rung a paper. If I ever find out who did it...’
“There were some press people at the party.’ Natalie groaned, her heart sinking. ‘I’d forgotten them. They were mostly columnists, too. Entertainment reporters and gossip columnists. Oh, why did you have to drink so much?’
‘I’m turning teetotal, don’t worry!’ Sam curtly said. ‘But never mind that now—I want you to ring my mother at once.’
‘Why me? It isn’t my problem. She’s your mother—you ring her.’ Natalie was indignant; he had made this muddle, it was up to him to get himself out of it. It certainly wasn’t her fault and she did not see why she should have to do his dirty work for him.
He made a face. ‘She’ll blame me and—’
‘You are to blame!’
He didn’t like the reminder, she saw that from his eyes—Sam had a low threshold where blame was concerned—but he used a soothing voice, trying to placate her, anything to get her to do what he asked. ‘I know, I know, but she’s going to get upset, and I can’t cope with my mother when she’s upset. She’ll start worrying about you—have I hurt your feelings? How could I do that to a nice girl like you? I should be ashamed of myself—’ He broke off, seeing her expression, and gave her a sulky look. ‘All right, all right. I admit she could have a point. I’ve apologised once, Natalie—how many more times do I have to do it?’
‘I didn’t notice you doing any apologising. You seemed to think it was my fault, not yours.’
‘Well, I apologise now. How’s that? I’m sorry. Okay? Now, please ring my mother—if you talk to her she’ll realise you haven’t got a broken heart. If you tell her it was all just a joke and you never for a second thought it was serious, you knew it was just fun and the Press got it all wrong, she’ll believe you. Especially if you’re cheerful and keep laughing.’ He looked at her through those thick black lashes. ‘And, after all, you said yourself you knew it was a joke and you never took it seriously. Didn’t you? So it won’t be a problem for you—you’ll only be telling the truth, won’t you?’
She gave him a dry look. He never missed a trick, did he? That was what made him such a brilliant organiser. That was why the radio station ticked along like a well-made clock. ‘Okay,’ she sighed. ‘I’ll ring her.’
‘Now, please,’ he said—before she could change her mind, he meant!
Natalie had his mother’s number in her computer. She dialled at once, wishing Sam wouldn’t hover like that; she could feel his agitation without looking at him. The phone rang and rang without anyone picking it up. ‘Nobody in,’ she said at last, hanging up.
‘I wonder where on earth she can be?’ Sam rhetorically asked her. His mouth turned down at the edges. ‘And what she’s up to! Once my mother gets an idea in her head she wastes no time. She loves organising parties. If we don’t stop her in time she’ll have sent out dozens of invitations and spent a fortune, and it will be expensive and embarrassing putting a stop to it.’
Natalie watched him without saying, this time, what she was thinking. She had told him it served him right several times already—no point in rubbing it in. Poor Sam. He wouldn’t forget Johnny’s party in a hurry, would he?
CHAPTER THREE
NATALIE’S lunch hour began at one o‘clock, but when she looked at the clock at five to one and said, ‘Nearly lunchtime!’ Sam glowered at her.
‘If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s clock-watching secretaries!’
He was still in a bad temper, but Natalie pretended not to notice. ‘I’m not clock-watching—I was reminding you that you’ve got a lunch appointment yourself. Had you forgotten?’
‘It’s been cancelled.’ He shrugged. ‘Hugh Sartfield’s secretary rang while you were doing those letters. Hugh has got mumps.’
Natalie couldn’t help laughing; there was something comical about the mere idea of mumps, although she knew it could be very painful.
Sam gave her a cold stare. ‘You wouldn’t think that was funny if you were a man!’
Sobering, Natalie nodded. ‘Sorry, yes, I know it can be serious for adults—poor Mr Sartfield. Let’s hope he doesn’t get any long-term effects.’
‘I spent a couple of hours with him only last week,’ Sam said, his hand rubbing one side of his face. ‘Mumps is very contagious, isn’t it? I wonder when the infectious period starts?’
‘I should ring your doctor,’ Natalie said, getting up.
‘I think I will. Hey, where do you think you’re going?’
‘Lunch.’ She wanted to get away before he could stop her, but in her hurry she tripped over her chair and couldn’t stop herself sprawling helplessly across the carpet To her fury she heard Sam laugh, then he bent, put an arm round her waist and hauled her to her feet.
‘That will teach you not to be in such a hurry!’ he said, still holding her, looking down into her face.
The fall must have knocked all the breath out of her body; she could feel her heart driving like a steamhammer inside her chest. She couldn’t meet his gaze; she simply pulled free from him. The last thing she wanted was for Sam to think she was flushed and breathing fast because of him! It was only the shock of falling over. Nothing to do with him at all.
She had dropped her bag when she fell. Bending to pick it up, she crossly realised that she had made an enormous run in her tights, right down the front from her knee to her slender ankle.
‘Oh, no!’ she muttered. She couldn’t go around with a run like that in her tights for the rest of the day. Before she went down to the canteen for lunch she would have to go out to buy some new tights.
‘What’s the matter?’ Sam asked, looking down at her legs. ‘You’ve got a run in—’
‘I know,’ she said curtly. ‘Can I go to lunch now?’
‘Oh, very well! But be back on time!’
She didn’t bother to answer that. It was already ten past one; she was taking her full hour, whether he liked it or not.
There was a useful corner shop just across the street, which did a good line in cheap tights. Although Natalie was well-paid she had learnt thrift at her mother’s knee and was always looking for ways to save money. She needed to; she had a mortgage on a small studio flat whose windows looked down over the harbour. That took far too much of her monthly salary and Natalie had to budget carefully where clothes and food were concemed. She never bought anything without being sure she couldn’t get it cheaper somewhere else.
Emerging two minutes later, tights safely stowed in her jacket pocket, Natalie ran back to the radio station as a car, a little red Ford saloon, drew up outside. Not even glancing at it, Natalie hurried past, intending to change her tights in the powder room next door to the canteen, only to stop in her tracks as someone called her.
‘Natalie!’
She spun, her sleek dark hair swinging against her cheeks, and felt her stomach sink as she recognised
