked out the window so she didn’t have to meet Sam’s eyes. They could both see Greg coming, swinging an off licence bag. ‘She’s met him. We all went to an exhibition in Duke Street.’ Sam had the curious sensation of feeling like the child in the playground whom nobody wanted on their rounders team. She’d known Jay, Catrina and Hugh for years. They were part of the gang, seven people who’d shared student life together. Now, with one quick move, she’d been sidelined by coupledom, intellectual enjoyable coupledom at that. When was the last time she’d seen an exhibition or gone anywhere that didn’t involve work? Hugh met them at the door, looking every inch the successful barrister in a striped shirt that didn’t really disguise his girth. He would never win any Mr Universe awards but he had the kindest eyes of anyone Sam had ever known. ‘Come in,’ he said, grabbing Sam in a bear hug. ‘Where have you been hiding out, Madam MD? We’ve missed you.’ Inexplicably, Sam’s eyes welled up and she was glad that her face was buried in Hugh’s well-padded shoulder. ‘I haven’t been anywhere,’ she said with a creditable imitation of a laugh. She wriggled out of his embrace and hurried into the hall so nobody would see her glistening eyes. ‘Where’s Catrina?’ she added. ‘Slaving over a hot stove,’ joked Hugh. Sam dried her eyes as she made her way down the corridor. It was a beautiful house, not unlike Sam’s flat in terms

of decor as it was a vision of clutter-free loveliness with simple interior design. But while Sam’s flat was decorated entirely in off-whites, Catrina had painted every room a different colour. The hall was a welcoming buttercup yellow with only yellow flowers ever allowed on the modern furniture the small study was olive green, the big bathroom was purple and Catrina and Hugh’s bedroom was shades of misty ocean blue. Sam reached the kitchen (turquoise), a room that would have made any Michelin chef feel right at home with its big steel appliances, professional copper-bottomed saucepans and coolly tiled splashbacks. ‘Burnt to a crisp from standing over the hob stirring sauces?’ inquired Sam from the door. Catrina turned around, looking a far cry from the frazzle-faced cook. Beautifully groomed in a slinky salmon pink Ghost dress, she looked unconcerned at the thought of cooking up dinner for ten. Sam knew for a fact that Catrina bought her dinner party materials in containers from a catering company and the only effort involved was heating them up and chopping up the coriander to sprinkle on top of the soup. The caterers sent that too. ‘Darling Sam, hello.’ Catrina presented one Elizabeth Arden-scented cheek for a kiss and then the other. ‘You look tired,’ she said bluntly. Sam smiled ruefully. Catrina may have looked like the perfect hostess, but she’d never lost that straight-talking charm that had earned her the nickname No Holds Barred in college. Being utterly honest had made her one of the City’s most successful recruitment people. ‘Busy day at work,’ Sam said blithely. ‘Shall I put this in the fridge and can I help?’ ‘You don’t need to do a thing,’ Catrina assured her. ‘But you could open a bottle of white wine from the fridge. I know you like white. Everyone else is here. I suppose the young lovers are still helping each other off with their coats?’ Her head in the fridge looking for the wine, Sam smiled. ‘You said it. I got such a shock when he appeared this evening.’