Her Sweet Surrender

The First Crush Is the Deepest

Last-Minute Bridesmaid

Blame It on the Champagne

Nina Harrington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

The First Crush is the Deepest

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

Last-Minute Bridesmaid

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

PROLOGUE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Blame It on the Champagne

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Copyright

The First Crush Is the Deepest

Nina Harrington

You never forget your first…

Sam Richards was Amber DuBois’s first crush, first kiss and first love. Until he broke her heart and left town.

Now older and wiser, world-famous concert pianist Amber is at a crossroads in her life. But the sweetheart who spurned her is back—hotter, richer and in need of a favor! Glamour, romance and old heartaches resurface, but will her first crush stand the test of time?

The First Crush Is the Deepest

“Are you offering me an exclusive?” Sam asked. “What’s the catch?”

“Oh, how suspicious you are. Well. As it happens, I might be willing to give you that interview.” Amber cleared her throat and tilted her head, well aware that she had his full attention. “But there are a few conditions we need to agree on before I talk on the record.”

“Conditions. This sounds like the catch part.”

“I prefer to think of them as more of a trade. You do something for me, I do something for you.”

“Ah. Now we have it. You know you have the upper hand so you decided to come down here to gloat?”

“Gloat?” she repeated. “Do you really think I would do that?” Her words caught at the back of her throat. Was that how he thought of her? “I haven’t changed that much, Sam. You need an interview and I have a few things I need doing, which you might be able to help me with. It’s as simple as that.”

“Simple? Nothing about you was ever simple, Amber.”

NINA HARRINGTON grew up in rural Northumberland, England, and decided at the age of eleven that she was going to be a librarian—because then she could read all the books in the public library whenever she wanted! Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realize her dream of being a fiction writer. When she is not creating stories that make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine—and talking, for which she has had specialist training.

ONE

Amber DuBois closed her eyes and tried to stay calm. ‘Yes, Heath,’ she replied. ‘Of course I am taking care of myself. No, I am not staying out too long this evening. That’s right, a couple of hours at most.’

The limo slowed and she squinted out at the impressive stone pillars of the swish London private members club. ‘Ah. I think we have arrived. Time for you to get back to your office. Don’t you have a company to sort out? Bye, Heath. Love you. Bye.’

She sighed out loud then quickly stowed her phone in a tiny designer shoulder bag. Heath meant well but in his eyes she was still the teenage unwanted stepsister who he had been told to look after and had never quite learnt to let go. But he cared and she knew that she could rely on him for anything. And that meant a lot when you were at a low point in your life.

Like now.

Amber looked up through the drizzle and was just about to tell the limo driver that she had changed her mind when a plump blonde in a purple bandage dress two sizes too small for her burst out of the club and almost dragged Amber out of the rain and into the foyer.

She looked a little like the mousey-haired girl who had lorded over everyone from the posh girls’ table at high school.

Right now Amber watched Miss Snooty ‘my dad’s a banker’ rear back in horror when she realised that the star of the ten-year school reunion alumni had a plaster cast over her right wrist, but recovered enough to bend forward and air kiss her on both cheeks with a loud mmwwahh.

‘Amber. Darling. How lovely to see you again. We are so pleased that you could make our little get-together—especially when you lead such an exciting life these days. Do come inside. We want to know everything!’

Amber was practically propelled across the lovely marble floor, which was tricky to do in platform designer slingbacks. She had barely caught her breath when a hand at her back pushed her forwards into a huge room. The walls were covered with cream brocade, broken up by floor to ceiling mirrors, and huge gilded chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

It was a ballroom designed to cope with hundreds of people.

Only at that moment several clusters of extremely bored-looking women in their late twenties were standing with their hands clasped around buffet plates and wine glasses.

Every single one of them stopped talking and turned around.

And stared at her.

In total silence.

Amber had faced concert audiences of all shapes and sizes—but the frosty atmosphere in this cold elegant room was frigid enough to send a shiver down her spine.

‘Look everyone. Amber DuBois made it in the end. Isn’t that marvellous! Now carry on enjoying yourself. Fabulous!’

Two minutes later Amber was standing at the buffet and drinks table with a glass of fizzy water in her hand. She smiled down at her guide, who had started to chew the corner of her lower lip. ‘Is everything all right?’ Amber asked.

The other woman gulped and whimpered slightly. ‘Yes—yes, of course. Everything is just divine. I just need to check something—but feel free to mingle, darling...mingle.’

And then she practically jogged over to a girl who might have been one of the prefects, grabbed her arm and in no uncertain terms jabbed her head towards Amber and glared towards the other side of the room.

Amber peered over the elaborate hairstyles of a cluster of chattering women who were giving her sideways glances as though scared to come and talk to her.

This was so ridiculous. So what if she had made a name for herself as a concert pianist over the years? She was still the quiet, lanky, awkward girl they used to pick on.

And then she saw it. A stunning glossy black grand piano had been brought out in front of the tall picture windows. Just waiting for someone to play it.

So that was the reason her old high school had gone to such lengths to track her down with an email invitation to the ten-year school reunion.

Amber sighed out loud and her shoulders slumped down.

It seemed that some things never changed.

They had never shown the slightest interest in her when she was their schoolmate—far from it in fact. Amber DuBois might have had the connections but she was not one of the posh clique of girls or the seriously academic group. She was usually on the last table and the back of the bus with the rest of the eccentrics.

Well. If there was a time to channel her inner diva, then this was it. One final performance—and the only one they would be getting from her that evening.

Cameras flashed as Amber strode, head high, canapés wobbling, across the polished wooden floor towards the ladies room.

Behind her back, Amber heard someone tap twice on the microphone but the squeaky posh voice was cut off as she stepped inside the powder room, pushed the door firmly closed with her bottom and collapsed back against it for a moment, eyes closed.

Sanctuary! If the speeches had just started she might have the place to hide out for a few precious minutes—it could even be a chance to escape.

She was just about to peek outside to check for options when the sound of something falling onto the tiled floor echoed from the adjoining powder room, quickly followed by a colourful expletive.

Amber’s heels clattered on the tiles as she strolled over and peered around the corner to see where the noise was coming from.

A short brunette was standing on tiptoe, straddling two washbasins, with her arms outstretched, trying to reach the handle of the double-glazed window which was high on the wall above her. A red plastic mop bucket was lying on its side next to the washbasin.

‘What’s this? Kate Lovat running out on a party? I must be seeing things.’ A short chuckle escaped from Amber’s lips before she could stop it, and instantly the brunette whirled around to see who it was—and screamed and waved her arms about the instant she saw who had asked the question.

Which made her wobble so much that Amber rushed forwards, slid her buffet plate onto the marble counter, flipped up the bucket to create a step and then wrapped her left arm around the waist of a compact bundle of fun in a stunning cerise vintage cocktail dress.

Kate Lovat was one of the few real pals that she had made at high school.

Irrepressible, petite and fierce, Kate used to have a self-confidence which was as large as the heels she wore to push her height up to medium and a spirit to match. Today her short tousled dark hair was slicked into an asymmetric style which managed to make her look both elegant and quirky at the same time.

‘Kate!’ Amber laughed. ‘I was praying that you were going to turn up at the reunion. You look fabulous!’

‘Why thank you, pretty lady. Right back at you. You are even more gorgeous than ever.’ Then Kate’s mouth fell open, her eyes locked onto the floor and she gave a high pitched squeak as she grabbed Amber’s arm. ‘Oh my...those shoes. I want those shoes. In fact if you were not several sizes bigger than me, I would knock you down and run off with them.’

Then Kate took one step back and peered into Amber’s face, her eyes narrow and her brow creased. ‘Wait a minute. You look peaky. And a lot skinnier than the last time I saw you... Did I tell you that I have suddenly become clairvoyant? Because I foresee chocolate and plenty of it in your very near future.’

Then she pointed at the plaster cast on Amber’s wrist. ‘I have to know. Wait.’ She held up one hand and pressed the fingertips of the other hand to her forehead as though she was doing her own mind-reading act. ‘Let me guess. You slipped on an ice cube at some fashionista party, or was it a yacht cruising the Caribbean? It must make playing the piano a tad tricky.’

‘Kate. Slow down. If you must know, I tripped over my own suitcase a couple of weeks ago. And yes, I have cancelled everything for the next six months so my wrist has a chance to heal.’ Then she paused. ‘And why do you need to sneak out of the window at our school reunion when you could be catching up on the gossip with the rest of our class?’

Kate took a breath, her lower lip quivered and she seemed about to say something, then changed her mind, broke into a smile and waved one hand towards the door. ‘Been there. Done that. This has been one hell of a rotten day and the kidnappers have blockaded the doors to stop us from getting out.’

Then Kate lifted her chin. ‘But here is an idea,’ she said, her dark green eyes twinkling with delight. She gestured with her head towards the red velvet chaise at the other end of the powder room. Two buffet plates piled high with pastries and cocktail skewers were stashed on the floor.

‘Who cares about them? We have a sofa. We have snacks. And the really good news is that I crashed into Saskia five minutes ago and she is now on a mission to find liquid refreshment and cake. The three of us could have our own party right here. What do you say?’

Amber’s shoulders dropped several inches and she hugged her old friend one-handed. ‘That. Is the best idea I have heard in a long time. Oh, I had forgotten how much I missed you both. But I thought Saskia was still in France.’

Kate winked. ‘Oh, things have certainly changed around here. Just wait until you hear what we have been up to.’ Then she waved both hands towards Amber and grabbed her around the waist. ‘It is so good to see you. But come on, sit. What drove you out from the chosen few? Or should that be who drove you out?’

Suddenly Kate froze and her fingers flew to her mouth. ‘Don’t tell me that snake in the grass Petra dared to show her face.’

Petra. Amber took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Well, if Petra was in there, I didn’t notice, and somehow I think I would have recognised her.’

‘Damn right.’ Kate scowled. ‘Ten years is not nearly long enough to forget that face. A friend does not jump on her best pal’s boyfriend. Especially at that pal’s eighteenth birthday party.’ Her flat right hand sliced through the air. ‘For some things there is no forgiveness. None. Zero. Don’t even ask. Oh—is that a mushroom tartlet?’

‘Help yourself,’ Amber replied and passed Kate her plate. Strange how she had suddenly lost her appetite the moment Petra’s name was mentioned. The memory of the last time she had seen the girl she used to call her friend flittered across her brain, bringing a bitter taste of regret into her mouth. ‘It takes two to tango, Kate,’ she murmured. ‘And, from what I recall, Sam Richards wasn’t exactly complaining that Petra had made a move on him. Far from it, in fact.’

‘Of course not,’ Kate replied between bites. ‘He was a boy and she bedazzled him. He didn’t have a chance.’

‘Bedazzled?’

‘Bedazzled. Once that girl decided that Sam was the target he was toast.’ Then Kate coughed and flicked a glance at Amber before brushing pastry crumbs from her fingers. ‘He’s back in London now, you know. Sam. Working as a journalist for that swanky newspaper he was always talking about.’

Amber brought her head up very slowly. ‘How fascinating. Perhaps I should ring the editor and warn him that his new reporter is susceptible to bedazzlement?’

‘Careful.’ Kate chuckled. ‘They’ll be saying that I am having a bad influence on you.’

‘Well, that would never do! Hi Amber,’ a sweet clipped voice came from the bathroom.

‘Saskia!’ Kate instantly leaped up from the sofa and grabbed the plate of mini chocolate cakes that was threatening to topple over at any second. ‘Look who’s here.’ Then she caught her breath. ‘What happened to your dress?’

Saskia slid onto the sofa and lowered a screw cap bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses onto the floor in front of them so that she could give Amber a hug.

It was only then Amber noticed the red wine stain which was still dripping down the sleeve of Saskia’s cream lace dress. It was almost as if someone had thrown a glass of wine at her.

Maybe things had changed? Because if Kate was the petite quirky one of their little band and Amber the lanky American, then Saskia was the classic English beauty. Medium brown hair, medium height and size. And the one girl who would never cause a scene or make a fuss.

‘Excuse me for a moment.’ Saskia nodded. And, without waiting for an answer, she clenched her teeth and picked up one of the paper hand towels and tore it violently into strips lengthways. Then into smaller strips, then more slowly into squares. Only when the whole towel was completely shredded into postage stamps did Saskia exhale slowly, gather up all of the pieces and toss them into the waste basket.

‘Well, I feel a lot better now.’ She smiled and brushed her hands off.

Kate was still choking so Amber was the one who had to ask, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Saskia sat bolt upright on the sofa, too proud to slouch back against the cushion, and casually mopped the stain with a paper napkin. ‘Apparently I am all that is bad in the world because I refused to let the school alumni committee use Elwood House for free for the weekly soiree—you know, the one I have never been invited to? You should have seen their faces the moment I mentioned the going hourly rate. That’s when the abuse started.’

She sniffed once. ‘It was most unladylike. Frankly, I am appalled.’

Kate pushed back her shoulders and her chin forward. ‘Right. Where are they? No one disses my pal and gets away with it. There are three of us against the whole room—no contest.’

‘I have just finished ten years of training as a full-on concert diva,’ Amber added. ‘Want to see me in action? It can be scary.’

Saskia shook her head. ‘That would be playing right into their hands. They would just love it if we made a scene. It gives them something to talk about in their shallow little lives. Let it go. Seriously. I have decided to rise above it.’ Then her face broke into a smile. ‘I am already having far too good a time right here. Kate. Would you be so kind as to twist open that bottle? I want to hear everything. Let’s start with the obvious. My love life is on hold until Elwood House is up and running, but what about you, Kate?’

Kate looked up from pouring the wine. ‘Don’t look at me,’ she replied in disgust. ‘I seem to have an inbuilt boy repellent at the moment. One taste and they run. Unlike some people we know. Come on, Amber. What’s the latest on that hunky mountain man we saw you with in the celeb mags?’

‘History. Gone. Finished,’ Amber replied and took a sip of wine before passing it to Saskia. ‘But I live in hope. If I ever get out of this powder room I am going to start fund-raising for my friend Parvita’s charity in India and, you never know, I might meet someone over the next few months. I visited the orphanage with her a few months ago and I promised the girls that I would go back if I could.’ Her eyes stared over their heads at the large white tiles. ‘It is the most fabulous place and right on the beach,’ she added in a dreamy faraway voice.

Then her shoulders slumped. ‘Who am I kidding? Heath would be furious with me for even thinking about going back to India.’

‘Heath? You mean, as in your stepbrother Heath?’ Kate whispered. ‘Why should he object to you going to India?’

Amber took a breath and looked over at Saskia and then back to Kate. ‘Because he worries about me. You see, I didn’t just fall over my suitcase and break my wrist. I had just got back from India and I sort of collapsed. There was an outbreak of...’

The sound of raucous laughter cut Amber off mid-sentence as a horde of noisy chattering women burst into the ladies room. Their voices echoed around the tiled space in an explosion of sound.

Amber pressed both hands to her ears. ‘Sounds like the speeches are over and I have just heard the word karaoke.’ She gestured towards the entrance. ‘We might be able to sneak out the side entrance if we are quick. My apartment is the nearest. Then I’ll tell you what really happened in India and why Heath is as worried as I am.’

TWO

‘Tell me what you know about Bambi DuBois.’

The question hit Sam Richards right between the eyes, just as he was swallowing down the last of his coffee, and he almost choked on the coarse grounds in the bottom of the cup.

Frank Evans strode into the corner office as though he had a hurricane behind his back and waved a colour magazine in front of Sam’s nose.

Sam sniffed and gave his new boss a one-handed hat tip salute. Frank had made his name in the media company by being one of the sharpest editors in the business who only worked with the best, but Sam had already been warned that Frank had not earned the editor’s desk through his personnel skills.

‘And good morning to you too, Frank,’ Sam replied. ‘And thank you for your warm welcome to the London office.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Frank shooed a hand in Sam’s direction and pointed to the desk. ‘Take a seat. Monday madness. Worse than ever. You know what it’s like. The chief is on my back and it’s not nine o’clock yet. Time to rock and roll. You talk. I listen. Let’s hear it. Show me that you’re not completely out of touch with the London scene after all those years out in the wilderness.’

Sam stifled a laugh. So much for an easy first day in the new job.

Frank settled the seat of his over tight suit onto the wide leather chair on the other side of the modern polymer table and ran his short stubby fingers through his receding grey hair before drinking down what must now be cold milky coffee.

His cheap tie was already tugged down a couple of inches and his shirt sleeves had missed the iron, but in contrast his eyes sparkled with intelligence as he leant his arms on one of the cleanest and most organised desks Sam had ever seen.

Bambi DuBois? The shock of hearing her name kept Sam frozen to the spot, cup in hand, before his brain kicked in and he frowned as though thinking about an answer. A few manly coughs gave him just enough time to pull together a casual reply to the editor who he had previously only spoken to twice on the telephone.

The editor who had the power to decide whether he had a future career in this newspaper—or not.

This was definitely not the perfect start to his dream job that he had imagined!

Lowering his cup onto a coaster, Sam assumed his very best bored and casual disinterested journalist’s face. His career depended on this man’s decision.

‘Do you mean Amber DuBois? English concert pianist. Blonde. Leggy. Popular with the top fashion designers, who like her to wear their gowns at performances.’ He shrugged at the newspaper editor and new boss who was staring at him so intently. ‘I think she was the face of some cosmetic company a few years ago. And I would hardly call Los Angeles the wilderness.’

Frank slid a magazine across the desk. ‘Make that the biggest cosmetic company in Asia and you are getting close. But you seem to have missed something out. Have a look at this.’

Sam took his time before picking it up and instantly recognised it as the latest colour supplement from their main competitor’s weekly entertainment section. And any confusion he might have had about Frank’s question vanished into the stiflingly hot air of the prized corner office.

The cover ran a full colour half page photograph of Amber ‘Bambi’ DuBois in a flowing azure dress with a jewel-encrusted tiny strapless bodice.

The shy, gangly teenage girl he had once known was gone—and in her place was a beautiful, elegant woman who was not just in control but revelling in her talent.

Amber was sitting at a black grand piano with one long, slender, silky leg stretched out to display a jewelled high heeled sandal and Sam was so transfixed by how stunning she looked that it took him a microsecond to realise that his new boss was tapping the headline with the chewed end of his ballpoint pen.

International Concert Pianist Amber DuBois Shocks the Classical Music World by Announcing her Retirement at 28. But the Question on Everyone’s Lips is: Why? What Next for ‘Bambi’ DuBois?

Sam looked up at his editor and raised his eyebrows just as Frank leant across the desk and slapped one heavy hand down firmly onto the cover so that his fingers were splayed out over Amber’s chest.

‘I smell a story. There has to be some very good reason why a professional musician like Amber DuBois suddenly announces her retirement out of the blue when she is at the top of her game.’

Frank aimed a finger at Sam’s chest and fired. ‘The rumour is that our Amber is jumping on the celebrity bandwagon of adopting a vanity charity project in India to spend her money on, but her agent is refusing to comment. As far as I am concerned, this is a ruse to get the orchestras begging her to come back with a solid platinum hello. And I want this paper to get in there first with the real story.’

Frank sat back in his wide leather chair and folded his arms.

‘More to the point—I want you to go out there and bring back an exclusive interview with the lovely Miss DuBois. You can consider this your first assignment.’

Then Frank shrugged. ‘You can thank me for the opportunity later.’

The words stayed frozen in the air as though trapped inside an iceberg large enough to sink his new job in one deadly head-on collision.

Thank him?

For a fraction of a second Sam wondered if this was some sort of joke. A bizarre initiation ceremony into the world of the London office of GlobalStar Media, and there was a secret camera hidden in the framed magazine covers behind Frank’s head which were recording just how he was reacting to the offer of this amazing opportunity.

Sam flexed out the fingers of both hands so that he wouldn’t scrunch up the magazine and toss it back to Frank with a few choice words about what he thought of his little joke, while his normally sharp brain worked through a few options to create a decent enough excuse as to why Frank should find another journalist for this particular gig.

Sam inhaled slowly as each syllable sank in. It had taken him three months to arrange a transfer from the Los Angeles office of the media giant he had given his life to for the past ten years. He had worked himself up from being the post room boy and sacrificed relationships and anything close to a social life to reach this point in his career.

