‘Well, you know Miss Garland. What would you say?’
Any number of things, Amanda thought, none of them what he expected. But why risk spoiling things? ‘I’d say, I’ve had a boring day and you’ve had a fretful one. Why don’t we stop somewhere and I’ll treat us both to a cup of coffee and a sticky bun as a treat?’
Daniel didn’t answer, and for a moment she thought perhaps she’d gone too far. Then he signalled a left turn and pulled onto the forecourt of one of those bright, cheerful little restaurants that provide coffee and comfort food twenty-four hours a day for busy travellers. Only then did he turn to her. ‘Was this what you had in mind?’
‘What do you do for an encore?’
‘Sorry?’
‘After the mind-reading trick.’
‘If I could read minds I’d know what to do about Sadie,’ he said as he opened the door for her.
If you could read minds, Amanda thought, I’d be in big trouble.
She picked up a tray, but Daniel took it from her. ‘I dare say you’ve been running about with cups of tea for spoilt executives all day. Go and sit down. I’ll get the coffee.’
‘Garland Girls don’t make coffee,’ she said, surrendering the tray but following him along the counter. Then added, straight-faced, ‘Well, not unless it’s Jamaica Blue Mountain.’
He stopped by the self-service capuccino. ‘You’re sure you want to risk this?’
She put a mug beneath the spout and pressed the button. ‘This is fine. It just needs a good slosh of chocolate powder.’ She repeated the process. ‘And now we need a truly sticky bun,’ she said crisply. ‘What about those?’
He looked at an array of Danish pastries. ‘Was your day that bad?’
Her day had been something of a roller-coaster ride. At the moment she was on top, but she was well aware that the next half an hour could take it either way. Or maybe she was just kidding herself. ‘Actually, on second thoughts, nothing could be that bad. But you go ahead.’
‘The coffee will do just fine.’ He insisted on paying for it and carried the tray to a table.
They sat opposite one another, and for a moment neither of them said anything. Amanda realised she had started something she didn’t know quite how to finish.
Daniel stirred his coffee. ‘I was wondering,’ he said, after a moment. ‘About those tickets—’
From somewhere near her feet, Amanda’s mobile phone began to ring. She ignored it. ‘Tickets?’ she prompted.
The phone continued to trill urgently. ‘Hadn’t you better answer that?’
Amanda sent a silent message to whatever gremlin was in charge of messing up the communication networks. He was out. And the phone kept on ringing. She retrieved it from her bag. ‘Yes?’
‘Amanda, where are you? you’ve got to come back to the office!’ Beth sounded like an over-excited puppy.
She was horribly conscious of Daniel, watching her. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I been talking to Guy Dymoke!’
Guy Dymoke? ‘Do you mean Guy Dymoke the actor?’
‘Actor?’ Beth’s voice rose several octaves. ‘I’ve never noticed whether he can act. The man is sex on legs—’
‘And?’ Amanda interrupted before the woman passed out from excitment.
‘And he’s shooting a new movie in London. He needs a secretary, sweetie, and he wants one of our girls.’
Amanda glanced at Daniel, who was trying not to look too interested. ‘Can’t you handle it?’
‘Are you kidding? He wants to talk to the boss.’
‘When?’
‘Right now. He’s at Brown’s Hotel. How soon can you get there?’
Amanda looked at Daniel. The honeyed cowlick of hair. The haze-blue eyes. The roller-coaster hit downhill. ‘Hold on.’ She pressed the secrecy button. ‘Daniel, I’m sorry, but I need to get to Brown’s Hotel as quickly as possible. How long will it take?’
Like riding a bicycle, eh? Daniel had been running on instinct with Mandy Fleming, ignoring every rule in the book. What on earth had he been thinking of? If he ever found out that one of his drivers had done something like this the man would be out on his ear.
And then Mandy’s phone had rung and he’d been off the hook.
At least that was what he kept telling himself after he’d dropped her off in Albemarle Street to meet the one man in the world just about any woman would give her right arm to be sharing a hotel suite with. Even if she was just taking shorthand notes.
‘AND the earliest available date that the clinic could manage was in November.’ Having dragged every last detail of her meeting with Guy Dymoke out of her, Beth was finally bringing Amanda up to date on last Friday’s calls.
‘November?’ Amanda wanted a child of her own and she knew this was the sensible, rational way to go about it. So why, suddenly, did it seem so cold-blooded, so heartless? How would they go about it? Would they give her a check-list of features she wanted in her donor—six foot three, shoulders just so big, eyes like heat haze on a summer day … ‘November is fine. There’s no mad rush.’
‘Oh? Have you been reading all those child-rearing books and gone off the idea?’
‘Of course not.’ Well, not exactly. But she had spent the weekend thinking about watching her baby grow and wondering where that dimple had come from, or why his hair fell in a cowlick over his forehead. About living with the fact that she’d never be able to say You’re just like your father …
‘Are you sure there were no other messages?’
‘No. Were you expecting one?’
‘Yes … No …’ She caught Beth’s eye. ‘Well, maybe.’
Daniel opened his desk drawer and the pale jade earring seemed to wink at him, encouraging him to pick up the phone and call the Garland Agency. Instead he reached for an envelope, wrote Mandy’s name on it. He’d drop it in their letterbox tonight. It was the sensible thing to do.
‘Okay. Tell me all about him.’
‘Who?’
‘The guy who hasn’t phoned.’
‘He’s no one you know.’ Beth just grinned and Amanda felt herself going rather warm. ‘I met him on Friday.’
‘And?’
