tempted to go down, to see her at close quarters, to speak to her and hear her voice.
But common sense held him back.
Everything had changed. Instead of being a twenty-two year old with romantic ideals, he was older and wiser, not to say battle-scarred and bitter, with a newly acquired mistrust of women. And though her face was poignantly familiar, he didn’t know what kind of woman she really was.
As he stood watching a tall, balding man detached her from Arthur Jenkins’s side and led her onto the dance floor, where they were immediately swallowed up in the crowd.
Michael ran thoughtful fingers over his smooth chin. His inclination was to get to know her better, but, with all his previous reservations still intact, he didn’t feel inclined to rush things…
He was standing staring blindly over the throng of dancers when Paul reappeared and remarked, ‘So you’re still here? I wasn’t sure how long you intended to stay.’
‘I was planning to leave shortly,’ Michael told him, ‘but I wanted another word with you first.’
‘You’ve had a look at her, I take it? So what do you think?’
‘From what I’ve seen so far, your recommendation appears to have been a good one, but—’
An expression of resignation on his face, Paul broke in, ‘But you’re not going to do anything about it! Oh, well, it’s up to you, of course. But I personally believe it would be a mistake to let her slip through your fingers without at least taking things a step further.’
‘I have every intention of taking things a step further,’ Michael said quietly. ‘But as this is neither the time nor the place, I’d like you to have a quick word with her and tell her…’
A group of chattering, laughing people paused nearby, and he lowered his voice even more to finish what he was saying.
‘Will do,’ Paul promised crisply as Michael clapped him on the shoulder before striding away.
Hearing a car turn into the quiet square lined with skeletal trees, Laura went to the window and peeped through a chink in the curtains.
She was just in time to see a taxi draw up in front of the block of flats, and Jenny climb out and cross the frosty pavement.
‘Hi,’ Laura greeted her flatmate laconically as she came into the living-room.
‘Hi.’ Tossing aside her evening wrap, and glancing at Laura’s pink fluffy dressing gown and feathery mules, Jenny observed, ‘I thought you’d be tucked up in bed by now.’
Her round, baby-face shiny with night cream, and the long blonde hair that earlier in the evening she had spent ages straightening once again starting to curl rebelliously, Laura agreed. ‘I would have been, but Tom and I went out to Whistlers, and we had to wait ages for a taxi back.
‘How did the party go?’
‘Very well,’ Jenny answered sedately.
Noting her flatmate’s sparkling eyes and her barely concealed air of excitement, Laura asked, ‘What is it? Did Prince Charming turn up and sweep you off your feet?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘So what’s happened to make you look like the fifth of November? Come on, do tell.’
‘I could do with a cup of tea first,’ Jenny suggested hopefully.
‘You drive a hard bargain,’ Laura complained as she disappeared kitchenwards. ‘But as I could do with a cup myself…’
Slipping off her evening sandals, Jenny settled herself on the settee in front of the glowing gasfire, stretched her feet towards the warmth, and hugged the bubbling excitement to her.
After starting the evening in low spirits, knowing that she no longer had a job, Jenny was now on top of the world, with the hope of new things opening up.
She hadn’t felt so happy since Andy’s perfidy had torn her world apart, making her feel betrayed and unwanted, worthless even.
Laura returned quite quickly carrying two steaming mugs. Handing one to Jenny, she plonked herself down and urged, ‘Right. Spill it.’
‘You know Michael Denver?’
‘You mean the writer? The one you’ve always been nuts about?’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’
‘Why not? It’s the truth…’
And it was. Since reading his first book, Jenny had been hooked, fascinated, not only by his intricate mind games and clever, complex plots, but by the brain behind them.
Yet for all their brilliance his books were easy to read, and his writing had compassion and sensitivity. His characters were real people with faults and failings and weaknesses, but also with courage and spirit and strength. People that his readers could understand and care about.
‘So what about Michael Denver?’ Laura pursued.
‘He’s in need of a PA, and I’m being interviewed for the job.’
Laura’s jaw dropped. ‘You don’t mean interviewed by the man himself?’
Jenny nodded. ‘Apparently.’
‘When?’
‘Eight-thirty tomorrow morning.’
‘It’s Saturday tomorrow,’ Laura pointed out.
‘Yes, I know. But it seems he’s in a hurry to fill the post. He’s sending a car for me. I can hardly believe it.’
‘Neither can I. Are you quite sure you haven’t had too much champagne?’
‘Positive.’
‘So how come?’
‘It appears that Mr Jenkins, bless him, has sung my praises to Paul Levens, one of Global’s directors, who happens to be a friend of Michael Denver’s.
‘When there was no available job for me with Global, Mr Levens, who knew that Michael Denver needed a PA, suggested me.’
‘And bingo!’
‘It may not be that simple. I may not get the job. But I certainly hope I do. It would be a dream come true to work for someone like him.’
Laura grunted. ‘Well, all I can say is, if he doesn’t realize how lucky he is and snap you up, he’s an idiot.’
Smiling at her friend’s aggressive loyalty, Jenny said, ‘Well, we’ll just have to wait and see.’
Finishing her tea, she added, ‘Now I’d better get off to bed, so I have my wits about me for the interview. I get the feeling that Michael Denver isn’t one to suffer fools gladly.’
Pulling a disappointed face, Laura