This was more than just a jump on the promotion ladder; this was the job he had been dreaming about since he was a teenager. The only job that he had ever wanted. Ever. No way was he going to be diverted from that editor’s chair. Not now, not when he had come so far.

Sam blinked twice. ‘Sorry, Frank, but can you say that again? Because I think I must have misheard. I’ve just spent the last ten years working my way from New York to Los Angeles on the back of celebrity interviews. I applied to be an investigative journalist not a gossip columnist.’

Frank replied with a dismissive snort and he bit off a laugh. ‘Do you know what pays for this shiny office we are sitting in, Sam? Magazine sales. And the public love celebrity stories, especially when it concerns a girl with the looks of Amber DuBois. It’s all over the Internet this morning that orchestras have been lining up and offering her huge bonuses to come and work for them for one last season before she retires. And then there is her publicity machine. The girl is a genius.’

He raised one hand into the air and gave Sam a Vee sign. ‘She has only ever been seen with two dates in the last ten years. Two. And not your boring classical musician—oh, no, our girl Amber likes top action men. First there was the Italian racing car driver who she cheered on to be World Champion, then that Scottish mountaineer. Climbing Everest for charity. With the lovely Amber at Base Camp waving him farewell with a tear in her eye. She is the modelling musical sweetheart and her fans love her—and now this.’

The pen went back to some serious tapping. ‘Think of it as your first celebrity interview for the London office. Who knows? This could be the last fluff piece you ever write. Use some of that famous charm I’ve been hearing about—the lovely Miss DuBois will be putty in your hands.’

His hands? Sam’s fingers stretched out over his knees. Instantly his mind starting wheeling through the possibility that someone had tipped off this shark of an editor that ten years ago those same hands had known every intimate detail about Amber ‘Bambi’ DuBois. Her hopes, her dreams, the fact that she always asked for extra anchovies on her pizza and had a sensitive spot at one side of her neck that could melt her in seconds. The way her long slender legs felt under his fingertips. Oh, yes, Sam Richards knew a lot more about Amber DuBois than he was prepared to tell anyone.

This job was going to make or break his career, but he had promised himself on the night they’d parted that, no matter how desperate he was for money or fame, he would never tell Amber’s story. It was too personal and private. And he had kept that promise, despite the temptation—but the world he worked in did not see it that way.

Sam had seen more than one popular musician or actor pull celebrity stunts to get the attention of the media, and he had learnt his craft by writing about their petty dramas and desperate need for attention, but Amber had never been one of them. She didn’t need to. She had the talent to succeed on her own, as well as a body and a face the camera loved.

Frank shuffled in his chair. Impatient for his reply.

Sam took one look into those clever, scheming eyes and the sinking feeling that had been in the bottom of his stomach since he had walked into the impressive office building that morning turned into a gaping cavern.

He was just about to be stitched up.

What could he do? He did not have the authority to walk into a new office and demand the best jobs as though they owed him a future. Just the opposite. But Frank might have waited until his second day as the new boy.

‘I’m sure you’re right, Frank. But I was looking forward to getting started on that investigation into Eurozone political funding we talked about. Has it fallen through?’

Frank reached into his desk drawer and handed Sam a folder of documents.

‘Far from it. Everything we have seen so far screams corruption at every level from the bottom up. Take a look. The research team have already lined up a series of interviews with insiders across Europe. And it’s all there, waiting for someone to turn over the stones and see what is crawling underneath.’

Sam scan read the first few pages of notes and background information for the interviews and kept reading, his mind racing with options on how he could craft a series of articles from the one investigation. And the more he read, the faster his heart raced.

This was it. This was the perfect piece of financial journalism that would set him up as a serious journalist on the paper and win him the editor’s job he had sacrificed a lot to achieve. And it had to be the London office. Not Los Angeles or New York. London.

‘Does your dad still have that limo service in Knightsbridge? We’ve used them a couple of times. Great cars. Your dad might get a kick out of seeing your name on the front page.’

Might? His dad would love it.

His father had sacrificed everything for him after his mother left them. He had been a single parent to a sullen and fiercely angry teenager who was struggling to find his way against the odds. Driven by the burning ambition to show the world that he was capable of being more than a limo driver like his dad.

Sam Richards had made his father’s life hell for so many years. And yet his dad had stuck by him every step of the way without expecting a word of thanks.

And now it was payback time.

This promotion to the GlobalStar London office was a first step to make up for years of missed telephone calls and flying Christmas visits.

Shame that his shiny new career was just about to hit an iceberg called Amber DuBois.

Aware that Frank was watching him with his arms crossed and knew exactly how tempting this piece was, Sam closed the folder and slid it back across the desk. This was no time to be coy.

‘Actually, he sold the limo business a few years back to go into property. But you’re right. He would be pleased. So how do I make that happen, Frank? What do I have to do to get this assignment?’

‘Simple. You have built up quite a reputation for yourself as a hard worker in the Los Angeles office. And now you want an editor’s desk. I understand that. Ten years on the front line is a long time, but I cannot just give you a golden story like this when I have a team of hungry reporters sitting outside this office who would love to make their mark on it. All I am asking you to do is show me that you are as good as they say you are.’

Frank slid the dossier back into his desk drawer. ‘If you want the editor’s desk, you are going to have to come back with an exclusive interview from the lovely Amber. Feature length. Oh—and you have two weeks to do it. We can’t risk someone else breaking Amber’s story before we do. Do we understand each other? Excellent, I look forward to reading your exposé.’

Sam rose to shake hands and Frank’s fingers squeezed hard and stayed clamped shut. ‘And Sam. One more thing. The truth about “Bambi’s Bollywood Babies” had better be amazing or you will be back to the bottom of the ladder all over again, interviewing TV soap stars about their leg-waxing regime.’

He released Sam with a nod. ‘You can take the magazine. Have fun.’

Sam closed the door to Frank’s office behind him and stood in silence on the ocean of grey plastic industrial carpet in the open-plan office, looking out over rows of cubicles. He had become used to the cacophony of noise and voices and telephones that was part of working in newspaper offices just like this, no matter what city he happened to be in that day. If anything, it helped to block out the alarm sirens that were sounding inside his head.

This was the very office block that he used to walk and cycle past every day on his way to school. He remembered looking up at the glass-fronted building and dreaming about what it must be like to be a top reporter working in a place like this. Writing important articles in the newspapers that men like his dad’s clients read religiously in the back seat of the limo.

The weird thing was—from the very first moment that he had told his dad that he wanted to be a journalist on this paper, his dad had worked all of the extra hours and midnight airport runs, week after week, month after month, to make that possible. He had never once doubted that he would do it. Not once.

And now he was here. He had done it.

The one thing he had never imagined was that his first assignment in his dream job would mean working with Amber.

Sam glanced at the magazine cover in his hand. And reflected back at him was the lovely face of the one woman in the world who was guaranteed to set the dogs on him the minute he even tried to get within shouting distance.

And in his case he deserved it. The nineteen-year-old Sam Richards had given Amber DuBois very good reason to never want to talk to him again.

He might have given Amber her first kiss—but he had broken her heart just as fast.

Now all he had to do was persuade her to overlook the past, forgive and forget and reveal her deep innermost secrets for the benefit of the magazine-reading public.

Fun might not be the ideal word to describe how he was feeling.

But it had to be done. There was no going back to Los Angeles. For better or worse, he had burnt those bridges. He needed this job. But more than that—he wanted it. He had worked hard to be standing on this piece of carpet, looking out, instead of standing outside on the pavement, looking in.

He owed it to his dad, who had believed in him when nobody else had, even after years of making his dad’s life a misery. And he owed it to himself. He wasn’t the second class chauffeur’s son any longer.

He had to get that interview with Amber.

No matter how much grovelling was involved.

THREE

‘And you are quite sure about that? No interviews at all? And you did tell Miss DuBois who was calling? Yes. Yes I understand. Thank you. I’ll be sure to check her website for future news.’

Sam flicked down the cover on his cellphone and tapped the offending instrument against his forehead before popping it into his pocket.

Her website? When did a professional talent agency direct a journalist to a website? No, it was more than that. His name was probably on some blacklist Amber had passed to her agent with instructions that she would not speak to him under any circumstances.

He needed to think this through and come up with a plan—and fast.

Sam wrapped the special polishing cloth around his fist and started rubbing the fine polish onto the already glossy paintwork on the back wheel arch of his dad’s pride and joy. The convertible vintage English sports car had been one of the few cars that his dad had saved when he had to sell the classic car showroom as part of the divorce from Sam’s mother.

It had taken Sam and his dad three years to restore the sports car back to the original pristine condition that it was still today. Three years of working evenings after school and the occasional Sunday when his dad was not driving limos for other people to enjoy.

Three years of pouring their pain and bitterness about Sam’s mother into hard physical work and sweat, as though creating something solid and physical would somehow make up for the fact that she had left Sam with his dad and gone off to make a new life for herself with her rich boyfriend. A life funded by the sale of his dad’s business and most of their savings.

But they had done it. Together. Even though Sam had resented every single second of the work they did on this car. Resented it so much that he could cheerfully have pushed it outside onto the street, set it on fire and delighted in watching it burn. Like his dreams had burnt the day his mother left.

In another place, with another father and another home, Sam might have taken his burning fury out in a sports field or with his fists in a boxing ring or even on the streets in this part of London.

Instead, he had directed all of his teenage frustration and anger and bitterness at his father.

He had been so furious with his dad for not changing jobs like his mother had wanted him to.

Furious for not running after her and begging her to come back and be with them—like he had done that morning when he came down for breakfast early and saw her going out of the front door with her suitcases. He had followed that taxi cab for three streets before his legs gave way.

She had never even looked back at him. Not once.

And it was all his dad’s fault. The arguments. The fights. They were all his fault. He must have done something terrible to make her leave.

Sam’s gaze flicked up at the thin partition wall that separated the cab office from the workshop. Just next to the door was a jagged hole in the plaster sheet the size of a teenage fist.

Sam’s fist.

It was the closest he had ever come to lashing out at his dad physically.

The screaming and the shouting and the silent stomping about the house had no effect on this broken man, who carried on working as though nothing had happened. As though their lives had not been destroyed. And to the boy he was then, it was more than just frustrating—it was a spark under a keg of gunpowder.

They’d survived three long, hard years before Sam had taken off to America.

And along the way Sam had learnt the life lessons that he still carried in his heart. He had learnt that love everlasting, marriage and family were outdated ideas which only wrecked people’s lives and caused lifelong damage to any children who got caught up in the mess.

He had seen it first-hand with his own parents, and with the parents of his friends like Amber and the girls she knew. Not one of them came from happy homes.

The countless broken marriages and relationships of journalists and the celebrities he had met over the years had only made his belief stronger, not less.

He would be a fool to get trapped in the cage that was marriage. And in the meantime he would take his time enjoying the company of the lovely ladies who were attracted to luxury motors like free chocolate and champagne, and that suited him just fine.

No permanent relationships.

No children to become casualties when the battle started.

Other men had wives and children, and he wished them well.

Not for him. The last thing he wanted was children.

Pity that his last girlfriend in Los Angeles had refused to believe that he had no intention of inviting her to move into his apartment and was already booking wedding planners before she realised that he meant what he said—he cared about Alice but he had absolutely no intention of walking down an aisle to the tune of wedding bells any time soon. If ever.

No. Sam had no problem with using his charm and good looks to persuade reluctant celebrities to talk to him—and he was good at it. Good enough to have made his living out of those little chats and cosy drinks.

But when it came to trust? Ah. Different matter altogether.

He placed his trust in metal and motor engineering and electronics. Smooth bodywork over a solid, beautiful engine designed by some of the finest engineers in the world. People could and would let you down for no reason, but not motors. Motors were something he could control and rely on.

He trusted his father and his deep-seated sense of integrity and silent resolve never to bad-mouth Sam’s mother, even when times had been tough for both of them. And they had been tough, there was no doubt about that.

But there had always been one constant in his life. His dad had never doubted that he would pass the exams and go to university and make his dream of becoming a journalist come true.

Unlike his mother. The last conversation that they ever had was burned into his memory like a deep brand that time and experience would never be able to erase.

What had she called him? Oh, yes. His own mother had called him a useless dreamer who would never amount to anything and would end up driving other people around for a living, just like his father.

Well, he had proven her wrong on every count, and this editor’s job was the final step on a long and arduous journey that began the day she left them.

It was time to show his dad that he had been right to keep faith in him and put up with the anger. Time to show him that he was grateful for everything he had done for him.

All of which screamed out one single message.

He needed that interview with Amber. He knew that she was in London—and he knew where her friends lived. He had to persuade her to talk to him, no matter what it took, even if it meant tracking her down and stalking her. He had come too far to let anything stand in his way now.

Amber DuBois. The girl he left behind.

His hands stilled and he stepped back from the car and grabbed a chilled bottle of water from the mini-fridge in the corner of the workshop and then pressed the chilled bottle against the back of his neck to try and cool down. Time to get creative. Time to...

The bell over the back door rang. Odd. His dad didn’t like customers coming to the garage. This was his private space and always had been. No clients allowed.

Sam turned down the radio to a normal level and was just wiping his hands on a paper towel when the workshop’s wooden door swung open.

And Amber ‘legs up to her armpits’ Bambi DuBois drifted into his garage as though she was floating on air.

* * *

He looked up and tried to speak, but the air in his lungs was too frozen in shock. So he squared his shoulders and took a moment to enjoy the view instead.

Amber was wearing a knee length floral summer dress in shades of pastel pink and soft green which moved as she walked, sliding over her slim hips as though the slippery fabric was alive or liquid.

Sam felt as though a mobile oasis of light and summer and positive energy had just floated in on the breeze into the dim and dingy old garage his dad refused to paint. The dark shadows and recesses where the old tins of oil and catalogues were stored only seemed to make the brightness of this woman even more pronounced.

She took a few steps closer, her left hand still inside the heart-shaped pocket of her dress and he felt like stepping backwards so that they could keep that distance.

This was totally ludicrous. After all, this was his space and she was his visitor.

His beautiful, talented, ridiculously lovely visitor who looked as though she had just stepped out from a cover shoot for a fashion magazine.

She was sunlight in his darkness—just the same as she had always been, and seeing her again like this reinforced just how much he had missed her and never had the courage to admit it.

Amber looked at him with the faintest of polite smiles and slipped her sunglasses higher onto her nose with one fingertip.

‘This place has not changed one bit,’ she whispered in a voice what was as soft and musical and gentle and lovely as he had remembered. A voice which still had the power to make his blood sing.

Then she glanced across at the car. ‘You even have the same sports car. That’s amazing.’

Sam had often wondered how Amber would turn out. Not that he could avoid seeing her name. Her face was plastered on billboards and the sides of buses from California to London. But that was not the real Amber. He knew that only too well from working in the media business.

No. This was the real Amber. This beautiful girl who was running the manicured fingertips of her left hand along the leather seat of the sports car he had just polished.

Maybe she had decided to forgive him for the way they had parted.

‘My dad kept it.’ He shrugged. ‘One of a kind.’

Amber paused and she sighed. ‘The last time I saw this car was the night of my eighteenth birthday party and you were sitting in the front seat with your tongue down the throat of my so called friend Petra. About twenty minutes after you had declared your undying love for me.’

She gave a strangled chuckle. ‘Oh, yes, I remember this car very well indeed. Shame that the driver was not quite as classy.’

Or maybe she hadn’t.

Sam pushed his hand down firmly on the workbench behind him.

So. Here we go. In her eyes he was still the chauffeur’s son who had dared to date the rich client’s daughter. And then kissed her best friend.

Goodbye editor’s desk.

Time to start work and turn on the charm before she chopped him into small pieces and barbecued him on the car’s exhaust pipe.

‘Hello, Amber. How very nice to see you again.’ He smiled and stepped forward to kiss her on the cheek but, before he got there, Amber flipped up her sunglasses onto the top of her head and looked at him with those famous violet-blue eyes which cut straight through any delusion that this was a social call.

Her eyes might have sold millions of tubes of eye make-up, but close up, with the light behind her, the iridescent violet-blue he remembered was mixed with every shade from cobalt to navy. And, just for him today...blue ice.

The contrast between the violet of her eyes and her straight blonde hair which fell perfectly onto her shoulders only seemed to highlight the intensity of her gaze. The cosmetic company might have chosen her for her peaches and cream ultra-clear complexion, but it had always been those magical blue eyes that Sam found totally irresistible. Throw in a pair of perfect sweet soft pink lips and he had been done for from the first time he had seen her stepping out of his dad’s limo with her diva mother screaming out orders from behind her back.

She didn’t seem to know what to do with her long legs, her head was down and she peered at him through a curtain of long blonde hair before brushing it away and blasting his world with one look.

Now she was standing almost as tall as he was and looking him straight in the eyes. The smile on her lips had not reached her eyes and Sam had to fight past the awkwardness of the intensity of her gaze.

‘My agent mentioned that you were back in town. I thought I might pop in to say hello. Hope you don’t mind.’

Her gaze shifted from the casual trainers he had found stuffed in the bottom of the wardrobe in the spare bedroom, faded blue jeans and the scraggy, oil-stained T-shirt he kept for garage work. ‘I can see that your fashion sense hasn’t changed very much. Shame, really. I was hoping for some improvement.’

Sam glanced down at his jeans and flicked the polishing cloth against his thigh. ‘Oh, this little old outfit? Don’t you just hate it when all of your chiffon is at the dry cleaner’s and you can’t find a thing to wear?’ He crossed his arms. ‘And no, Amber, I don’t mind you popping in at all, especially since my editor has been harassing your agent for weeks to arrange an interview. He will be delighted to hear that you turned up out of the blue, expecting me to be here.’

Amber floated forward so that Sam inhaled a rich, sweet floral scent which was almost as intoxicating as the woman who was wearing it.

A whirlwind of memories slammed home. Long summer days walking through the streets of London as he memorised routes and names and places for the limo business. Hand in hand, chatting, laughing and enjoying each other’s company as they shared secrets about themselves that nobody else knew. Amber had been his best friend for so long, he hadn’t even realised how much she had come to mean to him until they were ripped apart.

‘Don’t flatter yourself. May I sit?’

Sam gestured to the hard wooden chair his dad used at the makeshift desk in the corner. ‘It may not be quite what you’re used to, but please.’

She nodded him a thanks and lowered herself gracefully onto the chair and turned it around so that she was facing him.

Sam shook his head. ‘You are full of surprises, Amber DuBois. I thought that it would take a very exclusive restaurant in the city to tempt you to come out of your lair long enough to give me an interview.’

Her reply was to lift her flawless chin and cross her legs. Sam took in a flash of long tanned legs ending in peep toe low wedge sandals made out of plaited strips of straw and transparent plastic. Her toenails were painted in the same pale pink as her nails, which perfectly matched her lipstick and the colour motif in her dress.

She was class, elegance and designer luxury and for a fraction of a second he wanted nothing better than to pick her tiny slim body up and lay it along the bonnet of the car and find out for himself whether her skin felt the same under his fingertips.

‘What makes you think that I am here to give you an interview?’ she replied with a certain hardness in her voice which plunged him back into the cold waters of the real world. ‘Perhaps I am here to congratulate you on your engagement? Has your fiancée come with you from Los Angeles and my wedding invitation is in the post? I can see that you would want to give me heads-up on that.’

He reeled back. ‘My what?’

‘Oh—didn’t you announce your engagement in the Los Angeles press? Or is there another Samuel Patrick Richards, investigative reporter and photojournalist of London, walking the streets of that lovely town?’

Sam sucked in a breath then shrugged. ‘That was a misunderstanding. My girlfriend at the time was getting a little impatient and decided to organise a wedding without asking me first. Apparently she forgot that anything to do with weddings brings me out in a nasty rash. It’s a long-standing allergy but I have learnt to live with it. So you can save your congratulations for another time.’

Amber inhaled very slowly before speaking again. ‘Well, it seems that this garage is not the only thing that hasn’t changed, is it, Sam? You do seem to make a habit out of running out on girls. Maybe we should all get together and form a support group.’

She raised both of her arms and wrote in the air. ‘“Girls Sam Richards has dumped and ran out on.” We could have our own blog. What? What is it?’

