Guy, drop it.’
‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll drop it. For now... See you Monday morning, Sam.’
He hung up.
Monday morning, she mused, replacing the dead receiver. That was three days away. In three days she should have herself firmly under control again.
CHAPTER THREE
AS FATE would have it, Samantha was not to see Guy the following Monday. Or the Tuesday for that matter. His father’s operation had been a technical success, but his recovery less so. He remained in Intensive Care in a coma, with Guy hardly leaving the hospital except to ring the office.
‘You’d think one of those precious ex-wives of his would have shown up to see how he’s faring, wouldn’t you?’ he growled during his second call for Tuesday. It was four-fifteen in the afternoon. ‘I let each one of them know about the operation and they all mouthed meaningless wishes for Dad’s welfare, but not an appearance between the three of them.’
‘You sound tired, Guy,’ Samantha said gently. ‘Why don’t you go home and have a proper night’s sleep?’
‘Can’t.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Dad needs me.’
‘But he’s unconscious,’ she pointed out. ‘You can’t really do anything.’
‘Yes, I can. I can talk to him, let him know it’s important to someone for him to pull through. I’ve read where coma patients can hear more than people realise.’
‘Yes...I’ve read that too.’ Samantha thought it wonderful for a grown man to love his father so much, and would have dearly liked to be by Guy’s side at the hospital, helping him in a more personal way during this time of trial. But a secretary could hardly presume to take such an intimate role and she supposed she was helping by looking after his business in his absence.
‘I’ve lined up the bookings for the tour,’ she said, knowing that talking about work would distract him from his worry for a little while.
‘Already?’
‘Mrs Walton helped me. She came in for a few hours yesterday and today. Of course, I couldn’t get the Entertainment Centre for Sydney. That’s booked out solid for a year. It’ll have to be the racecourse. Open-air stuff. Risky, I know. We’ll have to insure against rain. Oh, and the Midday Show want Frankie for a regular spot. His guest appearance last week was a big hit.’
Frankie Myers was the only comedian Guy handled. Mostly he concentrated on rock singers, musicians and bands. But Frankie was a special case. A Vietnam veteran, he’d initially made a modest living doing a stand-up comedy routine in hotels and clubs. But a growing drinking problem had shown him to be an unreliable gig and, in the end, no one would hire him. He’d been on skid row when Guy had literally tripped over him one night eighteen months ago in the gutter near his home. He’d recognised him, taken him inside, cleaned him up, dried him out and told him he’d make him a success if he gave up drinking for good.
Frankie did just that, and Guy had kept his side of the bargain, helping him update and polish his material and finding him work. But to get a regular spot on the top daytime programme on Australian television would mean unlimited exposure and a guarantee of success.
‘That’s terrific,’ Guy said, his voice smiling. ‘He deserves a break, the poor bastard.’
‘He’d never have done it without your encouragement and help.’
‘True.’ Modesty was not one of Guy’s virtues. ‘Anything else to report?’
‘No. Nothing I can’t handle.’
‘I don’t know when I’ll be in...’
‘Don’t worry. Mrs Walton and I will keep the home fires burning.’
‘You’re a girl in a million, Sam. See you.’
Samantha’s heart turned over as she heard the line go dead. Oh, Guy... You like me. I know you do. And liking can turn to love, given the chance.
Darn it all, she thought with a surge of irritation. Why couldn’t I have been born tiny and blonde?
When the phone rang again twenty minutes later she was about to pack and go home. She looked at the phone with a measure of distaste. She seemed to have spent the whole day on the thing and had had enough.
‘Hayward Promotions?’ she said somewhat impatiently as she snatched it up.
‘It’s your boss again. Guess what? Dad’s conscious. Sam, I think he’s going to make it!’
She let out a shuddering sigh of relief. ‘That’s wonderful, Guy. I’m so happy for you.’
‘I’ll be in first thing in the morning. Well...not quite first thing. Around elevenish. I have some sleep to catch up on.’
He was gone before she could say another word, leaving her with a ridiculous grin on her face. Guy’s happiness would always be her happiness.
What would there be, she worried later as she stepped outside into a still soggy Sydney, to make her happy when she didn’t see him any more?
There seemed to be no answer for her.
The office got back to relative normality after that—if battling to block out one’s dangerously escalating desire for one’s boss could be considered normal.
Guy’s father made rapid improvement. In fact he was discharged from hospital and sent home within two weeks of his becoming conscious, refusing to go to Guy’s place, hiring a private nurse and housekeeper to look after him in his own penthouse apartment. Martin Haywood was not short of a dollar, having made a fortune as an inventor of an engineering process that had revolutionised high-rise building methods.
But, despite his father’s recovery, Samantha could sense something troubling Guy. If he’d regularly tried to persuade her not to leave she might have thought she was the problem, but he seemed to have almost forgotten that soon she’d be gone. Many a time she would go into his office to find him standing at the window across the room, staring blankly out over the building tops. Then when she spoke to him he would turn round, and it would be several seconds before he’d even focus on her.
Not only that, he seemed to have lost all interest in his business, actually cutting down on the people he looked after, calling them and telling them to find another manager. She began to worry that he might not be feeling well himself, but hesitated to ask. He hated that kind of fussing. Besides, she rather fancied it was an emotional problem, not a physical one.
Unless, of course, it was sex, she decided one afternoon when he was particularly distracted. Or the lack of it. He was smoking more than ever, which meant there was no new blonde in his life. Samantha would have known if there were, anyway. All of Guy’s girlfriends were always so besotted with him that they couldn’t leave him alone. There would be phone calls and drop-in visits; luncheon dates; little presents delivered. Odd, that, she always thought. His women liked to give him things, not the other
