but EJ wasn’t really listening. Sam didn’t begrudge her. They were both experts in self-absorption—plus, since their law school days they’d had an unwritten rule that governed their friendship, outlawing negativity and insecurity. Together they perpetuated strength and success. And Sam hadn’t granted this situation crisis status yet.
‘I know what you mean, honey. What are we like—? Oh, my God!’ EJ interrupted herself. ‘I just have to tell you about last night.’ EJ dropped her voice to an almost whisper. ‘Let me tell you there is only one thing worse than a dinner party full of couples at our age, and that is a singles dinner party thrown charitably by a couple of cohabitees attempting to streamline their Christmas card list. I seriously thought about stabbing myself with a fork during the main course so I could pretend I was coming down with meningitis. Seventy per cent of the men were called Ed, only fifty per cent had hair, forty per cent had talked about their serious ex before dessert and, at a guess, one hundred per cent of them would like to screw a thirty-year-old lawyer, if not marry one.’
‘Well, I’m safe for a few more weeks, then.’
‘Why is it now that we’ve hit our thirties we’re suddenly expected to be grateful for any male attention that comes our way? If it wasn’t so fucking hilarious it’d make you want to cry. It’s all about older men. Obviously it’s better if they’re not married, but…’
Sam’s focus returned. ‘Elizabeth-Jane—you’re not, are you?’
‘No…afraid not. Even though it was the best sex I’ve ever had.’
‘La-la-la. Fingers in ears. Not listening.’
‘Oh, yes, you are. Prude. Just because you haven’t had sex in…’
‘Hey, that’s harsh.’
‘Anyway, Nick’s ancient history.’
‘Just ancient.’
‘He’s only forty-eight…and I haven’t seen or spoken to him in weeks…’
‘Weeks? I thought it was January when you…’ Conscience more stabbed than pricked, and Sam swallowed hard as her error dawned on her.
‘Hey, a girl’s got to live a little…’
She’d had nowhere else to turn. But now, thanks to the blank page and Bic biro approach to secret-keeping, it wasn’t only her personal life currently out there on a pale blue feint line. Sam shook her head as her Friday feeling hit an all-time low. She envied EJ. Having a therapist was no stranger than having a hairdresser if you were American. And you couldn’t accidentally leave a therapist in a desk drawer.
‘I really better get on, honey. I need to sort some stuff out before my tele-con with the LA office. I promise I’ll give you the rest of the story tomorrow. I’m planning to run Hyde Park first thing—call me if you’re interested. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep.’
Sam was miles away, torturing herself silently with details. Now the phone had gone quiet. Bugger. And she hadn’t actually heard EJ say goodbye.
‘Look forward to…’ Sam stopped herself when the dialling tone cut in, confirming that she was talking to herself. Cupping her chin in her hands, she stared at her computer screen, seeing nothing except imaginary tabloid headlines. Despite her desire to come up with a proactive master plan, all roads currently led to Wait Patiently. Not something Sam Washington had been designed to do. Losing things coming a close second.
As if she’d been waiting for a silence, Mel popped her head round the door. Apparently privacy was an outmoded concept.
‘Three file notes for you to proof, and I’ve brought you some tea. Thought you might need pepping up before your meeting.’
Sam was about to request a herbal alternative, but from the wafts of minty steam knew her secretary had anticipated well.
‘Thanks. Meeting?’
‘Your two o’clock. Fifth floor. Conference room 1. Just thought it might have slipped your mind, what with the not having been to bed thing. I mean, I know your seat practically turns into one, but I imagine it’s not the same.’
‘Right. Yes. I’ll be there…thanks.’ Sam picked up a pen and stared at the papers on her desk. She’d been counting on losing herself in a drafting but the words were just taunting her. As for a meeting…
‘No problem.’ Mel turned as she got to the door. ‘Oh, and your mother rang. Please call her when you get a chance. She said it was fairly urgent.’
‘Will do…’
Sam suppressed her irritation. Despite repeated briefings on the subject, her mother still hadn’t grasped that phoning the office was best kept for emergencies and that organising Sunday lunch didn’t deserve ‘fairly urgent’ classification.
‘Oh and Mel?’
‘Yup?’
‘If The Carlyle Hotel call…’
‘I know, I know. I’ll put them straight through.’
‘Right…’
Conversation closed.
Taking a sip of her tea, Sam brushed her hair, applied a little extra Touche Éclat, a fresh coat of powder, lipgloss and a generous squirt of perfume from the bottle she kept in her desk drawer. Restored to at least a superficial level of normality, she smoothed down her skirt as she got to her feet, and checked her appearance in the mirror. Perfect.
Insecurities filed away in an internal drawer somewhere, she strutted towards the lift. She loved the high-profile deals, and she was getting more and more of them. Youngest partner in the City. She dared to dream. As long as EJ didn’t get there first.
Chapter Two
January 24th
Ben hesitated. Ali hadn’t seen the funny side of him reading her journal, and that had been nearly twenty years ago. But there was a high probability that this one might contain more than high school crushes, exam angst and playground politics. Plus, if he didn’t at least try to identify the author, how was he supposed to reunite the two in exchange for eternal gratitude? Perfect justification. He flicked back to the beginning.
If found please return to:
Flat 3,
68 Warwick Road,
Battersea,
London SW11 8HP
Damn. But breakfast wasn’t due for another forty-five minutes, and he only needed to have a quick shower. After all, he was unpacked already.
Jan 1st
Hungover. Should never have gone to Sophie’s dinner party. Food always fantastic—really must learn to cook properly—but midnight was a bit like