Sam crossed the few steps which separated them and gently tugged at her cardigan. ‘Your arm is in plaster. Hell, Bambi, what happened? I mean, you have to play the piano...’

She pulled her cardigan over the plaster, but lifted her left arm across her chest.

‘I broke my wrist a few weeks ago and I’m officially on medical leave. And that is strictly off the record. My career is fine, thank you. In fact, I am enjoying the holiday. It is very restorative.’

Sam shook his head. ‘Must make your daily practice interesting...but are you okay? I mean there won’t be any lasting damage?’

She parted her lips and took a breath before answering, and for some reason Sam got the idea that she was about to tell him something then changed her mind at the very last minute. ‘Clean break, no problem. The exercises are working well and I should be as good as new in a few months.’

‘Glad to hear it. This brings us right back to my original question. What are you doing here?’

He stepped forward and stood in front of her, with one hand on each arm of his dad’s old wooden chair, her legs now stretched out in front of her and trapped between his. He was so close that he could feel her fast breath on his cheek and see the pulse of her heart in her throat.

Her mouth narrowed and this time it did connect with the hard look in her eyes.

But, instead of backing away, Amber bent forward from the waist, challenging him, those blue eyes flashing with something he had never seen before. And when she spoke her voice was as gentle and soft as a feather duvet. And just as tempting.

‘Okay. It goes like this. I understand that you want to interview me in the light of my recent press release concerning my retirement. I’m curious about what it is that you think you can offer me which is so special that I would want to talk to you instead of all the other journalists who are knocking at my door. You have never been the shy or modest type, so it must be something rather remarkable.’

‘Absolutely. Remember that dream I used to talk about? The one where I am a big, important investigative journalist working at that broadsheet newspaper my dad still reads every day? Well, it turns out that to win the editor’s desk I have to deliver one final celebrity interview.’ Sam pointed at Amber with two fingers pressed tight together and fired his thumb like a pistol trigger.

Amber nodded. ‘I thought it might be something like that.’ Her eyebrows went skywards. ‘I take it your editor doesn’t know about our teenage fling?’

‘Fling? Is that what you call it? No. He certainly doesn’t, or he would have sent me to your last known address with a bunch of supermarket flowers and a box of chocolates as soon as I walked into his office. No. That part of my life is filed under “private”. Okay?’

She gave him a closed mouth smile. ‘Why? I know you must have been tempted. I can see the headline now. “The real truth about how I broke Amber Du Bois’ heart”? Yes, there are plenty of television reality shows who would love to have you on their list. I could hardly sue, could I?’

‘I suppose not, but let’s just say that I was saving that for a financial emergency. Okay?’

‘An emergency? You were saving me to get you out of some money crisis? I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. Or both. I’m not sure I like being compared to a stash of used notes which you keep under the mattress.’

‘Oh—is that where you keep yours? I prefer banks myself. Much more secure.’

Her eyes narrowed and she licked her lower lip as though she was trying to decide about something important.

He could remember the first time he’d kissed those lips. They had just come out of a pizza restaurant and got caught in a heavy rain shower. He had pulled her under the shelter of his coat, his arm around her waist and, just as they got to the car, laughing and yelling as the rain bounced off the pavement around them, she had turned towards him to thank him and her stunning face was only inches away from his. And he couldn’t resist any longer. And he had kissed her. Warm lips, scented skin, alive and pungent in the rain, and the feeling of her breath on his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder for a fleeting second before diving into the warm, dry car.

Not one word, but as he’d raced back to the driver’s door, there was only one thing on his mind.

She was the passenger and he was the driver. Her chauffeur. The hired help. And that was the way it was always going to be. Unless he did something to change it.

Which was precisely what he had done.

Except to Amber he would always be the rough diamond she broke her teeth on. Girls like this did not date the help.

Sam stepped back and chuckled as he tidied away the polishing kit.

‘Relax, Amber. It takes a lot of hard work to become a journalist in today’s newspaper business. I earned this new job in the London office. Besides, I don’t need to trawl through my past history to score points with my editor. Frank Evans is far more interested in what you are doing in your life right now. Not many people retire at twenty-eight. That’s bound to cause some interest.’

‘And what about you, Sam? Are you interested in what I am doing in my life right now?’

He looked up into her face, which was suddenly calm, her gaze locked on him.

Was he interested? A wave of confusion and a hot, sweaty mixture of bittersweet memories surged through Sam. His breathing was hot and fast and for a fraction of a second he was very tempted to lean back and give her the full-on charm offensive and find out just what kind of woman Amber had become by being up close and personal—and nothing to do with his job.

Fool. Eyes on the prize.

‘The only thing I am interested in is the promotion to the job I have been working towards for ten long years in the trenches. Sorry if that disappoints you, but there it is.’

‘Ah—so your editor needs a story and you thought you could use our teenage connection to wangle the real truth from my lips. Tut, tut. What shameful tactics. And if I even hear the words “for old times’ sake”, I promise that I will pretend to cry my eyes out and sob all the way home to my good friend Saskia’s house and my girl gang will be round with my legal team in an hour. And I will do it. Believe me.’

‘Oh—cruel and unnecessary. I think I just cut myself on your need for revenge. Well, think again, because I have no intention on wandering down memory lane if I can avoid it.’

Just for a second her lips trembled and the vulnerability and tender emotion of the girl he used to know was there in front of him but, before he could explain, her lips flushed pink and she chuckled softly before answering.

‘I’m pleased to hear it, because I have something of a business proposition to put to you. And it will make things a lot simpler if we can keep our relationship on a purely professional basis.’

‘A business proposition? Well, there’s a change. The last time we met your stepbrother and your mother were doing a fine job running your life. As I remember, you didn’t have much of a business sense of your own back then.’

And the moment the words were out of his mouth Sam regretted them.

How did she do that?

He made his living out of talking to celebrities and teasing out their stories with charm and professionalism, but one look at Amber and he slotted right back into being an angsty teen showing off and saying ridiculous things. Trying to impress the girl he wanted.

Yes, Amber’s mother had been furious when she found out that her musical prodigy of a daughter was sneaking out to see the chauffeur’s son, but he didn’t have to listen when she told him how a boy like him was going to hold her daughter back and ruin her career.

He was the one who’d taken the cheque Amber’s mother had waved in front of him.

He was the one who’d marched out of Amber’s eighteenth birthday party alone, only to find a warm and receptive Petra waiting for him in the car park.

Maybe that was why it still smarted after all of these years? Because the young Sam had fallen for her mother’s lies, just as she had planned he should. Because she’d been right. What hope did Amber have if she was trapped with a no-hoper like Sam Richards?

It did not excuse what he’d done. But at least her mother cared about what happened to her child. Unlike his mother.

Amber’s head tilted to one side and she peered around his side to focus on the sports car that he had just been polishing before answering in the sweetest voice, ‘Well, some of us have moved on in the last ten years.’

The silence between them was as rigid as steel and just as icy.

Then Amber shuffled forwards in his dad’s chair and raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you know what? I have changed my mind. Perhaps it was a mistake coming here after all. Best of luck with the new job and please say hello to your dad for me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with the features editor at another newspaper in about an hour and I would hate to be late.’

She pushed herself to her feet and waved a couple of fingers in the air. ‘See you around, Sam.’

And, without hesitating or looking back, Amber strolled towards the garage door on her wedge sandals, the skirt of her floaty dress waving back and forth over her perfect derrière as she headed out of his life, taking any chance of a career in London with her.

FOUR

‘Aren’t you going to ask me what it feels like to finally work in that shiny glass office I used to drag you down to ogle every week?’ Sam called after her. ‘I would hate for you to stay awake at night wondering how I’m coping with being a real life reporter in the big city. Come on, Amber. Have you forgotten all those afternoons you spent listening to my grand plans to be a renowned journalist one day? I know that you’re curious. Give me another five minutes to convince you to choose me instead of some other journalist to write your story.’

Amber slowed and looked back at Sam over one shoulder.

And her treacherous teenage heart skipped a beat and started disco dancing just at the sight of him.

Just for an instant the sound of her name on his lips took her right back to being seventeen again, when the highlight of her whole day, the moment she had dreamt about all night and thought about every second of the day, was hearing his voice and seeing Sam’s face again. Even if it did mean sitting in the back of the limo and in dressing rooms around the country as her mother’s unpaid assistant and general concert slave for hours on end.

It was worth it when Sam took her out for a pizza or a cola for the duration of the concert she had heard so many times she could play it herself note perfect.

She had adored him.

He had not changed that much. A little heavier around the shoulders and the waistline, perhaps, but not much. His smile had more laughter lines now and his boyish good looks had mellowed through handsome into something close to gorgeous. She was sorry to have missed the merely handsome stage. But, if she closed her eyes, his voice was the same boy she used to know.

And the charm? Oh, Lord, he had ramped up the charm to a level where she had no doubt that any female celebrity would be powerless to resist any question he put to them.

Sam had always had a physical presence that could reach out and grab her—no change there, but she had not expected to feel such a connection. Memories of the last time she came to this very garage flooded back. His ready laughter and constant good-natured teasing about watching that she didn’t knock her head on the light fittings. The nudges, the touches, the kisses.

Until he betrayed her with one of her best friends on her eighteenth birthday. And the memories of the train wreck of the weeks that followed blotted out any happiness she might have had.

Amber turned back to face Sam and planted her left hand on her hip.

‘Perhaps I am worried about all of those hidden tape recorders and video feeds which are capturing my every syllable at this very moment?’

He smiled one of those wide mouth, white teeth smiles and, in her weakened pre-dinner state, Amber had to stifle a groan. What was wrong with the man? Didn’t Sam know that the only respectable thing for him to do was to have grown fat and ruined his teeth with sugary food? He had always been sexy and attractive in a rough-edged casual way, as relaxed in his body as she had been uncomfortable in her tall gangly skin. But the years had added the character lines to his face, which glowed with vitality and rugged health. Confidence and self-assurance were the best assets any man could have and Sam had them to spare.

‘In this garage? No. You can say what you like. It’s just between us. Same as it ever was.’

The breath caught in Amber’s throat. Oh, Sam. Trust you to say exactly the wrong thing.

She flicked her hair back one-handed and covered up the bitter taste of so much disappointment with a dismissive choke. He must be desperate to go to such lengths for this interview. She had no idea how much journalists earned, but surely he didn’t need the job that much?

Drat her curiosity.

Of course she remembered the way he used to talk about how he was going to work his way through journalism school at all of the top London newspapers and be the star investigative journalist. His name would be on the front page of the big broadsheet newspapers that his dad read in the car as he waited for his clients to finish their meetings or fancy events.

Maybe that was it?

Maybe he was still hungry for the success that had eluded him. And this interview would take him up another rung in that long and rickety ladder to the front page.

She was a celebrity that he wanted to interview for his paper to win the extra points he needed for the big prize. And the bigger the story the more gold stars went onto his score sheet.

And that was all. Nothing personal. He had walked—no, he had run away from her at the first opportunity to make his precious dream of becoming a professional journalist a reality.

She did not owe him a thing.

‘Same as it ever was? In your dreams,’ she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear. ‘That editor of yours must really be putting the pressure on if you’re resorting to that line.’

Sam shrugged off her jibe but looked away and pretended to tidy up the toolbox on the bench for a second before his gaze snapped back onto her face.

‘What can I say? Unlike some people, I need the job.’ Then he laughed out loud. ‘You always had style, Amber, but retiring at twenty-eight? That takes a different kind of chutzpah. I admire that.’

He stepped forward towards her and nodded towards her arm, his eyes narrowed and his jaw loose. ‘Is it your wrist? I know you said that it was a clean break, but...’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘It’s nothing to do with my wrist.’

‘I am glad to hear it. Then how about the other rumours? A lot of people think that you are using this announcement to start a kind of bidding war between rival orchestras around the world. Publicity stunts like this have been done before.’

‘Not by me. I won’t be making a comeback as a concert pianist. Or at least I don’t plan to.’

Amber swallowed down her unease, reluctant to let Sam see that she was still uncertain about where her life would take her.

She had made her decision to retire while recovering in hospital and she’d imagined that a simple press statement would be the easiest way to close out that part of her life. Her agent was not happy, of course—but he had other talent on his books and a steady income from her records and other contracts—she was still valuable to him.

But the hard implications were still there on the horizon, niggling at her.

Music had been her life for so long that just the thought of never performing in public again was so new that it still ruffled her. Playing the piano had been the one thing that she did well. The one and only way that she knew to earn her mother’s praise.

Of course Julia Swan would have loved her daughter to choose the violin and follow in her footsteps, but it soon became obvious that little Amber had no talent for any other instrument apart from the piano.

For a girl who was moving from one home to another, one school to another, one temporary stepdad to another, music had been one of the few constants in her life. Piano practice was the perfect excuse to avoid tedious evenings with her mother and whatever male friend or violin buff she was dating at the time.

The piano was her escape. Her refuge. It was where she could plough her love and devotion and all of the passion that was missing in her life with her bitter and demanding, needy and man-hunting mother.

So she had worked and worked, then worked harder to overcome her technical problems and excel. It was her outlet for the pain, the suppressed anger. All of it. And nobody knew just how much pain she was in.

Because there was one thing that her mother never understood—and still did not understand, even when she had tried to explain at the hospital. And then in the endless texts and emails and pleading late night phone calls begging her to reconsider and sometimes challenging her decision to retire.

Amber had always played for the joy in the music.

She was not an artist like her mother, who demanded validation and adoration. She just loved the music and wanted to immerse herself in the emotional power of it.

And Sam Richards was the only other person on this planet who had ever understood that without her having to explain it.

Until this moment she had thought that connection between them would fade with the years they had spent apart.

Wrong.

Sam was looking at her with that intense gaze that used to make her shiver with delight and anticipation of the time that they would spend together and, just for a second, her will faltered.

Maybe this was not such a good idea?

Getting her own back on Sam had seemed a perfectly logical thing to do back in the penthouse, but here in the garage which was as familiar as her own apartment, suddenly the whole idea seemed pathetic and insulting to both of them. She had made plenty of poor decisions over the past few years—surely she could forgive Sam the mistakes he had made as a teenager desperate to improve his life?

Amber opened her mouth and was just about to make an excuse when Sam tilted his head and rubbed his chin before asking, ‘I suppose this is about the money?’

And there it was. Like a slap across the face.

Her lower lip froze but she managed a thin smile. ‘Are you talking about the blood money you took from my mother to leave me alone and get out of London? To start your new career, of course.’

His mouth twisted and faltered. ‘Actually, I was thinking more about the generous donation the paper will be contributing to your favourite charity. Although I should imagine that we are not the only ones to offer you something for your time. Not that you need the money, of course. Or the publicity.’

‘You don’t think that I need publicity?’

‘Come on, Amber, your face was on billboards and the sides of buses, your last CD went into the top ten classical music charts and you have set new records for the number of followers you have on the social media sites. Publicity is not your problem.’

‘It goes with the job—I am in showbiz. Correction. Was in showbiz. That doesn’t interest me any longer.’

‘Okay then. So why are you even talking to me about doing an interview? Seeing as you don’t need the publicity.’

‘Logistics. I thought that the press would get bored after a couple of weeks and move onto the next musician. Wrong! I was almost mobbed outside the record company this morning. So it makes sense to do one comprehensive interview and get it over with.’

She waved one hand in the air. ‘One interview. One journalist.’

Sam shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, his casual smile replaced by unease.

‘Wait a minute. Are you offering me an exclusive?’ he asked. ‘What’s the catch?’

‘Oh, how suspicious you are. Well. As it happens, I might be willing to give you that interview.’ She cleared her throat and tilted her head, well aware that she had his full attention. ‘But there are a few conditions we need to agree on before I talk on the record.’

‘Conditions. This sounds like the catch part.’

‘I prefer to think of them as more of a trade. You do something for me, I do something for you. And, from what I have seen so far, you might find some of them rather challenging. Still interested?’

‘Ah. Now we have it. You know you have the upper hand so you decided to come down here to gloat?’

‘Gloat? Do you really think I would do that?’ she repeated, her words catching at the back of her throat. Was that how he thought of her? As some spoiled girl who had come to impress him with her list of achievements?

‘I haven’t changed that much, Sam. We’ve both done what we set out to do. You need an interview and I have a few things I need doing which you might be able to help me with. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Simple? Nothing about you was ever simple, Amber.’

Sam leaned back against the workbench and stretched out his long arms either side of him so that his biceps strained against the fabric of his T-shirt across his chest and arms. The sinewy boy she had known had been replaced by a man who knew his power and had no problem using it to get his way.

And the tingle of that intense gaze sent the old shivers down the back of her legs and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop them. Her heart started thumping and she knew that her neck was already turning a lovely shade of bright red as his gaze scanned her face.

She could blame it on the hot May sunshine outside the garage door, but who was she trying to kid?

What had Kate said about Petra? That she had bedazzled Sam that night? Well, the Sam who was scanning her body was quite capable of doing his own bedazzling these days.

Sam had been the first boy who had ever given her the tingles and there had only been two other men in her life. All god-handsome, all rugged and driven and all as far removed from the world of music and orchestral performance venues as it was possible to imagine.

And every single one of them had swept her off her feet and into their world without giving her time to even think about what she was doing or whether the relationship had a chance. Little wonder that she had ended up alone and in tears, bewildered and bereft, wondering what had just happened and why.

But one thing was perfectly clear. Sam had been the first, and there was no way that she was going to go through that pain again, just to score a few points on the payback scoreboard.

Decision time.

If she was going to do this, she needed to do it now, and put the tingles down to past stupidity. Or she could turn around and run as fast as she could back to the penthouse and lock the door tight behind her. Just as her kind friends thought that she should. Just as she would have done only a few months earlier, before her life had changed.

‘I hadn’t planned to give any more interviews after the press release. That part of my life is over,’ she said, her chin tilted up. ‘But I have a few things you could help me with and you need this interview to impress your editor and make your mark in the London office. Am I getting warm?’

He shrugged and tried to look casual. But there was just that small twitch at the side of his mouth which he used to have when things were difficult at home and he didn’t want to talk about it. ‘Warm enough.’

‘Warm? If I was any hotter I would be on fire. If I go to another paper, you will be waiting on the pavement for movie stars to stagger out from showbiz parties wearing their underpants as hats.’

Sam’s hands gripped onto the bench so tightly that his knuckles started to turn white. ‘Ah. Now I am beginning to understand. You want to see me suffer.’

Amber winced and gave a small shoulder shrug. ‘You walked out on me and broke my heart. So yes, it would be a shame to miss the opportunity for some retribution. And I am not in the least bit ashamed.’ She took a breath. ‘But that was a long time ago, Sam. And I am keen to put that away in a box labelled “done and dusted”. I think this will help me do that.’

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side before blinking awake and laughing out loud. ‘Done and dusted, eh? I am almost frightened to ask what form my punishment is going to take. But please, do continue, let’s get it over with.’

He stood to maximum height, pushed his shoulders back and lifted his chin. ‘Hit me.’

Amber strolled into the garage and focused her attention on the sports car, her fingertips lingering on the old leather seats, her face burning with awareness that Sam’s gaze was still locked onto her. ‘I want to get this done as soon as I can, but time is tight. I’m redecorating my apartment and the girls want to celebrate my birthday this week.’

She almost turned around at the sound of Sam’s sharp intake of breath. ‘May eighteenth. Hard to forget.’

Amber flung her head up and twisted around at the waist, ready with a cutting remark, but bit it back when she saw the look on Sam’s face was one of sadness and regret.

His lips twitched for a second before he replied. ‘Busy week. No problem. Just give me your email address and I can send over some questions so you can work on them when you have time.’

‘Email questions? Oh, no. This interview has to be in person.’

Sam coughed twice. ‘Are you always so awkward?’

She tilted her head slightly to one side before replying. ‘No. Just with you.’

He laughed out loud and planted a fist on each hip. ‘Don’t try and kid me, girl. You have been planning this for ages and are having way too much fun teasing this out.’ He flicked his chin in her direction. ‘You could have asked your agent to make the call and organised the interview over the phone. But that wouldn’t have been nearly so satisfying, would it?’

