or champagne on very special occasions.
‘No morning after the night before for you, I suppose?’ Sam muttered. ‘You’re too perfect to live.’ It annoyed him just to look at her; she wasn’t human—had she no ordinary weaknesses? He wished she had his head this morning. She should have agony stabbing away inside her temples.
She merely smiled. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Black,’ he said. He caught the sideways lift of her brows and added, ‘Please,’ knowing what that silent glance meant.
They had been working together for a long time. She knew him very well. Too well, he thought, glowering. What was she looking at him like that for?
Natalie went out and Sam absently watched her go. She was a slender girl, who wore much the same outfit every day: a white shirt, with small, pearly buttons, tucked into a smooth-fitting skirt—a black one today—discreet, demure, the hem just around the knee. She was only five feet four or so—a good eight inches shorter than Sam. Her legs were worth looking at—he looked at them until she vanished. There was something about the way she moved that had always got his attention. Beautifully shaped ankles, too. There wasn’t much of her, but what there was Sam found very pleasurable to look at. Pity she was one of the touch-me-not brigade. He had never yet managed to get her closer than a foot or so away, let alone into his bed.
Sam sat down behind his desk to check on the pile of telephone messages, the neat pile of faxes. He read quickly, absorbing them all, and had finished by the time Natalie came back with the black coffee. She hadn’t reached his desk when the door crashed open and Helen erupted into the room, her red hair windblown, her green eyes Hashing.
‘Oh, so you are here! I knew she was lying!’ she yelled, then glared at Natalie. ‘I knew you were lying! You’ve never fooled me. I knew what you were after all along, with your sweet pussycat smiles and your demure office kit—the perfect secretary, ha ha. The minute I set eyes on you I knew the sort of operator you are!’
Natalie took no notice of her at all. She quietly moved to put Sam’s cup of coffee on his desk, but Helen tried to charge past her and knocked the cup flying, splashing everything within reach with scalding black coffee.
Some of it went over Sam, some of it over Natalie; Helen got splashed herself and that seemed to send her into a positive frenzy.
‘Now look what you’ve done!’ she screamed at Natalie.
‘Are you out of your mind, Helen?’ Sam angrily asked her, looking at his coffee-stained shirt. ‘You’ve soaked us all! And don’t try to shift the blame to Natalie...’
‘Oh, no, of course not She’s just a sweet innocent, isn’t she?’ Helen snapped, sarcasm loading every syllable.
‘What on earth is the matter with you?’ Sam wished he could remember more about last night; what could he have done to her to put her in this mood? Helen had always had a hot temper, but he had never seen her like this before. Her vibrant red hair seemed to be blazing with rage, and her green eyes were cat-like with venom.
‘As if you didn’t know! You needn’t think I cara—I only came to tell you I hate you and if I never see you again it will be too soon for me!’
Her voice had gone up with every other word until the decibels were loud enough to wake the dead—or at least those of the radio station staff who had been to Johnny’s party too and were barely able to keep their eyes open this morning.
Beyond this office the corridors and rooms were totally silent. No doubt everyone within earshot was listening with fascination.
‘For heaven’s sake, Helen, calm down! Surely we can talk this out in a civilised manner,’ Sam said in what he tried to make a placating tone, but that only seemed to make matters worse.
‘Don’t talk to me as if I was half-witted! You humiliated me last night, but that was what you intended to do, wasn’t it? Well, you aren’t getting away with it.’ Helen slapped him hard across the face, gave a loud, angry sob, then turned and ran out of the office, slamming the door behind her so that every pane of glass in the room rattled and shook.
Sam swore, gingerly feeling his hot, stinging cheek. ‘I’ll swear she loosened some of my teeth! Remind me never to get involved with singers again, will you? I know musicians are always temperamental, but Helen takes it to ridiculous extremes.’
Natalie had mopped herself dry with a handful of paper tissues; she offered him the box.
‘Dry yourself off. I’ll get a clean shirt out for you.’ He always kept a couple of shirts in the office in case of emergencies.
‘Get me that coffee first,’ Sam said, busily dabbing at himself with paper tissue. ‘I need it even more now. My headache is ten times worse after listening to Helen yelling blue murder.’
‘I’ll get you some aspirin,’ Natalie promised, going out She returned a moment later with a glass of water, a couple of aspirin and a fresh cup of black coffee.
Sam looked at her gratefully; she never shouted at him or chucked things. She made his office life a haven of peace and quiet ‘What would I do without you?’
She gave him that curling little smile of hers, putting the coffee on his desk and handing him the pills and the glass of water.
‘Oh, there would be some other woman around to wait on you hand and foot, no doubt.’
Ignoring the faint touch of sarcasm in her quiet voice, Sam swallowed the pills and a gulp of water, then handed her back the glass.
‘Can you get me that clean shirt now?’ He met her eyes again and added drily, ‘Please, Natalie?’
‘Of course, Mr Erskine.’ She walked away to the cabinet where she kept his shirts, spare underwear and a pair of boots he sometimes used for outside broadcasts. Sam admired her legs again; they really were something. He’d like to see all of them one day, not to mention the rest of her. What did she look like out of her neat, demure little office outfits? Interesting idea, he thought, absently unbuttoning his coffee-stained shirt and taking it off.
Natalie came back with his clean shirt, glanced at his bare, hair-roughened chest then quickly looked away. Sam’s mouth twisted. Hadn’t she ever seen a guy naked? The idea struck him forcibly—maybe she hadn’t?
What, a virgin, in this day and age? he thought, almost laughing at the notion. Not a chance. Rarer than unicorns.
He took the shirt she held out to him and slid his arms into it, began to fumble with the small buttons which ran down the front. They were so stiff he couldn’t force them into place, and he impatiently abandoned the attempt.
‘Could you do these damn things up for me, Natalie?’ he muttered.
He could tell from the pause that followed that she was reluctant to do it—in fact, for a moment he thought she was going to refuse—but in the end she did come closer, and put out her hand to start buttoning.
He saw a glint of gold on one finger and gave a sharp exclamation, grabbing her wrist.
‘You’ve found my ring! What a relief! When I woke up this morning and realised I wasn’t wearing it I went into a terrible panic. My mother would kill me if I ever lost it. I searched my flat for half an hour this