He waved her spluttering away. ‘And I understand that perfectly. Really. I do. I made a horrible mistake and treated you badly, and now you’re going to make me pay.’

Then his stance softened and his gaze darted from side to side. ‘I’m not proud of what happened the last time we met. Far from it. But that was ten years ago and we’re different people now. At least I am. I’m not sure about you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You never had a vindictive thought in your life, Amber DuBois. So why don’t you just take me through that list of little things you want me to help you with and we can get this over and done with, and we can put the past behind us?’

Amber inhaled slowly and turned to face Sam, her head tilted slightly to one side, and she carefully pushed the slip of paper deeper into the heart-shaped pocket of her dress.

‘What makes you think I have a list?’ she asked in the best innocent and surprised voice she could muster at short notice.

‘Amber. You always had a list. For everything. A list of things to do that day, a list of how long you practised that week. You are a listy type of person and people don’t change that much. So it makes sense for you to have a list of all the things I am going to have to do in exchange for one interview.’

He shot her a glance which made her eyes narrow. Why did he have to remember that small detail, of all things? There was no way she could talk him through her list now.

‘I prefer to think of them as challenges. But you are right about one thing—I have thought about what you could possibly give me in exchange for an exclusive, and you can take that smirk off your face right now. You would not be so lucky. So I came up with a new approach.’

She crossed the space between them until her face was only inches away from his and licked her lips before speaking.

‘Look, Sam,’ she said in low, calm voice as her gaze locked onto his. ‘I know people are interested in why I decided to retire when I did, but my reasons are very personal and very close to my heart.’ She took a breath and swallowed before rolling her shoulders back a little. ‘It would be very easy for a reporter to do a hatchet job with some crazy headline just to sell more papers. So...I need to know that I can trust the journalist I go for to give me a fair hearing.’

‘That’s not going to be easy,’ he replied in a voice which sang with resignation and disappointment.

‘I know. This is why you are going to have to prove to me that you are the right man for the job before I say a word on the record.’

His eyebrows went skywards. ‘Any ideas on how I do that?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she sniffed. ‘You are going to have to pass an audition before I give you the job. You see, this week is crazily busy and my wrist is a problem. So I need someone to be my Man Friday for the next few days. Unpaid, of course, and you provide your own uniform. But all refreshments are provided by the management. And I just know how much Saskia and Kate are looking forward to having you around the place.’

‘A Man Friday,’ Sam repeated, very, very slowly. ‘So, basically, I have to be your man slave for the next week before you’ll even think about giving me the interview?’

Amber picked her business card out of her dress pocket with two fingers, gave Sam her sweetest camera-ready smile and looked deep into his startled eyes as she held the card high in the air. ‘Well, it’s good to know that your powers of deductive reasoning are as sharp as ever. The audition starts at my apartment at ten tomorrow morning. Oh—and just to make it a little more interesting, I’ll have a new challenge for you every day. See you there, Sam. If you are man enough to accept the challenge.’

The air bristled with tension for all of ten seconds. Then Sam took two powerful steps forward, his brows low and dark-eyed, his legs moving from the hips in one smooth movement. Driven. Powerful.

And, before Amber had a chance to complain or slip away, Sam splayed one hand onto her hip and drew her closer to him. Hip to hip.

Amber’s breath caught in her throat as his long clever fingers pressed against the thin silk of her dress as though it was not there. She could feel his hot breath on her face as she inhaled a scent that more than anything else she had seen or experienced today whipped her right back to being held in Sam’s arms. It was car oil, polish, man sweat, dust and ambition and all Sam. And it was totally, totally intoxicating.

His gaze locked onto her eyes. Holding her transfixed.

‘Bambi, I am man enough for anything that you have to offer me,’ Sam whispered in a voice which was almost trembling with intensity, one corner of his mouth turned up into a cheeky grin as though he knew precisely what effect he was having on her blood pressure. And there was not one thing she could do about it.

Then, just like that, he stepped back and released her, and it took a lot to stay upright.

And then he winked at her.

‘See ya tomorrow—’ he smiled with a casual lilt in his voice ‘—looking forward to it.’

FIVE

‘No Mother. Seriously. I don’t need another expert medical opinion. Every specialist I have seen recommends six months’ recovery time. Yes, I am sure your friend in Miami is excellent but I am not pushing my wrist by trying to practice before it is ready.’

Amber closed her eyes and gave her virtuoso violinist mother two more minutes of ranting about how foolish she was to throw away her career before interrupting. ‘Mum, I love you but I have to go. Have a great cruise. Bye.’

Amber closed the call, strolled over to the railing of her penthouse apartment and looked out over London. The silvery River Thames cut a wide ribbon of glistening water through the towering office blocks of glass and exposed metal that clung to the riverbanks. Peeking out between the modern architectural wonders were the spires and domes of ancient churches and imposing carved stone buildings that had once been the highlights of the London landscape.

Even five storeys up, the hustle and bustle of traffic noise and building work drifted up to the penthouse, creating the background soundtrack to her view of modern city life.

Everywhere she looked she saw life and energy and the relentless drive for prosperity and wealth. Investment bankers, city traders and financial analysts jostled on the streets below her on the way to their computer trading desks. Time was money.

The contrast to the tiny beachside orphanage in Kerala where Parvita was celebrating her wedding could not be greater.

The seaside village where the girls’ orphanage was based had running water and electricity—most of the time.

She would love to go back and see them again. One day. When she was not so terrified of catching another life-threatening infection.

A cold shiver ran across Amber’s shoulders and she pulled her cashmere tighter across the front of her chest.

Heath and her mother were right about one thing. As always. Even if she wasn’t scared, she could raise more income for the orphanage by staying in London or Boston or Miami and fund-raising than risk returning to Kerala, where she had caught meningitis only a few months earlier.

Now all she had to do was come up with a way of doing precisely that.

Not by playing the piano. That was for sure.

No matter how much her mother nagged her to reconsider and plan a comeback concert tour. A year ago she might have gone along with it and started rigorous training but that part of her life was over now.

Wiped away by meningitis and a few months of enforced bed rest when she had to ask some hard questions about the life she was living and how she intended to spend it in the future.

Amber closed her eyes and inhaled and exhaled slowly a couple of times. No going back, girl. No going back. Only forward. This was her new start. Her new beginning.

The sun was warm on her face and when she opened her eyes the first thing she saw was the braided cord bracelet that Parvita had made and woven onto her right wrist that last day she was at the orphanage.

She was so lucky.

Heath and her mother loved her and that was what she had to focus on. Not their nagging. She would go back to Boston and start work with the fund-raising committee for Parvita. Benefit concerts were always popular and between her mother and their network of professional musicians they could pull together some top name soloists who could raise thousands for the charity.

This was her chance to do something remarkable. And she was going to grab hold of it with both hands and cling on tight, no matter how bumpy the road ahead was.

First hurdle? Talking to Sam.

Amber glanced at her wristwatch and a fluttering sensation of apprehension blended with excitement bubbled up from deep inside. In another place and time she might have said that the thought of seeing him again face to face was making her nervous. That was totally ridiculous. This was her space and he was here to help her out, as he had promised.

This was not the time to get stage fright.

She was an idiot.

They had agreed to make a trade. His time in exchange for one interview. Nothing more. What else could there be?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a petite bundle of energy.

‘One good thing came out of that whole school reunion fiasco.’ Kate laughed and threw her arms around Amber’s waist. ‘The three of us haven’t been in the same city at the same time for far too many years. And that is a disgrace. So all hail school reunions.’

Amber laughed out loud and stepped back to clink her mug of coffee against Kate’s. ‘With you on that. I still cannot believe that it’s the middle of May already. April was just a blur.’

Kate groaned and slumped into the patio chair facing Amber. ‘Tell me about it. London might be suffering from the economic recession but bespoke tailoring is booming and I have never been so busy. It’s great. Really great. But wow, is it exhausting.’

‘Well, here is something to keep you going.’ Saskia Elwood came out from Amber’s penthouse apartment with a tray of the most delicious-looking bite-sized snacks, which she wafted in front of Amber. ‘Test samples for your birthday party. I need you to taste them all and tell me which ones you like best.’

Kate half rose out of her chair. ‘Hey, don’t I get to try them too? I could scoff the lot. And breakfast was hours ago.’

‘You’re next but the birthday girl has first pick. Besides, she needs fattening up a bit. What did they feed you in that hospital, anyway? I can’t have you coming to my dining room looking all pale and scrawny.’

Amber munched away on a mini disc of bacon and herb pizza and made humming sounds of appreciation before speaking between bites. ‘No appetite. It was so hot and I was asleep most of the time. And the food certainly wasn’t as good as this. These are fantastic.’

‘Thought you would like it and there are lots more to come. So tuck in.’

Kate snatched a tiny prawn mayo sandwich and chewed it down in one huge bite before sighing in pleasure. ‘Oh, that is so good. Amber DuBois, it was a genius idea to have your birthday party at Saskia’s house.’

‘It was the very least I could do. Ten years is a long time and all three of us have come a long way,’ Amber replied and raised her coffee as a toast. ‘I missed you both so much. To the goddesses.’

‘The goddesses,’ Kate and Saskia echoed and all three of them settled back in their chairs in the sunshine with the tray of snacks between them, hot Italian blend coffee and the sound of the city way below to break up the contented sighs.

‘So what have you been up to, Amber?’ Saskia asked, her eyes shielded with a hand as she nibbled on a fresh cream profiterole drizzled with chocolate sauce. ‘It must get you down when you’re unable to practise for hours like you usually do.’

Amber waved her right arm in the air and turned the plaster cast covering her wrist from side to side. ‘Frustrating more than anything, but the exercises are keeping my fingers working and I have to get used to being one handed for a few more weeks. Only that isn’t the problem. There is something missing and somehow...’ Then she gave a chuckle and shook her head. ‘Oh, ignore me. I’m just being silly.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ Saskia said in a low voice. ‘We can tell that there is something bothering you. And you know that we’re not going to let it drop until you tell us what the problem is. So come on. Spill. Out with it.’

Amber focused her gaze on the terrace. Bright flowering plants and conifers spilled out of colourful planters in front of a panoramic view across the London city skyline.

‘Yesterday I was feeling down in the dumps so I pulled out my favourite music scores. If I have a spare hour or two on tour I can usually visualise the performance in my head and it is the one thing that is always guaranteed to cheer me up and have me bouncing with excitement.’

She paused and sighed low and slow. ‘But not this time. I didn’t feel a thing. There was nothing that made me want to tear off this plaster cast and play. Seriously. It’s as though all of my passion for the music has gone out of the window.’

She paused and looked from Saskia to Kate and then back to Saskia again. ‘And that’s scary, girls. I don’t know how to do anything else.’

The silence echoed between the three of them before Kate put her mug down on the metal mesh table with a dramatic thud.

‘Amber? Sweetie? It might have something to do with the fact that you have just spent months in hospital recovering from the infection you caught in India. And yes, I know that it is still our secret. We won’t tell anyone. But you have to give yourself time to recover and get your mojo back. Maybe even be kind to yourself and let your body heal, instead of running from place to place at top speed. How about that for a crazy idea?’

Amber blew out long and slow. ‘You’re right. This is the first time in years that I have been in London long enough to take stock. I just feel that I am lost and drifting on my own. Again.’

Saskia slid over to the end of Amber’s lounger and wrapped her fingers around her arm. ‘No, you’re not. You will always have a home at Elwood House. And don’t you dare forget that.’

Amber smiled into the faces of her two best friends in the world. Friends who had somehow got pushed lower and lower on her priority list over the past few years, and yet they were the very people who had come running the first time she asked.

‘I don’t know what I did to deserve you two. Thanks. It means a lot. But I won’t put you out too much.’

‘Decision made, young lady,’ Saskia said in a jokey serious voice. ‘You are coming to stay with me at Elwood House as my birthday present, and you are going to be cosseted, whether you like it or not.’

‘Oh, that sounds good,’ Kate said, and snuggled back further onto the soft cushion of the patio lounger. ‘Can I come over and be cosseted in exchange for making curtains and cushions? I could use a good cosset.’

‘You and your needlework skills are welcome any time.’ Saskia laughed and gestured towards Amber with her head. ‘I’m going to need some help keeping this one from wearing herself out getting ready for her birthday party.’

Amber dropped her head back and closed her eyes as bright warm sunshine broke through the light cloud cover. Then she turned back to face Saskia and Kate, who were looking at her. ‘It’s going to be like old times. The three of us, camped out at Elwood House. But at least this time I’m not running away from home to spite my mother by eloping with Sam Richards.’

Saskia peered at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Ah, yes. Sam.’ She nodded. ‘Were you okay? With seeing him again? Because I still cannot believe that you went there on your own.’

‘Ah. So you think I would be safe from the evil clutches of the teenage boy who broke my heart and betrayed me with one of my best friends if I stayed here in my ivory tower penthouse like a fairy tale princess waiting to be rescued.’

She laughed and said with a snort, ‘Not a chance, gorgeous. I refuse to be turned into some kind of recluse just because the press want to know why I decided to retire. Besides, I’ve been working with reporters like Sam Richards for years. He doesn’t bother me.’

Kate shuffled to the edge of her seat, her bottom jiggling with excitement while Saskia just chuckled softly to herself. ‘Really?’

Amber pushed out her famous moisture lipstick slicked lips. ‘Oh, yes. My musician friend Parvita runs a wonderful charity in India who could certainly use the fee, only...’ she sighed with a slight quiver in her voice and Saskia and Kate instantly leant closer towards her ‘...I’ve had enough of that circus who think that they can make up any kind of story and get away with it. I have helped the media sell newspapers and magazines for the last ten years. And now I’m done with it. I am not playing that game any more. And they are going to have to get used to the idea. This time I call the shots.’

Kate’s eyebrows lifted. ‘I knew it! You’re going to charge them megabucks for a full page nude shot with you sitting at a white grand piano with only discreet pieces of sheet music and fabulous jewels to cover your modesty? That could be fun.’

Amber and Saskia both turned and stared at Kate in silence.

‘What? So I have a vivid imagination?’ Kate shrugged.

Amber frowned at Kate for a moment and then blinked. ‘Not exactly what I had in mind and no, it wouldn’t be fun, not even for the megabucks. But do you know what? The more I thought about it, the more I got to thinking that maybe Sam does have something we can trade with after all.’

Kate drew back and squinted at her suspiciously. ‘Go on.’

‘I need to get the past off my back. Parvita’s charity and my birthday party are going to take all of my time and energy, and the last thing I need is a troop of paparazzi making my life even more of a nightmare.’

‘You really are serious about retiring?’

‘Totally,’ Amber replied and smiled at Saskia. ‘But talking to you two has reminded me where my real priorities lie.’ And then she reached out and squeezed Saskia’s hand for a second. ‘Your aunt Margot gave me a sanctuary at Elwood House, and I haven’t forgotten it. I owe you. This is why I’m thinking of doing something rather rash.’

‘What do you mean by rash?’ Saskia asked in her low, calm, gentle voice.

Amber took a long drink of coffee, well aware that both of her friends were waiting for her to speak.

‘When you told me all about your plans to convert Elwood House into a private meeting and dining venue I was amazed that we hadn’t thought about it before. Your dining room is stunning.’

Her voice drifted away dreamily. ‘I gave my first piano recital in that house. I’ll never forget it. The crystal chandeliers. The flickering firelight. It was magical. This is why I want to do as much as I can to help make Elwood House a success.’

Saskia shook her head. ‘You have already invited half the fashion models in London, their agents, their posh friends and the music industry to your birthday party this week. I couldn’t ask for better publicity.’

‘And yet you still don’t have a decent website or booking system or photo gallery to showcase the house. And that. Is where I come in. And you can stop shaking your head; I know that you won’t take my money. So I am going to ask a professional photographer to come over and put together your full marketing package and organise the website. Free. Gratis. Won’t cost you a penny.’

‘Really?’ Saskia replied and lifted her mug towards Amber in a toast. ‘That’s fantastic. Is he one of your fashion pals?’

Amber licked her lips and took a sip of water before answering.

‘Not exactly. I think Sam Richards is calling himself a photojournalist these days. More tarts, anyone?’

Amber paused and looked at Kate, who was groaning with her head in her hands. ‘Don’t worry about Sam. He knows that he has to be on his very best behaviour if he has any chance of that interview. Saskia needs those photos and Sam seems to know which end of a camera to point. And no, I haven’t forgiven him yet. Think of this as part of the payback. So please don’t kill him. At least not in front of the party guests. Saskia does not want bloodstains on her nice carpet.’

The words had barely left Amber’s mouth and the shouts were still ringing in her ears when the oven timer bell rang and Kate shook her head slowly from side to side before diving back into the kitchen to get fresh supplies of snacks.

‘Don’t burn your mouth by eating them straight out of the oven,’ Saskia called out to Kate, but then her mouth relaxed into a half smile. ‘Payback. I suppose that is one way of looking at it and I have no doubt that he would do a good job. But sheesh, Amber. I am worried for you.’

Amber was just about to rattle off a casual throwaway remark, but instead she paused before answering one of her few real friends in the world. The old Amber would have laughed off her friend’s concern with a flippant gesture as some sort of silly joke, but the new Amber was slowly getting used to opening up to people she loved and trusted. ‘You always did like Sam, didn’t you?’

Saskia gave a brisk nod. ‘I suppose so. Not in any sort of romantic way, of course, nothing like that, but yes, I did. His dad had driven my aunt Margot around for years and sometimes he brought Sam along with him. I suppose that’s why I suggested that your mum use his limo service to take her to venues.’

Saskia lifted one hand. ‘I think I might even have introduced you. So blame me for what happened. But yes, I thought he was okay.’ Her brow squeezed together. ‘Why do you ask me that now?’

‘Because it was so weird. Over the years I sometimes imagined what I would say if I met up with Sam unexpectedly at some airport or hotel, or if he came to one of my performances. But when I saw him yesterday? All those clever, witty put-downs just fled. He was still the same Sam, working in his dad’s garage. And I was right back to feeling like a gawky, awkward, six feet tall seventeen-year-old with big feet who was trying to sound all grown-up and clever around this handsome, streetwise city boy.’

Amber looked up at Saskia and shrugged. ‘I trusted him then and he let me down just when I needed him the most. How do I know that I can trust him now? The orphanage in India is too important to me to see the real message buried under some big celebrity exposé which is around the world in seconds. Can you imagine the headlines? “Brave Bambi DuBois cheats death from meningitis. Career in tatters.” Oh, they would love that.’

‘Which is why you are taking control. Maybe there is too much history between the two of you for him to be objective. But we agreed that we would give him an audition for the job, and that is what we are going to do. Okay?’

‘Absolutely okay. If he can stand it, then so can I.’

‘Right. And on the way you can make sure that Sam gets the message that you have moved on to even more handsome and successful boyfriends. But fear not. Kate and I will make sure that we rub it in at regular intervals that he made a horrible mistake when he let you go and you are so totally over him.’

‘Saskia! I didn’t say anything about being cruel. And as for being over him? Sam only had to smile at me yesterday and I got the tingles from head to toe. Which is so ridiculous I can hardly admit it. The last time that happened I ended up on a plane to Kathmandu with a suitcase full of evening wear and piano music and no clue about what I was going to do when I got there.’

‘Mark the mountaineer?’

Amber nodded. ‘And three years before that it was Rico. Racing car driver. One kiss on the cheek and a cuddle in the pits and I smelt of diesel fumes for months.’

Amber sighed dramatically and slumped back. ‘I am a hopeless case and I know it. I mean. A mountaineer? What was I thinking? I got the tingles and that was that.’ She blinked a couple of times. ‘The only scientific explanation is that I was cursed at birth. You know how it goes. The good fairy godmother blesses me with some musical talent, and the evil one says, “Oh, that’s sweet, but in exchange you are going to fall for men who will only ever be interested in their obsession. So you had better get used to the idea.”’

‘You weren’t thinking. You were taking a chance on love with remarkable men,’ Saskia replied wistfully. ‘You know. Not all of us have had a chance to be cuddled by racing car drivers or kissed at Everest base camp. I envy you for having the courage to take that risk.’

Amber instantly sat up and wrapped her arm around Saskia’s shoulder. ‘You’ll meet someone—I’m sure of it. Especially now you’re opening up Elwood House. Think of all the handsome executives who will be queuing up to sample your tasty treats.’

‘From your lips... But in the meantime, where does that leave our Sam Richards? Because, to me, this little plan of ours could go in one of two ways. Either you keep your cool and freeze out his tingle power so that you can finally get Sam out of your system and your life. Or...’

Saskia smiled and pushed out her lips. ‘You might be tempted to try out the new and improved version to see if the quality of those tingles has improved over the years. And don’t look at me like that. It’s a distinct possibility. Dangerous, scary and not very clever, but a possibility...and that worries me, Amber. I know how much you cared about Sam. I was there, remember? I don’t want to see you running back to Elwood House in tears over Sam Richards.’

‘Sam?’ came a squeaky voice from the bedroom and a second later its owner appeared on the patio and she was not carrying more snacks.

Kate was wearing a huge fascinator in the shape of a red tropical flower on her head and several strings of huge beads cascaded below bundles of silk scarves. ‘You don’t have time to think about boys, woman!’

Kate gestured with her head towards the dressing room, which had long since given up any hope of being used as a second bedroom. ‘Amber DuBois, you are officially one of the worst hoarders I have ever seen. And I make clothes for women who are still wearing their mother’s hats. You have been crushing stuff into those cupboards for years. I am frightened to open those wardrobes in fear of avalanche.’

Amber waved one slender hand in the air. ‘I know. I spent most of yesterday trying to root out casual day clothes to wear and ended up going to the shops. I have got so used to just dumping my stuff here that when I want something I cannot find it.’

Amber frowned and pushed her lower lip out. ‘Is it normal to have more performance dresses than pants? I love dressing up for my audiences, but I find it so hard to refuse when designers start giving me free gorgeous things to wear. Most of those dresses have only had to survive one recital. It does seem a shame to just stash them until they gather dust. Unless, of course...’

She grinned and looked from side to side. ‘Ladies. I have been looking for some way of raising funds. What do you say to a spot of dressing up in the name of decluttering? I am talking Internet auctions and second-hand designer shops.’ A wide grin creased her face as she was practically deafened by shrieks from Saskia and Kate. ‘I’ll take those screams as a yes. Right. Then let’s get started on those ball gowns. But girls—there is one condition. You do not touch the sacred shoes. Okay? Okay. Let’s do it. I’ll race you.’

SIX

Sam Richards leant against the back wall of the elevator, propped his camera bag against his foot and crossed his arms as he enjoyed the view.

Two tall, very slender brunettes dressed from head to toe in black had rushed in at the last minute from the cream and caramel marble reception area to Amber’s apartment building, gushing thanks and flooding the space with giggling, floral perfume and an empty garment rail which took up the whole width of the elevator. Judging by their sideways glances, indiscreet nudging and body language, they were not too unhappy with being crushed into the space with him, and any other time and place he might have started chatting and enjoying their company.

But not today.

His morning had already got off to a poor start when his dad had phoned from France saying that he was going to stay on a few more days because for once the weather in the Alps was perfect for a spot of touring.

Perhaps it was just as well. His dad had not exactly been sympathetic when Sam had told him about Amber’s little scheme. In fact he had laughed his head off and told him to behave himself.

As if he had a choice.

Sam pressed his hands flat against the cool surface of the elevator wall.

Amber had the upper hand and he was going to have to go with it, but it didn’t mean to say that he liked it. One. Little. Bit. He had stopped being at other people’s beck and call the day he’d left London and there was no way he was going to step into the role of Amber’s fool and like it.

But he would get through it and move on. He could survive being pulled back into Amber’s high class life as a diva for a few days.

If she could stand it—then so could he.

Sam inhaled the perfumed air, which was suddenly overheated and cloying. He had no interest in this world of fashion and celebrity—he never had. The A-list party and clubbing circuit had long lost their appeal for him. It was his job and he worked hard to create something interesting and new out of the same old shallow gossip and the relentless need for fame and riches fuelled by the public obsession for celebrity—an obsession he helped to foster, whether he liked that fact or not.

Past tense. He had paid his dues and earned the right to sit behind that editor’s desk, doing the job he had been trained for. And he wasn’t going to let that slip away from him without a fight.

He had come a long way from the raw teenager with a fire in his belly that Amber had known.

Man enough for the job? Oh, yes, he was man enough for the job all right.

Even if he had no clue what the actual job was. Her text message had asked him to bring his camera bag and a screwdriver over and they were all the clues she had given him.

Sam rolled his shoulders back as the elevator slowed and the girls starting fidgeting with the clothes rail.

The elevator doors slid open on the floor number Amber had given him but, before he could stride forward with his bag, the girls swept out into the wide corridor of pale wood and pastel colours.

Interesting.

Unless, of course...

With a tiny shoulder shrug Sam slowly followed the girls towards the penthouse apartment. Lively disco dance music drifted out through an open door towards him, the beat in perfect tune with the rattle of their high heels on the fine wooden floor.

Disco music? If this was Amber’s place, she must be out shopping for the morning. The only music Amber DuBois liked was written by men with quill pens and dipping ink hundreds of years ago.

The girls rolled the garment rail into the apartment, waved at someone inside, then swept back past Sam out into the hallway, arm in arm in a flutter of perfume and girly giggles.

He paused for a second to admire them, then turned to face the door.

This was it. Show time. He took a deep breath, pushed the door open another few inches, stepped inside the apartment and instantly went into sensory overload.

What looked like the entire contents of a large fashion boutique was scattered over every surface in the living room. Handbags, shoes, hats and assorted female fripperies were draped across sofas, chairs and tables in a wild riot of colours and patterns, illuminated by the daylight streaming in from the floor to ceiling patio doors at the other end of the room.

His first reaction was to step back into the corridor and call the whole thing off. Right then and there. Apparently there were some men who enjoyed going clothes shopping with their wives and girlfriends. He had never understood how they could do that. There was probably medication for that kind of mental self-affliction.

He had never done that kind of crazy and he had no intention of starting now.

But he couldn’t leave. And she knew it. Which meant that Amber had to be here to witness the payback in person.

Time to get this over with.

Sam sniffed, pushed his shoulders back, stashed his bag behind the sofa so that it was out of the mayhem and by stepping over the entire contents of a luggage department, he wound his way through the obstacle course that was the corridor towards the source of the disco music.

He had been on racing circuits which had fewer chicanes than this room.

Sam paused at the open bedroom door and leant casually on the door frame, his arms crossed.

It was a long, wide room but surprisingly simply furnished with a large bed with an ivory satin quilt, a small sofa covered in a shiny cream fabric with flights of butterflies painted on it and a wide dressing table next to more patio doors.

One complete wall was covered with a floor to ceiling mirror.

And standing in front of the mirror were three girls he had last seen together at Amber’s eighteenth birthday party, what felt like a lifetime ago.

Amber, Saskia and Kate were wearing lemon-yellow oversized T-shirts with the words ‘ALL SIZES’ printed on them in large black letters. Kate was in the middle, moving her hips from side to side and jiggling along to the disco music and holding a hairbrush to her mouth as a microphone. Saskia and Amber were her backup singers. Kate could not be more than five feet four inches tall in heels, Saskia was a few inches taller in flat shoes and Amber—Amber had been six feet tall aged sixteen.

It stunned him to realise that he could recognise Amber’s voice so easily. She could sing like an angel and often had at Christmas concerts and birthday parties. Kate was the best singer in their little schoolgirl clique so Amber had left her to it and stayed on the keyboard, but she had such a sweet, clear voice. He had missed that voice. And whether he liked it or not, he had missed the sound of Amber whispering his name as she clung on to him with her arms looped around his neck.

Sam pressed back against the door frame.

A memory of those same three girls wearing those same yellow T-shirts at Margot Elwood’s house came drifting back. It was someone’s birthday party and the girls had put together a little musical routine for Saskia’s aunt and Amber had asked Sam to join in the fun. Strange. He had not thought about Elwood House in years.

These three girls looked the same—but he knew that they had all changed more than he could have imagined. But these three girls? In those T-shirts? It was a blast from a happier time when they all had such wonderful dreams and aspirations about what they were going to do with their lives.

This was a bad time to decide to become sentimental. Time to get this started.

He banged hard on the door with the back of his knuckles and called out in a loud voice, ‘Is the lady of the house at home? The help has arrived.’

They were so intent on singing along to the words of some pop tune from the nineteen nineties that it was a few seconds before Saskia even glanced in his direction.

She instantly stopped dancing, put down her can of hairspray microphone and nudged Amber in the ribs before replying, ‘Hi, Sam. Good to see you.’

‘Hey. We were just getting to the chorus,’ Kate complained, then turned towards him and planted a fist on each hip and tutted loudly, but Sam hardly looked at the support band.

His whole attention was focused on the girl who was peeking out at him over the top of Kate’s head.

In contrast to the fresh, floral Amber who had waltzed into his dad’s garage, this version of Amber had donned the uniform of the full-on casually elegant fashion world.

The T-shirt was V-necked and modest enough to cover her cleavage but fashionably off centre so that a matching azure bra strap was exposed over one shoulder as she moved. Her collarbone formed a crisp outline.

Amber had never been overweight, but it seemed that she was paying the price of working with fashion designers.

She was too skinny. Way too skinny.

She had tied her broken wrist into a long blue scarf with pink and gold threads which ran through it to form a kind of halter neck.

The shade of blue matched the colour of her violet eyes. Perfectly. And, without intending to, Sam’s gaze was locked onto those eyes as though he was seeing them for the first time.

Her hair was clipped back behind her head in a simple waterfall. She wasn’t wearing any make-up from what he could see and did not need any.

He wondered if she realised how rare that truly was. Yes, he had met stunning girls in Los Angeles—the city was full of them.

But Amber DuBois was the real deal.

No doubt about it.

The lanky, awkward girl who had never known what to do with her long legs and arms and oversized feet was gone.

For good.

Replaced by a woman who looked totally comfortable and confident in her own skin.

This was the Amber he had always known that she would become one day, and he was suddenly pleased that she had realised just how lovely she truly was. And always had been.

Now the world had the chance to see Amber the way he had once seen her. As a beautiful, confident woman with the power to take his breath away. Just by looking at her.

‘Hi, trouble,’ she replied casually with a bright smile as though she were greeting an old friend, which was about right. ‘You are right on time.’

He gave her a mock salute. ‘Reporting for duty as ordered.’

Her small laugh turned into a bit of a cough, then she turned back to Kate and Saskia and pressed her cheek lightly to each of them in turn. ‘Thanks, girls. I’ll see you the same time tomorrow. Oh—and don’t forget to check online about the shoes. Bye. Bye for now.’

Amber stepped past Sam and waved to Kate and Saskia as they carefully wove their precious cargo of bags and suit carriers down the hall towards the front door, laughing and chatting as they went, with only the occasional backwards scowl from Kate over one shoulder to indicate how pleased they were to see him again. Not.

Only then did Amber turn back to face Sam, her hand resting lightly on one hip.

‘I cannot believe that you actually came.’

‘So you weren’t serious about the audition? Great!’ Sam replied, pushing himself off the door post and dusting his hands off and patting his pocket. ‘Shall we get started now? I have my trusty tape recorder right here.’

Amber exhaled explosively and held up both hands. ‘Not so fast. I was perfectly serious—you have to audition for this gig.’

Sam lifted both hands as he grinned at her.

‘Well, here I am. This is me proving that you can trust me to keep my word and do whatever it is you need me to do. Your personal slave is ready for action. So let’s get started.’

‘Oh, now don’t tempt me,’ Amber murmured under her breath, then she lifted her chin and peered at him through creased eyebrows. ‘You had better come into my bedroom.’

Sam blinked several times. ‘I am liking the sound of this already.’

She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘And I am regretting it already. Do not even try and flirt with me because it won’t work. Okay?’

‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much,’ Sam replied, then winced at the searing look she gave him. ‘Okay, I get the message. I am a snake who cannot be trusted. So. Let’s get this game of charades started. What is the first thing on that long list of yours?’

Amber pressed her forefinger to her full, soft pink lips and pretended to ponder.

‘You may have noticed that I am having a bit of a declutter at the moment.’

‘Declutter? Is that what you call it? I have to tell you that, despite reports to the contrary, my knowledge of female clothing is not as great as you might imagine. So if you are looking for fashion advice...’

Amber jabbed her finger towards the bedroom wall right in front of them, which was covered with a framed collection of artwork, portraits of Amber and old sheets of music manuscripts.

‘I need someone to take my pictures down so I can decorate. It is a bit tricky one-handed and some of them are quite valuable. I vaguely recall that you can handle a screwdriver. Think you can manage that?’

Sam stepped forward so that they were only inches apart.

‘Bambi, I can handle anything you throw at me.’

She took a step closer, startling him, but there was no way that he was going to let her know that.

‘Oh, this is only the start. I have a very, very long list.’

‘I expected nothing less.’

He turned to go back into the living room, and then looked back at Amber over one shoulder. ‘And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that you couldn’t wait to drag me into your bedroom the first chance you could get.’ He tapped one side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘It will be our little secret.’ And with that he strode away from Amber, leaving her wide-mouthed with annoyance, delighted that he had managed to squeeze in the last word.

SEVEN

Two hours later Sam had taken down the framed pictures from the walls of two bedrooms, a kitchen and a hallway, covered them in bubble wrap and packed them into plastic crates already stacked two high along the length of Amber’s hall, before starting on the living room.

The barrage of noise, telephone calls and visitors had slowly faded away as the morning went on so that by the time he had unscrewed the last of the huge oil paintings and modern art installations in the living room, he didn’t have to worry about stepping on Amber’s peep toe sandals as she worked around him, or accidentally brushing plaster dust onto some fabulous gown which had been casually thrown over a chair or garment rail.

It took superhuman effort but for most of that time he kept his eyes on the rawl plugs and loose plaster behind the pictures instead of the long, lean limbs of the lovely woman who brushed past him at regular intervals in the hallway, leaving a trail of scented air and a cunning giggle in her wake.

Decluttering? When he’d cleared out his furnished Los Angeles apartment, he had walked out with two suitcases and a laptop bag. The same way he had found it. All of his car magazines and photos were safely scanned and digitised. The rest had been recycled or passed on to his pals. He never had to go through this palaver.

Sam stood back and tilted his head to look at a pair of large oil paintings made up of small shapes inside larger shapes inside larger shapes which was starting to give him a headache.

And some of the picture frames had sticky notes on the front with the letter S written in purple marker pen. Purple, he snorted. What did that mean?

Right. Finish this little collection. Then it was time to go and find the lady and find out.

No need. Here she was, ambling towards him. Head down, a large garment bag over one shoulder and a cellphone pressed against her ear, oblivious to his presence.

From the corner of one eye he watched her flip the phone back into her pocket and pick up several scarves from the top of the piano. Then Amber paused and ran two fingertips along the surface of the keys without pressing them firmly enough to make music.

Only as he watched, her lovely face twisted into a picture of sadness and regret and pain that was almost unbearable for him to see.

He turned around to face her, but it was too late—the moment was lost as Amber suddenly realised that she was being observed. A bright smile wiped away the trauma that had been all there to see only a few seconds earlier, startling him with how quickly she could turn on her performance face, and she lowered the lid on the piano. ‘Plaster dust,’ she whispered. ‘Not a good idea.’

‘Don’t let me put you off playing,’ Sam quipped and gestured towards the piano with his screwdriver. ‘I brought my own earplugs in case you were holding a rehearsal session.’

‘Very funny, but your ears are safe. I am not playing today.’ She took a breath and raised her plaster cast towards him. ‘My wrist is hurting.’

Her chin lifted and she angled her head a little. ‘You can tell your lovely readers that I simply cannot tolerate second best. My standards are just as high as ever.’

‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Right. It’s just weird that you haven’t even tried to play. It used to be the other way around. I spent a lot of time trying to drag you away from the nearest keyboard.’

Sam looked into her face with a grin but her gaze was firmly fixed on the scarves in her bag.

‘That was a long time ago, Sam. People change.’ And with that she turned away and strolled back to her bedroom. In silence.

As he watched her slim hips sway away from him, every alarm bell in his journalist’s mind started ringing at the same time.

Music used to be the one thing that gave Amber joy. She used to call it her private escape route away from the chaos that was her mother’s life.

Well, it didn’t look like that now.

Something was not right here. And it was not just her wrist that was causing Amber pain.

And, damn it, but he cared more than he should.

* * *

Amber ran her fingers over the few dresses still left in her wardrobe and stifled a self-indulgent sniff. She had loved wearing those evening gowns which were now on their way to a shop specialising in pre-loved designer wear. But she had plenty of photos of the events to remind her what each dress had looked like if she wanted a walk down memory lane.

Which she didn’t.

She had never been sentimental about clothes like some of the other performers. There was no lucky bracelet or a corset dress which was guaranteed to have her grace the cover of the latest celebrity magazine. They were just clothes—beautiful clothes which had made her feel special and beautiful when she had worn them. But clothes just the same.

So why did it feel so weird to know that she would never wear them again?

Amber sniffed again, then mentally scolded herself.

This was pathetic! She was still Amber Sheridan DuBois. She was still the girl with the first class degree in music and the amazing career. The same Amber who had flown so very high in a perfect sky which seemed to go on for ever and ever.

Until she had gone to India and fate had sent her tumbling back down to earth with a bang.

The sound of an electric screwdriver broke through her wallow in self-pity and Amber shivered in her thin top. All in the past. She was over the worst and her wrist would soon be better. She was lucky to have come through the infection more or less intact, and that was worth celebrating.

So why did she feel like collapsing onto her bed and sleeping for a week?

She was overtired. That was it. Idiot. The doctors had warned her about overdoing it, then her mother and Heath and now so had Kate and Saskia—and Parvita, who had offered to delay the wedding because she felt so guilty about inviting her friends to perform a concert at the orphanage. She had had no clue that there was a meningitis outbreak sweeping across Kerala.

Of course she had told Parvita not to be so silly—the astrologers had chosen a perfect wedding day and that was precisely what Parvita was going to have. A perfect wedding back in her home village without having to worry about an exhausted concert pianist who should be in Boston resting in glorious solitude at her stepbrother’s town house.

Pity that she had not factored in the mess in her apartment, and surviving a birthday party at Elwood House. And then there was the ex-boyfriend who had suddenly popped into her life again.

Yes. Sam might have something to do with her added stress levels.

Good thing he had no idea how her body was on fire when he was in sight or she would never live it down.

He had no idea that she had tossed and turned most of the night with an aching wrist, wondering would have happened if she had fallen into Sam’s arms that night of her eighteenth birthday. Would they still be together now? Or would their relationship have fizzled out with recriminations and acrimonious insults?

She would never know, but there was one thing she was sure about.

Ever cell in her body was aware that Sam Richards was only a few feet away from her in the next room. His boyish grin was locked into her memory and, whether she liked it or not, her treacherous body refused to behave itself when he was so close. Her hands were shaking, her legs felt as though they belonged to someone else and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was supposed to be resting. Nothing at all.

All she had to do was survive a few more days and Sam would be out of her life.

Amber rolled her stiff and sore shoulders and rearranged her sling.

Shaking her head in dismay, she stretched up to tug at the boxes on the top shelf of her dressing room but they slid right back into the corner and out of her reach.

Grabbing the spare dining room chair Kate had used earlier to find the hat boxes, Amber popped the headphones of her personal stereo in her trouser pocket over her ears, and hummed along to the lively Italian baroque music as she jumped up onto the chair and stretched out on tiptoe to reach the far back corner of the shelf.

She had just caught hold of the handle of her old vanity case and was tugging it closer when something touched the bare skin below her trouser leg.

As she whipped around in shock, her left hand tried to grab the chair, which had started to wobble alarmingly at the sudden movement, throwing her completely off balance. The problem was that her fingers were already tightly latched onto the vanity case and as it swung off the shelf it made contact with the side of Sam’s head as he stepped forwards to grab hold of her around the middle and take the weight of her body against his.

She dropped the case, and it bounced high before settling down intact.

Not that she noticed. Her fingers were too busy clutching onto Sam Richards as she stared into his startled face.

Time seemed to stand still as she started to slide down the front of his hard body, her silky top riding up as she did.

Sam reacted by holding her tighter, hitching her up as though she was weightless, his arms linked together under her bottom, locking her body against his.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said, trying to sound casual, as though it was perfectly normal to have a conversation while you were being held up against the dusty T-shirt of the man who had once rocked your world. ‘Good thing I didn’t hit anything important.’

He bit his lower lip, as though he was ready to hit back with some comment and then thought better of it, then one corner of his mouth turned up and he slowly, slowly, started to bend his knees until her feet were on the floor. But all the time his arms were locked behind her back as though he had no intention of letting her go.

Why should he? Amber thought. Sam was having way too much fun.

Strange that his breathing seemed to be even faster than hers, if that was possible, and she could see the blood pulsing in his neck. Hot and fast.

His wide fingers slid up from her hips to her waist, holding her firm, secure, safe but being careful not to crush her plaster cast.

Amber inhaled the warm spicy aroma of some masculine scent that had a lot of Sam in the blend and instantly became aware that she could feel the length of his body pressed against hers from chest to groin.

His breathing became stronger. Louder. And his fingers stretched to span the strip of exposed skin below her top, gently at first and then moving back and forth just a little against her ribcage. Amber felt like closing her eyes but didn’t dare because his gaze had never left her face.

He felt wonderful. He smelt better.

Sam tilted his head and looked at her. Really looked at her. Looked at her with an intensity that sent shivers and tingles from her toes to the ends of each strand of hair.

It had been such a long time since any man had held her like this, with that fire in his eyes.

Bad fire.

Bad tingles.

Bad, bad heart for wanting him to finish what he had started.

It would be so easy to kiss him right now and find out if his kiss was still capable of making her weak at the knees.

Bad Amber for wanting him, when that was the worst thing that could happen to either of them.

Her back stiffened and she lifted her chin slightly.

‘You can put me down now if you like,’ she said in a jokey voice which sounded so false and flat. Her words seem to echo around the narrow dressing room until they found their target.

‘And what if I don’t like?’ Sam replied and leant closer to breathe into her neck while his fingers moved in slow circles at her waist.

Suddenly Amber wished that she had installed air conditioning in the apartment because the air was starting to heat up far too quickly in this small space. And so close to her bed...

Amber lifted her hand from Sam’s shoulder and reached behind and gently slid her fingers around his wrist and released him.

And, just like that, the connection was broken, leaving her feeling dizzier than she wanted to admit.

Without his support, her legs felt so wobbly that she had to swivel around and sit down on the chair—anything but the bed. That would be far too dangerous with this man around and she would hate to give him ideas.

His brow creased and Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest as he stared at her, his legs wide, his shoulders back and squared, his gaze locked onto her face. As he stared his eyes narrowed as though they were concerned about something. And her foolish girly heart gave a little leap at the idea that he might still care about her.

‘Hey, Bambi. I thought we had a deal. It’s time you kept to your side of the bargain.’

‘Will you please stop calling me Bambi? Yes, I know you came up with the name in the first place, but Amber will do fine. And what do you mean? My side?’

‘Okay, then. Amber, I brought my own work uniform...’ Sam waved a hand down his clothing.

‘But you promised me refreshments. So far all I have seen are a small plate of girly mini cupcakes and one mug of weak Earl Grey tea.’

He winced and shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘That. Is not refreshments as I understand them. What’s more, I have just raided your refrigerator and there is nothing more than a couple of low fat yoghurts and some supermarket ready meals.’

He stood back and ogled her, then reached out and pinched her arm.

She wriggled away. ‘Hey. Ouch. What was that for?’

‘Too skinny and too pale and wobbly. By far. That decides it. We, young lady, are going out to get some food. What is your fancy? Mexican? Pub food? Take your pick.’

Amber looked around the bedroom in horror at the debris.

‘I can’t leave now. The flat is a mess and it will take me ages to tidy it up.’

‘But the girls have gone for the day...right?’

‘Well, yes. I don’t have any more appointments.’

‘Good. Because it is two o’clock in the afternoon and neither of us have eaten since breakfast. Right?’

Amber sighed and checked her wristwatch, and then her shoulders sagged. ‘I am flagging a bit. I suppose it would make sense to eat some late lunch...and what are you doing?’

‘Looking for your coat. And which one of these is your handbag? Come on, girl. The sun is still shining and there is nothing fit to eat in this apartment. What do you say? We get some lunch and I volunteer to carry your shopping home from the supermarket on the way back. You can’t get a better offer than that.’

‘Can’t I?’

Amber leant backwards and pulled out her mobile phone from her trouser pocket and was about to sling her cashmere wrap over one shoulder when Sam stepped behind her and wrapped it around her shoulders, gently pressing the collar into her neck, his fingertips touching her, and she blinked in delight then cursed herself for being so needy.

‘Actually, I might have a better idea, but I need to make a phone call. This restaurant can get extremely busy around lunchtime.’

Sam groaned. ‘I might have known. How many awards does it have? Because I have to tell you—I am not in the mood for mini tasting portions served on teaspoons made out of toast.’

She sniffed dismissively. ‘Several. But wait and see. You might just like it. And the table has the most amazing view over London.’

* * *

‘I don’t believe that you ordered home delivery,’ Sam exclaimed and put down his screwdriver as Amber sauntered into the kitchen swinging a large brown paper bag. ‘Don’t tell me that the famous Amber DuBois has suddenly got cold feet about being seen out in public. Or were you worried that I would make you pay the bill?’

Amber sniffed dismissively in reply. ‘Well, someone has a very high opinion of themselves.’ Then she sighed in exasperation and gestured with her head towards the cabinets. ‘Only now I am out of hands. Would you mind bringing the plates and cutlery? Have a rummage in that drawer. Yep. That’s it.’

‘You are avoiding my question,’ Sam said as he followed Amber out onto the sunlit terrace and spread the picnic kit out onto the table, where Amber was already pulling out foil containers. ‘Why not go out to some fabulous restaurant so the waiters can fawn all over you?’

She looked up at him and gave a half smile. ‘Two reasons. First, I want some peace and quiet to enjoy my meal, and the restaurant this food came from is always crushed jam-tight. And secondly—’ she paused and looked out towards the skyline ‘—I have only used this apartment on flying visits these past few years and never stayed long enough to enjoy the view.’ She nodded towards the railing. ‘Feel free. This is your city, after all. And I know how much you love London.’

Sam took the hint and walked the few steps over to the railing. And exhaled slowly at the awe-inspiring scene spread out in all directions in front of him. The stress of the past few days melted away as he took in the stunning view over the Thames and along both sides of the river for miles in each direction. His eyes picked out the locations which were so familiar they were like old friends. Friends like Amber had once been.

‘You always were the clever one. This is a pretty good view, I’ll give you that. And yes, London is my city, and it always has been. And what is that amazing smell?’

He turned back towards Amber and instantly his senses were filled with the most amazing aromas which instantly made his mouth water.

‘Are those Indian dishes? You used to hate spicy food.’

‘That was before I tasted real southern Indian food like this. Home-cooked traditional recipes from Kerala. The restaurant doesn’t usually do take out but I know the owner’s cousin. Willing to risk it?’

‘Are you kidding me?’ Sam replied and flung himself into the seat. ‘I loved living in Los Angeles, but you cannot get real Indian food unless you cook it yourself. Pass it over and tell me what you ordered.’

‘Vegetable curry, chickpea masala, coconut rice and a thick lamb curry for you. And just this once we are allowed to eat it using a fork and plates instead of fingers and a banana leaf. Go ahead and tuck in. I ordered plenty. What do you think?’

Sam held up a fork and dived into the nearest dish, speared some lamb and wrapped his lips around it.

Flavour and texture exploded on his tongue and he moaned in pleasure and delight before smiling and grabbing each dish in turn and loading up his plate with something of everything.

‘This is seriously good. But now I’m curious. How do you know the owner of a Keralan restaurant in London? That doesn’t seem to fit with a career musician.’

Amber swallowed down a mouthful of vegetables and rice and gave a tiny shrug before taking a sip of water.

‘The orchestra I tour with has an amazing cellist who has become one of my best friends in the business. Parvita is one of those totally natural talents who has been winning awards all over the place—but it was only when I got to know her that I found out just how remarkable she really is.’

Amber topped up her plate as she spoke, but there was just enough of a slight quiver in her voice to make Sam look at her as he chewed. ‘Parvita was left at an orphanage for girls when she was only a toddler. Her widowed mother was too poor to feed another daughter. She needed her boys to work their farm in Kerala and knew that the orphanage could give a little girl an education and a chance to improve her life.’

Amber chuckled. ‘I don’t think that Parvita’s family were expecting her to win scholarships to international music schools and then build a career as a concert cellist. But she did it, against all of the odds.’

Amber raised her water glass. ‘And along the way my friend introduced me to real home-cooked food from Kerala. The chef who runs this restaurant is one of her cousins and is totally passionate about fresh ingredients and cooking with love. I think it shows.’

Sam lifted his fork in tribute. ‘This is probably the best Indian food that I have ever eaten. Although it does make me wonder. Aren’t you going to miss your friend Parvita? Now that you have decided to retire?’

Amber closed her lips around the fork and twirled it back and forth for a second before replying. ‘Not at all. She is still my friend so I will make the effort to keep in touch. She even invited me to her wedding next week and sent me a fabulous hot pink sari to wear.’

‘Now that is something I would like to see. Just tell me which fabulous and exclusive London venue is having the privilege of hosting this happy event and I’ll be right there with my camera.’

‘Oh, she isn’t coming to London. The wedding party is in Kerala. I’ve already sent my apologies—’ Amber shrugged ‘—but the newlyweds will be passing through London in a few weeks, and we can catch up then.’

‘So you are not going to the wedding after all?’

She shook her head as she chewed and pointed to her plaster.

‘That’s interesting.’ Sam nodded. ‘If one of my friends was getting married I wouldn’t let a simple thing like that stop me from going. Unless, of course, there is more to it than that. Hmm?’

Then he leant back and crossed his cutlery on his plate and shook his head from side to side.

‘Well, well. Why do I get the feeling that some things have not changed that much after all? Let me guess. Your mother ordered you not to go, didn’t she? Or was Heath Sheridan worried that his little stepsister is going to get sunburnt if she goes to India? How is your stepbrother doing these days? Still trying to interfere in your life? Um. I take that glaring scowl as a yes.’

He sniggered off her rebuke, and dived back into his food. ‘You surprise me, Amber. You’re twenty-eight years old, with a brilliant career, an international reputation and the kudos to match, and you still cannot get out from under their thumb, can you? Well, shame on you, Amber DuBois. I thought you were better than that.’

EIGHT

‘Shame on me? Shame. On me?’

Amber felt the heat burn at the back of her neck which had nothing to do with the Indian food and she crashed her hand down onto the table hard enough to make both Sam and the plates jump, and leant forwards towards him.

‘How dare you? How dare you tell me that I should be ashamed of the fact that my family love me and care what happens to me? No, I don’t always agree with what they tell me, but at least they make an effort to be part of my life. But you know all about that, don’t you? How are you getting on with your dad these days? And remind me of the last time you saw your mum?’

The words emerged in harsh outbursts which seemed to echo around her patio and reflect back from the stone-faced man sitting opposite. And she instantly regretted them.

It shocked her that Sam was capable of making her so spiteful and hard. She was one of the few people who knew how hard it had been for him when his mother abandoned her husband and son. But that didn’t mean that she had to throw his pain back in his face.

She was better than that. Or at least she was trying to be.

‘In fact I don’t know why I am even listening to you in the first place.’ She blinked and tossed her head back and calmly sipped her water. ‘You are hardly qualified to take the moral high ground. I certainly don’t need a lecture on making decisions from you, Sam. Understood?’

‘Perfectly.’ Sam nodded, then leant forward and rested his elbows on the table while his gaze locked onto her face. ‘Is your little tantrum over now, Miss DuBois? Because I would really like to get this so called interview over and done with as soon as possible. I have a real assignment waiting for me back at the paper, so can we move on, please?’

‘Absolutely,’ Amber replied, trying to calm her heart rate and appear to be more or less in control again. ‘But it does make me wonder. What are you really doing back here in London? Because whatever it is must be very important to persuade you to go through with this little game of charades.’

* * *

Sam tried to savour more of the delicious food as slowly as he could while his brain worked at lightning speed, trying to form an answer, but his appetite was gone and he pushed his meal away.

Amber had fired her arrow and hit her target right in the centre.

Strange how this girl was one of the few people alive who knew just what his emotional hot buttons were and was not afraid to press them down hard when she needed to.

Just as he had pressed hers.

That was the problem with working with people who understood you.

Touché Amber.

If this was a game, then it was one point to each of them.

Sam sat back in his chair and watched Amber as she turned away from him and looked out over the city, all joy in her food and apartment forgotten.

The warm sunlight played on her pale skin and delicate features. Up close and personal, she was even lovelier than the girl on the magazine cover. Her chest rose and fell and he could sense the emotional strain these last few minutes had cost her.

Strain he was responsible for.

Shame on him.

Amber DuBois was gunpowder and those few minutes they had just shared in the dressing room had proved just how explosive getting within touching distance could be.

Any ideas he might have had about staying distant and professional had just gone out of the window the instant his fingers touched her skin.

He might be over his teenage crush but this woman he was looking at now had the power to get under his skin and bother him.

Bother him so badly that suddenly it felt easier to keep his change of heart towards his father to himself. If she had a whiff that he was some sort of self-sacrificing martyr who desperately wanted to make it up to his dad for all those angry years, she would never let him forget it.

A few days. He could stay cool and professional for a few days for his dad’s sake.

His eyebrow lifted. ‘I told you. I need the promotion and the boss made it clear that I will only get that if I come back with an exclusive from, and I quote, “the lovely Miss DuBois”. That’s it, job done,’ and Sam went back to the food.

No way was he going to fall into Amber’s trap and start spouting on about how guilty he felt about leaving his dad all alone for years on end while he lived the high life in California. This was Amber he was talking to. She would be only too ready to believe that he was a heartless son who had only come back to London for the job and the status.

After what had just happened in the dressing room he intended to keep as far away from her as physically possible.

He had to keep up the pretence that he was still the self-absorbed young man who would let nothing come between him and his career. Which was not so far from the truth. Happy families were for other men. Not men like Sam Richards.

‘Job done. Right,’ Amber replied and picked up her water glass. ‘Come on, Sam. Out with it. From what I hear, you can get a job anywhere you like. Why here? Why now? And why do I suspect that there is a lovely lady involved in the answer?’

‘You think I came back to London for a woman? Oh, no. Sorry to burst your romantic bubble, but this was strictly business all the way.’

‘Um,’ Amber replied. ‘Pity. I could have given her a few tips. Such as run for the hills now, before he breaks your heart. That sort of thing. But not to worry, it will keep for another time.’

And she smiled sweetly at him over her water glass. ‘But do tuck into your lunch. You are going to need it for this afternoon’s opportunity to shine.’

‘More pictures?’

‘Yes, but that is for later when you deliver the paintings to Saskia and hang them up for her,’ Amber replied. ‘But in the meantime I have something which is much more suited to your...talents.’

She narrowed her eyes and rested her elbows on the table so that she could support her chin with one hand. ‘Did you bring your camera and tripod? I’ll take that nod as a yes. Super. My shoes really do need the right angle to look their best.’

Sam spluttered into his water glass. ‘Shoes? You want me to photograph your shoes?’ he asked in complete disbelief.

‘Eighteen pairs of designer loveliness.’ Amber sighed. ‘Worn once or not at all. Gorgeous but unloved. Kate wanted them but she has tiny feet so I am selling them on the Internet.’

‘You are selling your shoes.’ Sam snorted and tossed his head with a sigh. ‘Things must be desperate. Cash flow problems?’

Her tongue flicked out and she licked her lips once. And right there and then he knew that she was keeping something from him.

‘Don’t try and hide your enthusiasm. I knew that you would be excited by the opportunity. This is just part of the modern girl’s annual clearing out of last season’s couture so that she can buy new ones to take their place—and all the money goes to charity. Oh—and tomorrow gets even better. The lovely Saskia is trying to launch Elwood House as a private dining venue and her online presence is just not cutting it. She needs a professional writer to redesign the website and create a whole new photo gallery—and it has to be complete in time for my birthday party on Thursday.’

‘Is there any good news in all of this?’ he spluttered, while shovelling down more chickpeas and rice.

‘Of course. You have a front row seat at my birthday party, hobnobbing with the great and good of the London scene. Even if you are taking the photographs for Saskia’s website at the same time.’

Sam blew out slowly. ‘I am so grateful for your kind consideration. So that’s Saskia covered. Are you sure that Kate Lovat wouldn’t like me to stand in her shop window modelling a tartan dinner suit in my copious spare time?’

‘Hey, that’s not a bad idea. You might be able to fit it in after you have cleaned the spiders and mouse droppings out of her attic tomorrow. Oh. Didn’t I mention that? Silly me. And after you have sorted the ladies out, then you can pop back here. By then I should have sorted out my unwanted lingerie. I am sure you can come up with some suitable slogan like “as worn by Amber” when you put together the adverts for the Internet auction.’

Amber tilted her head to one side as he glared at her through slitted eyes.

And this was the girl he was thinking of asking to be his friend.

‘Not lingerie. Shoes I can understand. But I draw the line at photographing lingerie unless you intend to model it in person.’

‘But this is your audition, sweetie. Have you forgotten so quickly? Of course, if you are refusing to carry out my perfectly reasonable requests, well, I shall have to phone the journalist on the other paper and see if she is still interested... And no, my modelling days are over.’

She leant her chin on the back of one hand and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

‘You’re looking a little hot under the collar there, Mr Richards.’ Amber smiled. ‘How about some ice cream to cool you down? It’s delicious with humble pie.’

* * *

‘Well. What do you think? The emerald and diamond drop necklace or the sapphire white gold collar?’

Amber held one necklace then the other to her throat, slowly at first, then faster and then faster, using two fingers of her plastered wrist to prop them up against her skin.

‘Hey. Slow down, I’m still thinking about it.’

Kate sat back against Amber’s bed pillows in Saskia’s best spare bedroom and stretched both arms out above her head.

‘Decisions, decisions.’ Then she sniffed. ‘The sapphires. They are absolutely perfect with that dress. Although, if it was me, I would wear both and go totally overboard on the bling. Especially since you won’t be wearing either of them again.’

Amber smiled and dropped the emerald necklace, which had been a present from a fashion designer who had been trying to woo her into being their cover girl, back into the velvet tray. ‘True. But the way I look at it, some other girl has the chance to enjoy them and the charity gets the loot. The last thing I need is a load of expensive jewellery in a safety deposit box which has to be insured every year at huge expense. It makes sense to sell it back to the jewellers while it is still in pristine condition.’

Kate shuffled to the edge of the bed. ‘Don’t let the spy hear you say that. Can you imagine the headlines? “Injured pianist forced to sell her jewellery to make ends meet”.’ Then Kate pushed herself off the bed. ‘Here. Let me help with the earrings. I’m thinking some serious dangle and maximum sparkle and that is a tricky thing to pull off one-handed.’

She peered into the tray and pulled out a pair of chandelier diamond and sapphire drops. ‘Ah. Now we are talking...’ Then she took another look at the maker on the box and blew out hard. ‘Wow. Are these for real? My fingers are shaking. I never thought I would be holding anything from that jeweller. Oh, Amber.’

Amber reached up and wrapped one arm around Kate’s shoulders but, as her friend laughed and reached up to fit her earrings, she shook her head. ‘Not until you have tried them on first. Go on. I want to see you wear those earrings—and that necklace.’

‘What? My neck is too short and my ears are tiny. Nope. These are serious jewels for serious people. I’ll stick to my pearls, thanks all the same.’

‘Kate Lovat, I won’t take no for an answer. I know that my clothes and shoes are huge on you, so please, just this once, be nice and do what I ask. It is my birthday.’

Amber pushed her lips out and pretended to sulk.

‘Oh, stop it,’ Kate replied with a dramatic sigh. ‘You are ruining your make-up and it has taken me the best part of an hour to make it look natural. Okay, okay, I’ll try the jewellery on. But only because it’s your birthday, Look, I’m doing it. And... Oh, Amber.’

Kate stepped behind Amber and rested her head on her shoulder as Amber smiled back at her. ‘Absolutely gorgeous. Told ya. Right, that’s sorted. You’re wearing the jewels that Heath gave me. Done. Or do you want them to sit in the box up here in the bedroom unused and unloved because you have rejected them?’

Kate replied by reaching for a tissue. ‘Oh. Now look what you have made me do. Pest.’

Then Kate peered at herself in the mirror. ‘Do you think that Heath would like me in these?’

‘Pest right back. And he would definitely like you in those earrings,’ Amber replied and wrapped her arm around Kate’s waist. ‘Does Heath still hold the prize for the best emergency school party date a girl could hope for?’

Kate rested her head on Amber’s shoulder before answering with a small shrug. ‘Absolutely. Which must make me the stupidest girl in London. Here I am, surrounded by loads of handsome boys, and the only one who comes close to being my personal hero is living in Boston and doesn’t remember that I even exist unless you are around. Mad just about describes it.’

‘Oh, Kate. Don’t worry. You’ll find someone special, I know you will.’

Kate grinned and ran a tissue across the corner of both eyes. ‘Damn right. Who knows? My soulmate could be on his way to this very party this evening. How about that?’

‘Absolutely. Now shoo. I have to finish getting ready and you need to show your loveliness to all and sundry. Go. Have fun at the party. And Kate...make sure that Sam the spy takes your picture. You can’t miss him—he’ll be the one with the camera around his neck.’

‘You’ve got five minutes, young lady—then the posse will be up here to drag you downstairs.’

‘I would expect nothing less,’ Amber replied and waved to Kate as she waltzed across the carpet on her tiny dainty heels and the bedroom door swung closed behind her.

Only when she heard Kate’s sandals on the marble floor of the entrance did Amber feel it was safe to flop back down on her bed.

So her best friend Kate was still in crush with her stepbrother Heath. Oh, Kate. Maybe it was a good thing that Heath had already spoken to her from his lecture tour in South America and was not turning up for this party after all. He might have brought his lovely girlfriend Olivia with him. Not good. Not good at all.

Her wrist was aching, her head was thumping and she could quite easily pull the quilt over her legs right then and there and sleep for days. But she couldn’t. She might have organised her birthday party at the last minute, but she was still the star of the show—and she had to make her appearance.

Time to turn up and give the greatest performance of her life.

All smiles and confidence and clear about what she was doing and why. Exploring. Taking a break. Enjoying herself. Fund-raising for charity. What fun!

That was the official line and she was sticking to it. She could count the number of people who knew the truth on one hand—and that was how she wanted it to stay. Until she was ready. And then she would have to add Sam Richards to the list.

Sam.

What was she going to do about Sam?

Was he Sam the spy as Kate called him? Could she trust him again?

He had kept his side of the bargain and worked hard at every ridiculous task that the three of them had thrown at him over the past few days without much in the way of complaint.

He could never know that she had spent two nights tossing and turning in her bed as his words roiled in the pit of her stomach. She did listen to Heath—she always had and probably always would. He was her sensible older stepbrother. But these past two days, every time he had told her to do something rather than ask or suggest, she kept thinking about what Sam had said. Maybe she was still under his thumb more than she liked? Maybe he had a point.

Of course going back to Kerala would be scary. She would be a fool not to be worried. But she had made a vow in hospital that her life would be different from now. She wanted to see Parvita married and share her happiness.

She wanted to go back and yet it was so risky. Doubt rolled over Amber in waves, hard and choppy, buffeting and threatening to weaken her resolve.

Turning her life around was harder than she had expected.

The jewel tray was still open on the dressing table and Amber slithered off her bed and lifted out the top tray. Hidden inside a tiny suede pouch at the very bottom was a small gold heart suspended from a thin gold chain.

Sam had given it to her at her eighteenth birthday party, just before they had escaped out of the kitchen door and taken a ride in his dad’s vintage open top sports car.

Amber smiled as she let the chain slip between her fingers. Sam had let her stand up tall on the passenger seat with her arms outstretched to the sky as they rode through the London streets—the wind in her hair and the sound of their laughter and the hoots from passing motorists reverberating through every bone in her body.

She had been so very, very happy, and she should be grateful to Sam for showing her what true happiness felt like. It was a joyous memory.

The sound of party music drifted up the stairs and Amber grinned. She had survived meningitis more or less intact, she had friends waiting for her downstairs and more on their way.

She looked at herself in the mirror and, without another moment of hesitation, she winked at her reflection and dropped the gold chain back into the pouch and closed the lid down on the box with the rest of her past.

She was a lucky girl.

Time to rock and roll and enjoy herself.

* * *

Taking a deep calming breath, Sam Richards strolled across the luxurious marble-floored hallway of the Victorian splendour that was Elwood House.

He paused to check his reflection in the Venetian hall mirror above a long narrow console table, and lifted up his chin a little to adjust his black bow tie.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

For a chauffeur’s son from the wrong part of London.

At least this time he had been welcomed at the front door!

Which had certainly not been the case ten years ago when he had stood in the hallway of another house and another birthday celebration.

Amber might have invited him to her eighteenth birthday party but her mother had taken one look at him standing on her front doorstep, snorted and closed the door in his face. Just to make sure that he got the message loud and clear.

Sam Richards was not good enough for her daughter. Oh, no. Nowhere near.

Of course he wasn’t going to put up with that—he had plans for Amber’s birthday and there was no way that her mother was going to thwart his little scheme.

So he’d climbed over the garden fence and sneaked in through the conservatory where the young people were having fun.

Suddenly there was the tinkle of laughter from the kitchen and Sam grinned as he strolled into the warm, light, open space of the huge kitchen sun room that Saskia’s aunt Margot had built. Every worktop was covered with plates and bowls and platters of foodstuffs—but his attention was focused on the two women who were walking towards him.

Here come the girls.

Saskia’s arm was around Kate’s shoulder, which was not difficult, considering that Kate could just about make five feet four inches if she stretched. Although tonight she looked stunning in a dark green taffeta cocktail dress with real jewels. Saskia was in midnight-blue crushed velvet with a real pearl choker and gorgeous lilac kitten heels.

They were like dazzling stars transported from a catwalk fashion show into this London kitchen. English style and elegance. Not too much flesh on show, and all class.

Kate hissed at him, but Saskia nudged her with a glare and moved forward to shake his hand.

‘Hello, Sam. Nice to see you again. I appreciate your help with my website—it’s ten times better than I could have thought of on my own. We’re having a few drinks on the patio before the hordes of locusts arrive. Why don’t you come and join us?’

‘Perfect. Thanks. And I’m pleased I could help.’

‘You go ahead. One more thing to bring out of the oven,’ Saskia replied, and waved Kate and Sam onto the terrace.

The second they were out of sight of the kitchen, Kate grabbed Sam’s sleeve, whirled around and planted a hand on each hip as she stared up at him with squeezed narrow eyes.

‘I’m watching you, Sam Richards. If you step out of place tonight or do anything to spoil Amber’s evening I’ll be on to you like a shot.’

He raised both hands in surrender.

‘I came here to work. And help Amber have a good time along the way. Okay?’

Kate replied by jabbing her second and third fingers towards her eyes then stabbed them towards his face, then back to her eyes.

‘Watching you,’ she hissed, then broke into a wide-mouthed grin and popped one of Saskia’s mini tomato tarts into her mouth and groaned in pleasure as Saskia strolled up with the most delicious-smelling tray.

Kate raised her glass of white wine in a toast. ‘Fab. You always know exactly how to pull off the perfect party, Saskia. Always have.’

‘Hold that thought, gorgeous. Special order for the star of the show. Mini pizza. Extra anchovies. Okay?’

‘Did someone say mini pizza?’

Amber sidled up to Saskia and kissed her on the cheek before biting into the crisp pastry and nodding. ‘Delicious.’ Only then did she look across at Sam and smile. ‘Hello, Sam. What perfect timing.’

And she took his breath away.

Her long sensitive fingers were wrapped around the stem of a wine glass which Kate was topping up with sparkling tonic water rather than wine. A diamond bracelet sparkled at her wrist and flashed bright and dazzling as she moved in the sunlight.

But that was nothing compared to the crystal covered dress and jewelled collar she was wearing.

Sam dragged his eyes away from Amber’s cleavage before Kate noticed and stabbed him with the corkscrew.

Her earrings moved, sparkling and bright, and helped him to focus on her face. Stunning make-up showed her clear, smooth complexion to perfection, and her eyes glowed against the dark smudge of colour. Her lips were full, smooth. Her whole face was radiant.

Amber had never looked so beautiful or more magical.

This was the Amber he had always imagined that she would look when she was happy in her own skin—and she had exceeded his wildest imagination.

He had often wondered over the years if Amber had stayed the sweet, loving girl that he had fallen for, under the surface gloss and razzmatazz, and it only took a few seconds of seeing her now with her friends to realise that she had somehow managed to keep her integrity and old friendships alive.

Now that was something he could admire.

He would give a lot to be here as her date this evening. To know that those lovely violet-blue eyes were looking at him with love instead of tolerance.

He had walked away from a great love.

Maybe his only love. And certainly the only girl that he had ever truly wanted in his life.

Which made him more than a fool. It made him a stupid fool.

The best that he could do was try and capture this moment for ever. So that when they were back in their ordinary worlds on other continents he had something to remind him of just how much he had lost.

She was the star. And he was a reporter who was working for her.

Because that was what he was here for, wasn’t it? To work?

Not as one of the guests.

Oh, no.

The likes of Sam Richards did not come to these events as a guest. He was the one parking cars and taking the coats.

Strange to think that he had some standing on the A-list circuit in Los Angeles. But it took London to put him right back in his place.

As one of the help.

Pity that he had no intention whatsoever of fitting in with someone else’s idea of who and what he was. He was here because they needed him as much as he needed Amber.

An equal trade. Yes. That was better. He could work with that.

He was done with being second best. To anyone.

Instantly Sam smiled. ‘You look lovely, Amber—and not a day over twenty-eight. In fact, you ladies look so stunning as a group that I think this would make a charming example of a perfect summer drinks party. Early evening cocktails for a private party? So if you could just hold that pose? Lovely. And a little more to the right, Kate? Gorgeous—and don’t forget to smile, Kate. Much better than sticking your tongue out at me. That’s it.’

Sam stepped back and by the time the girls had straightened their dresses and rearranged the canapés his digital camera had already captured the trio from several angles, taking in the conservatory, the lovely sunlit garden and the happy women enjoying themselves.

Of course Amber had no idea that he had taken several shots for his personal album. And every one of them was of Amber.

‘Fantastic. And a few more with you choosing something from the tray and pouring more wine. Excellent. Now. Saskia. How do you want to showcase the patio? With or without the food?’

NINE

Five hours later, every canapé, savoury and dessert that Saskia had served had been eaten, empty bottles of champagne stood upside down in silver wine buckets and the eighty or so guests had been entertained by some of London’s finest musical talent.

One Spanish musician had even brought along a classical guitar and Amber had kicked off the flamenco dancing with great gusto and much cheering. It was amazing that the glass wear had survived the evening.

He had taken hundreds of photographs in every public room, with and without guests, from every possible angle. But there was no doubt who was the star of the show.

Sam could only watch in awe as Amber laughed and chatted in several languages to men and women of all ages and dress styles. Some young and unkempt, some older and the height of elegance, but it did not seem to matter to her in the least. The fashion models and media people were introduced to classical artists and quite a few popular musicians with names that even he had heard of.

Everyone from the costume designers to hairdressers and international conductors were putty in Amber’s fingers. He had never expected to hear a sing-song around the grand piano where four of the world’s leading sopranos improvised a rap song with an up-and-coming hip hop star.

It took skill to make a person feel that they were the most important person in the room—and Amber had that skill in buckets.

He was in awe of her.

It was only now, as Saskia and Kate chatted away to old friends and lingering guests, that he realised that Amber had already slipped away into the kitchen before he had a chance to thank her and say goodnight.

He quickly scanned the kitchen for Amber and waved to the waiting staff that Saskia had set to work on the washing-up. He had just turned away when he saw a splash of blue on the patio and slowly strolled out of the hot kitchen into the cool of the late May evening.

Amber was sitting on the wooden bench on the patio, humming along to the lively Austrian waltzes being played on the music system in the conservatory only a few feet away.

Her eyes were closed tight shut and her left hand was twisting and moving as though it was dancing in the air, her right arm waving stiffly along in time, the plaster cast forgotten.

Her face was in shadow but there was no mistaking the expression of joy which seemed to shine from inside outwards, illuminating her skin and making it glow.

She was happy. Beautiful. And content. And he yearned to be part of that happiness and share that little window of joy with this amazing woman.

This was the Amber he had fallen in love with ten years ago and then fallen in love all over again in the first ten seconds when she’d walked into his dad’s garage and knocked his world off its axis.

And the fact that he had been in denial until this moment was so mind-boggling that all he could do was stand there and watch as she sang along to the music, all alone in the light of the full moon and the soft glow streaming out from the conservatory where the last guests were mingling in the hallway.

He stood in the shadows, watching her for minutes until the music changed to a new track and she dropped her hands onto her lap and clasped hold of her knees and blinked open her eyes.

And saw him.

‘Hi, Sam,’ she said, and her eyes met his without hesitation or reluctance. Almost as if she was pleased to see him there. ‘Are we on our own?’

Sam swallowed down the lump in his throat and strolled over to the bench in the soft light and lifted up her feet and sat down, her legs on his knees, well aware that he probably had a huge man crush grin all over his face.

‘More or less. The girls are seeing the last of the guests out. It was a great party. Did you have a good time?’

Amber sighed and snuggled sideways on the arm rest. ‘The best. Even though I am now completely exhausted. How about you?’

Sam half turned to face her and as she shuffled higher, her legs resting on his thighs and her arm on her lap, he inhaled a wonderful spicy, sweet perfume that competed with the full musk roses and lavender which Saskia had planted behind the bench. It was a heady, exotic aroma that seemed to fill his senses and make him want to stay there for as long as Amber was close by.

He wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful.

But that would be too close to the truth. So he covered up his answer and turned it into something she would be expecting him to say.

‘I had an interesting evening. Your guest list was inspired. I suspect the birthday present swag will be excellent.’

‘Birthday presents? Oh. No, I only had a few. I asked people to make a donation to Parvita’s charity instead.’

She looked at him. Really looked at him. Her gaze moved so slowly from his feet upwards that by the time it reached his face Sam knew that his ears were flaming red.

‘Nice suit. You look positively dangerous. Was it safe to let you out on your own? I’m sorry I didn’t have much time to talk. Did you get all of the shots Saskia needs?’

‘I can usually be trusted to behave myself if the occasion demands. And yes, I think I can do something creative for a website and make the most of the venue.’

‘Really? That almost sounds professional. Then things truly have changed. And not just the suit.’

‘Oh, no compliments, please; you’ll have me blushing.’

‘I noticed you working the room with your camera. Hasn’t Saskia done a lovely job?’

‘I have been to this house so many times with my dad but I’d forgotten how stunning it is. Judging from some of the comments from your guests, I think she might be on to a winner.’

Amber hunched up her shoulders. ‘I hope so. She’s had a rough time since her aunt Margot died. This is why it’s important to me that you do a good job and help Saskia out. Elwood House is her home but it’s also her business. She needs a decent marketing and promotional campaign to get it off the ground.’

‘There are expert companies out there who could make it happen.’

‘Yes, there are. And they cost serious amounts of money. And Saskia won’t accept my help. I have plenty of colleagues and casual friends in my life. You met some of them this evening. But nobody comes close to real friends like Kate, Saskia and her aunt Margot. They made me believe that, despite everything that happened with my mother, I could make a real home in London and create something close to a normal school life for myself. And that was new.’

‘I know, I was there. Remember?’

Then she laughed out loud. ‘Oh, yes, I remember very well indeed. But I refuse to be angry with you on my birthday. Life really is too short. I have had enough of all of that. And yes, you can record that little snippet on your handy pocket tape recorder and do what you like with it.’

He patted his pockets. ‘Oh, shame. I seem to have left it at the office. Fancy that. The last time I came to your birthday party I had to climb over the garden fence. It makes a nice change to come in through the front door.’

She chuckled before answering. ‘How could I forget?’ She laughed out loud. ‘You strode into my eighteenth birthday party as though you were the guest of honour and hadn’t just climbed over the fence to avoid the security on the front entrance. And then you kidnapped me when my mother was in the salon with all of the stuffy, important guests she had invited who I had never met, and you whisked me away in your dad’s sports car. It was magical and you were the magician who made it possible. It was like some happy dream.’

She shook her head, making her chandelier earrings sparkle, and brought her knees up to her chest. ‘My mother still hasn’t forgiven you for the fact that I missed my own birthday cake, eighteen candles and all. Heath had to blow them out for me.’

‘Your mother is a remarkable lady. As far as she is concerned, I will always be the chauffeur’s son, but do you know what? I am proud of the fact that my dad used to drive limos for a living before he moved into property. I always have been. No matter what you and your family think.’

Amber inhaled sharply and tugged her hand away from his.

‘Wait a minute. Don’t you dare accuse me of treating you differently because your dad was our driver. Because I didn’t. I never did, and you know that. You were the one who was always defending yourself. Not me.’

‘Your mother...’

‘I’m not talking about my mother. I’m talking about you and me. I would never, ever have looked down on you because of the job you did. And maybe it’s about time to get over that stupid inferiority complex of yours so that you can see all of the amazing things you have achieved in your life.’

‘You mean like being an international concert pianist who is able to perform in front of thousands of people? Or my wonderful career as a fashion model and cosmetics guru? Is that what you mean?’

‘I was in the right place at the right time and I got lucky. And you are insufferable.’

‘And you are deluded.’

Amber glared at him for several seconds before she took a slow breath and shook her head slowly from side to side, before flicking her long hair back over her left shoulder.

‘Parents. They have a lot to answer for. And that includes mine as well as yours. It’s a good thing that we have both been able to rise above them to become so independent and calm and even-tempered.’

‘Isn’t it just.’

Amber slowly lowered her legs to the floor and shuffled closer to him on the bench so that there were inches and ten years of lost time between them. So close that he could hear her breathing increase in speed with his.

‘Which reminds me...’ Sam smiled and released her to dive inside his jacket pocket and pull out a long slim envelope which he passed to her. ‘Happy birthday, Amber.’

And, without waiting for her to reply, he leant forwards and kissed her tenderly but swiftly on the cheek. Lingering just long enough to inhale her scent and feel her waist under his fingertips before he drew back.

She looked at him with wide, startled eyes. ‘Thank you. I mean, I wasn’t expecting anything. Can I... Can I open it now?’

‘Please. Go ahead.’

Sam looked around the garden for the few seconds it took for her to slide a manicured fingernail under the flap of the envelope and draw out a slim piece of faded paper.

‘Sam? What is this? It looks like...’ And then she understood what she was holding and her breath caught at the back of her throat.

‘Is this what I think it is?’

Then she shook her head and sat back away from him, head down, reading the letters in the dim light before speaking again. And this time her voice came out in one long breath.

‘This is the cheque my mother gave you to leave me alone.’

She looked up at him and her gaze darted from the cheque to his face and then back to the cheque again. ‘I don’t understand. She told me that she had offered you enough cash to take you through journalism school.’

Amber dropped the cheque into her lap and took hold of his hand, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Why? Why didn’t you use this money, Sam? The damage had already been done.’

Sam raised his hand and stroked her cheek with his fingertips, until they were on her temple, forcing her to look into his eyes.

‘Your mother knew the real thing when she saw it. I was dazzled by you, Amber. Dazzled and scared about how deep I was getting into a relationship I never saw coming. She took one look at me and saw a terrified young man who had barely survived his parents’ divorce and was determined not to make the same mistake myself. She knew that we cared about each other very much. Too much. You were so beautiful and talented and for some crazy reason you wanted to be my friend and were even willing to sacrifice your music scholarship to stay in London with me. She couldn’t let that happen.’

Sam made a slicing motion with the flat of his hand through the air.

‘So she did the only thing she knew. She used my feelings for you to break us up.’

The air was broken by the sound of Amber’s ragged breathing but Sam kept going. If ever there was a time and a place for the truth to come out, this was as good as any.

‘All she had to do was put the idea in my head that you were looking for a ring on your finger and a house and two kids and that was it. She didn’t need to spell it out. Staying with me would mean the end of your career as a concert pianist and my grandiose fantasy scheme to be an intrepid international reporter.’

Sam turned to face the garden so that he could rest his elbows on his knees, only too well aware that Amber’s gaze would still be fixed on his face.

‘That was the weird thing. I didn’t believe her at first. I kept telling myself that she simply wanted me to leave you alone because she didn’t think that I was good enough or ambitious enough for you.

‘The problem was, when I went back into the party, you were talking to your rich friends from the private school who were all in designer gear and real jewels, chatting away about yacht holidays, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised that maybe she had a point. What future did we have together? If you stayed with me, I would be holding you back. You would be better taking the scholarship and spending the next three years in Paris with people who could further your career. People who sat in the back of limos. Not in the driver’s seat.’

‘Sam—no!’ Amber exploded. ‘How could you even think that? Why didn’t you come and talk to me about what she had said? I would have put that idea out of your head right then and there.’

He shook his head. ‘Clever woman, your mother. She knew that my dad was on his own because my mum had walked out on us. All she had to do was plant the idea in my head that if I wasn’t good enough for my own mother—then how could I possibly be good enough for her beautiful and talented daughter who deserved the very best in life? The big chip on my shoulder did the rest.’

Amber took his hand in hers and squeezed but he dared not look at her. Not yet. ‘It was all too much; my head was thumping with the champagne and I couldn’t deal with everything with the sound of the party going on around me. So I slipped out of the kitchen door and into the car park to get some air.’

Sam looked up into the sky, where the stars were already bright. ‘And you know who was there, waiting for me in the convertible?’

‘Petra,’ she replied in a shaky voice.

He nodded. ‘She had a bottle of champagne and two glasses and my mind was so racing with all the possibilities and problems and options that it never even occurred to me to wonder why she was outside in the first place. It was only later that I found out—Petra knew that I was going to be coming outside.’

‘My mother sent Petra out to wait for you? Is that what you’re saying?’

Sam nodded. ‘Petra called a few days later to tell me that her folks were taking her to their villa in Tuscany for the whole of the summer before finishing school in Switzerland. I think she was genuinely sorry that she had been used the way she was, but by then it was too late. You had already left for Paris. It was too late. She had done it. She had broken us up.’

Amber pushed off the bench and walked across the patio to the flower beds and stood with her back to Sam, her shoulders heaving up and down with emotion.

Every word that Sam had said echoed around inside her head, making it impossible for her to reply to him.

Her good arm wrapped tight around her waist, trying to hold in the explosion of confusion and regret that was threatening to burst out of her at any moment.

And not just about what had happened on her eighteenth birthday.

She had been so totally trusting and gullible! But the more she thought about it, the more she recognised that Sam was right. She was still dancing to her family’s tune eleven years later—and the worst thing was, she was the one who was allowing them to do it.

So much for her great plans to make a new life for herself!

She was still too afraid to make her own decisions and follow her heart.

No longer.

That ended tonight.

From now on, she chose what to do and where. And who with.

Starting with Parvita. She wanted to see her friend get married so very much and that was precisely what she was going to do. Risk be damned.

Before Amber could calm her beating heart, she sensed his presence and seconds later a strong hand slid onto each side of her waist, holding her firm. Secure. She breathed in his aftershave, but did not resist as he moved closer behind her until she could feel the length of his body from chest to groin pressed against her back.

She had not even realised that she was shivering until she felt the delicious warmth and weight of Sam’s dinner jacket as he dropped it over her shoulders.

Sam’s arms wrapped tighter around her waist, the fingers pressing oh so gently into her ribcage and Amber closed her eyes, her pulse racing. It had been a long time. And he smelt fabulous. Felt. Fabulous.

Sam pressed his head into the side of her neck, his light stubble grazing against her skin, and her head dropped back slightly so that it was resting on his.

Bad head.

Bad need for contact with this man.

Bad full stop.

One of his hands slid up the side of her neck and smoothed her hair away from her face so that he could press his lips against the back of her neck.

‘It was all my fault,’ he said, and his low, soft voice sounded different. Strained. Hesitant. ‘I was trying to do the right thing and in the end I caused you pain. I’m so sorry.’

Amber sighed and looked up at the twinkling stars in the night sky, but sensed her shoulders lift with tension.

‘There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. It was eleven years ago and we were both so young and trying to find our way. It’s just...it never crossed my mind that you were trying to do the noble thing by walking out on me. I wasted a lot of angry tears. And that is just sad, Sam.’

Sam continued to breathe into her neck, and one of his hands slid up from her waist to move in small circles on her shoulders under his jacket, and Amber suddenly began to heat up at a remarkably rapid rate.

‘I know you’re tired. No wonder. I’ve watched you dance the night away and I’m glad that I was here to see that. So thank you again for inviting me. Although Kate was watching me like a hawk to make sure that I wasn’t making any moves on you.’

And that did make Amber grin. ‘Kate the virtue keeper. I like that.’

Sam said nothing, but the hand tracing circles slid down her arm from shoulder to wrist, and he moved impossibly closer, his hand moving slowly up and down her arm.

‘And necessary. You look very beautiful tonight.’

Amber smiled wide enough for Sam to sense her movement. ‘Thank you. And thank you for finally telling me the truth about what happened.’

She slowly lifted one of Sam’s hands from her waist and pushed gently away from him, instantly sorry that she had broken the touch, but turned back to face him.

‘It’s gone midnight. And I have had a very bad year, Sam. In so many ways. I don’t want to start the next year of my life with regrets and bitterness.’

The smile on his lips faded and his upper lip twitched a couple of times. Amber knew that move. He couldn’t be nervous. Could he?

She looked into his face and smiled a closed mouth smile. ‘We both made mistakes. And I’m the last person who should be judging anyone. So how about starting the next year of my life as we mean to go on? As old friends who have just met up again after a long break. Can you do that?’

‘Old friends,’ he replied and lifted her fingers to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘I’ll drink to that. How about...’

But, before Sam could finish speaking, a fat lounger cushion whacked him on the side of the head. And then a second time.

‘You can stop that right now, Sam Richards. I mean it. Stop or I’ll go and find the rolling pin and wrap it around your ears.’

‘It’s okay, Kate.’ Amber sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Sam has just passed the audition. He’ll be coming to India to interview me next week. You can put the pillow down.’

Sam stopped ducking his head and whipped around. ‘What did you just say?’

‘I have changed my mind about going to Parvita’s wedding.’ Amber smiled, her eyebrows high. ‘Isn’t that exciting?’

TEN

From: Amber@AmberDuBois.net

To: Kate@LondonBespokeTailoring.com;

Saskia@ElwoodHouse.co.uk

Subject: Sam Report

Hey Goddesses

Greetings from another gorgeous day in Kerala. The girls are still trying to settle down after all of the excitement of Parvita’s wedding so lots to do, but my wrist is feeling a lot better today—despite all of the sitar playing!

Sam’s flight was an hour late leaving London so he won’t arrive until very late in the evening, which is probably a good thing considering this pre monsoon heatwave. No doubt he is bursting to get this interview over and done with so he can get back to his nice cool London office. Especially since I asked the janitor to pick Sam up at the airport in his rusty old motor, which is definitely on its last legs. Just for Kate.

Will report back tomorrow. Have fun. Amber

Sam Richards slid his rucksack off his shoulder and mopped the sweat from his brow and neck with one of his dad’s pocket handkerchiefs as he strolled up the few steps to the single storey white building. If it was this hot at dusk he was dreading the midday temperature. But he would find out soon enough.

Great! Not.

The school janitor, who had picked him up at the airport, had pointed him towards the main entrance to the girls’ home but Sam had barely been able to hear what he said since he kept the wreck of a car engine going just in case it broke down before he made it home.

The last hour had been spent in a bone-shaking car from the nineteen-sixties driven by a friendly janitor who seemed oblivious to the fact that he was hitting every pothole on the dirt road between the local airport and the girls’ home in a car with bald tyres and no suspension.

Sam was amazed that the patched up, barely intact motor had lasted the journey without breaking down in a coconut grove or rice paddy. But it had got him here and for that he was grateful.

Slipping his sunglasses into his shirt breast pocket, Sam stretched his arms tall and tried to take in the sensory overload that was the Kerala coastline at sunset.

And failed.

The sea breeze from the shockingly beautiful crescent shaped bay was blocked by the low brick wall which formed the boundary of the property, creating a breathless oasis of fruit trees, a vegetable garden and exotic flowering plants which spilled out in an explosion of startlingly bright colours from wooden tubs and planters.

The immaculately kept gardens stretched down to the ocean and a wide strip of stunning white sand which glowed in the reflected shades of deep rich apricot, scarlet and gold from the setting sun. His view of the lapping waves was broken only by the thin trunks of tall coconut palms, banana plants and fruit trees.

It was like a poster of a dream beach from the cover of a holiday brochure. Complete with a long wooden fishing boat on the shore and umbrellas made from coconut palm fronds to protect the fishermen and occasional tourists who were out on the beach this late in the evening.

Coconuts. He was looking at real coconut palm trees. Compared to the grey, drizzly London Sam had left the previous afternoon the warm breeze was luxuriously dry and scented with the salty tang from the sea blended with spice and a tropical sweet floral scent.

A great garland of bougainvillea with stunning bright purple and hot pink flowers wound its way up the side of the school entrance and onto the coconut fibre roof, intertwined with a wonderful frangipani which spilled out from a blue ceramic pot, attracting bees and other nectar-seeking insects to the intensely fragrant blossoms. The perfume almost balanced out the heavy red dust from the dirt road and the bio odours from the cows and chickens who roamed freely on the other side of a low coconut matting fence.

He loved writing and his life as a journalist. He always had, but it was only when he came to villages like this one that it really struck home how much of his life was spent in open plan offices under fluorescent light tubes.

Even the air tasted different on his tongue. Traffic from the coast road roared past. Trucks in all colours, painted auto rickshaws and bright yellow buses competed with birdsong and the chatter of people and motor scooters. Everywhere he looked his eyes and ears were assaulted by a cacophony of life.

But as he relaxed into the scene, hands on his hips, the sound of piano music drifted out through the partly open door of what looked like a school building to his left and Sam smiled and wandered over, his shirt sticking to his back in the oppressive heat and humidity.

Amber was sitting on a very frail looking low wooden bench in front of an upright piano which had definitely seen better days. The polish was flaking off, the lid was warped and, from where he was standing, it looked as if some of the black keys were missing at the bottom of the scale.

But it didn’t matter. Because Amber DuBois was running the fingers of her left hand across the keyboard and suddenly the old neglected instrument was singing like a nightingale.

She was dressed in a blue and pink long-sleeved cotton tunic and what looked like pyjama bottoms, her hair was held back by a covered elastic band and, as her feet moved across the pedals, he caught a glimpse of a plastic flip-flop.

And, for the first time in his professional life, Sam Richards did not know what to say.

Amber DuBois had never looked more beautiful in her life.

Exotic. Enchanting. But at that moment there was something else—she was totally and completely relaxed and content. Her eyes were closed and, as she played, she was humming along gently to the music as it soared into flights of soft and then dramatic sections of what sounded to Sam’s uneducated ears as some great romantic composer’s finest work.

Her shoulders lifted and fell, her left arm flowing from side to side in brilliant technique while her plastered hand moved stiffly from octave to octave. But that did not matter—the music was so magical and captivating that it reverberated around this tiny school room and into every bone of his body.

The tropical garden and birdsong outside the window disappeared as he was swept up in the music.

This was her joy and her delight. The thing she loved most in the world.

He was looking at a completely different woman from the one who had flounced into his dad’s garage, or the fashion model who had haughtily gossiped with the designer goddesses as she decluttered her apartment.

This was the real Amber. This was the girl he used to know. The girl whose greatest joy was playing the piano for her own entertainment and pleasure.

She was back!

And Lord, the longer he looked at her and listened to her music, the more he liked what he saw and the more he lusted. The fire that had sparked the second his fingers had touched her skin in that ridiculous penthouse dressing room suddenly flared right back into a blazing bonfire.

The heat and humidity of Kerala in May was nothing compared to the incendiary fire in his blood which pounded in his neck and ears.

Did she know? Did Amber have any clue that when she played liked this she was revealing to the world how much inner passion was hidden inside the cool blonde slender frame?

He had thought that he had been attracted to her before, but that was nothing compared to the way he felt now.

He wanted her. And not just in his bed. He wanted Amber in his life, even if it was only for a few days, weeks or months. He wanted to be her friend and the man she wanted to share her life with. The music seemed to soak into his heart and soul and fill every cell with a fierce determination.

Somehow he was going to have to find a way of winning her back and persuading her to give him a second chance, or risk losing her for ever.

His bag slumped onto the floor.

Sam walked slowly into the room and slid next to Amber on the very end of the child-sized wooden bench. She did not open her eyes but smiled and slowly inhaled before giving an appreciative sigh.

‘They say you can tell a lot about a man from the aftershave he has chosen. Very nice. Did you buy it at the airport?’

Her hands never missed a note as he gave a short dismissive grunt in reply. ‘Then you won’t mind if I move a little closer.’

Sam was blatantly aware that the fine wool cloth of his trousers brushed against the loose cotton trousers Amber was wearing as he slid along the shiny wooden surface until the whole side of his body seemed to be aligned against her.

‘Hello. How was the flight?’

He started to say something, changed his mind, and left her staring at his mouth for just a few seconds too long. Much too long. His eyes scanned her face as though he was trying to record the images like a digital camera in his memory.

He had been worried about how awkward this moment was going to be. But, instead of watching every word, it was as though he was meeting one of his best friends in the world—and his heart lifted.

‘You’re playing nursery rhymes. From memory.’

She shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘It sounds terrible and I am totally out of practice.’

‘But you are trying. In your apartment last week, I couldn’t help wonder if the old piano-playing business had lost its appeal. Am I right?’

Her fingers slowed down but did not stop. ‘Full marks to the man in the sweaty shirt. You’re right. I didn’t want to play. No. That’s wrong. I didn’t want to perform.’ She gave a little giggle and her left hand played a trill. ‘This is not performing. This is having fun. And I have missed that. Do you know what I spent this afternoon doing? Making up tunes and songs around nursery rhymes these girls have never heard before. We had a great time.’

‘Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you don’t enjoy performing? Is that why you decided to retire? Because you do know that you are brilliant, don’t you? I even splashed out and bought your latest album!’

She stopped playing, sat back and smiled, wide-eyed.

‘You did? That was very kind.’

‘No, it wasn’t kind. It was a delight. And you haven’t answered my question.’

Her gaze scanned his face as though looking for something important and Sam suddenly remembered that he needed a wash and a shave. ‘That depends on who is asking the question,’ she replied in a low, soft voice with the power to entrance him. ‘My old pal Sam who I used to trust once upon a time, or the newest super-journalist at GlobalStar Media who I am not sure about at all.’

He swallowed down a moment of doubt but made the tough choice. Editor be damned. ‘Let’s try that first option.’

‘Okay. Let’s.’ She looked down at her left hand and stretched out the fingers on the piano keys. ‘Well. Off the record. These past few years have been very hard going. I haven’t given myself enough time to recover from one tour before launching into rehearsals for the next. Combine that with all of the travelling and media interviews and suddenly I’m waking up exhausted every morning and nothing I do seems to make any difference.’

Her gaze shifted to his eyes and locked on tight. Shades of blue and violet clashed against the faint golden tinge to her skin. ‘Every night was a struggle to make myself play and dive into the music to try and find some energy. I lost my spark, Sam. I lost my joy.’

‘That’s not the girl I used to know talking.’

‘I’m not that same girl any more.’

‘Aren’t you?’ Sam replied and reached up and touched her cheek. ‘Are you quite sure about that? Because when I came in just now you had that soppy girly look on your face like you used to have when you sat down at a piano.’

‘What do you mean, soppy?’

‘Soppy. It means that you are your old self again—and I am very glad of it. This place seems to be doing you a lot of good.’

He glanced down and shocked her by gently lifting up her left hand and turning it over, his forefinger tracing the outline of the beautiful scrolls and flowers drawn in henna on the back of her hand.

‘Take this, for example. I’ve never seen anything like it. Totally amazing. How was the wedding?’

His fingers stroked her palm, then lifted the back of her hand to his lips so that he could kiss her knuckles and was rewarded with an intense flash of awareness that told him that she knew exactly what he was saying. It was not the henna he found amazing.

She tutted twice, took her hand back then turned to face him. ‘It was a fabulous wedding and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’ She gestured with her head towards the window. ‘Parvita’s family organised a flower arch in the garden and the service was so simple. A few words spoken by a man and a woman from completely different worlds, and yet it was totally perfect. There was not a dry eye in the house.’

‘You cried at your friend’s wedding? Really? And there is no such thing as a perfect marriage, just a decent wedding day.’

‘Yes, I cried, you cynic,’ Amber replied and scowled at him and pulled her hand away. ‘Because this was the real thing. They didn’t need a huge hotel with hundreds of guests who they would never have a chance to meet and talk to. All they wanted was their friends and family to help them celebrate. The little girls were all dressed up and throwing flowers. It was perfect. So don’t mock.’

Sam held up both hands in surrender.

‘Hey. Remember my ex-girlfriend who tried to lure me into a wedding without asking me first? Not all of us believe in happy endings, you old romantic.’

Amber thumped him on the arm. ‘Well, that is just sad and pathetic.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Sam replied and looked around, suddenly desperate to change the subject. ‘Is this one of your school rooms?’

She nodded. ‘The building work is going flat out before the monsoon rains so this is a temporary teaching room. I like it but I can’t wait until the new air conditioned school is ready.’

‘Have you decided on a name for the school you are paying for?’ Sam asked as he picked up his bag and they strolled out into the evening air. ‘The DuBois centre? Or the DuBois School for Girls. What is it to be?’

‘Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you? No. I suggested a few names to the board of governors and they came back with one winner: the Elwood School.’

‘Elwood? You named the school after your friend Saskia? Why did you choose that name?’

Amber leant back and gestured towards the girls who were playing on the grassy lawn under the mango and cashew nut trees. ‘Do you see these lovely girls? They are so talented and bursting with life and enthusiasm. And yet not one of them has a home to go to. They are not all orphans as we would define orphans—far from it. Most of them have parents who cannot look after them or there were problems at home which mean that they only see their parents for a few months every year. But one way or another they have found their way here to this girls’ home, where they can feel safe and protected by people who love them.’

Amber turned back to Sam with moisture sparkling in the corners of her eyes and when she spoke there was a hoarseness in her voice which clutched at Sam’s heart and squeezed it tight. ‘Well, I know just what that feels like. Saskia and her aunt Margot gave me a safe refuge when I needed to get away from my mother and whatever man she was living with who struggled to recall my name.’

Then she shook her head with a chuckle. ‘They even let me stay with them after the mega-row I had with my so called parents after the disaster that was my eighteenth birthday party.’

Sam coughed, twice. ‘You had a fight with your mother? I haven’t heard that part of the story.’

She sniffed. ‘I had no idea that those particular terms of abuse were in my vocabulary until I heard them come out of my mouth. Harsh words were exchanged about the expensive education I had been subjected to. It was not my moment of shining glory. And then I stomped out of the house with only my handbag and walked around to Elwood House. And Saskia and her aunt Margot took me in and looked after me as though I was one of their own.’

Amber sat up straight and curled her right hand high into the air with a flourish. ‘Ta da. Elwood School.’ Then she blinked and gave a curt nod. ‘It may surprise you but I do have something in common with Parvita and these girls.’

Then she shivered and chuckled. ‘Well, I did tell you that this article was going to be a challenge. I cannot wait to see what you do with that little insight, if it was on the record.’

‘Any more like that?’

‘Plenty. Just wait and see what tomorrow brings.’

ELEVEN

From: Amber@AmberDuBois.net

To: Kate@LondonBespokeTailoring.com;

Saskia@ElwoodHouse.co.uk

Subject: My fiendish plan

Well, this is turning out to be a very odd week.

I came out first thing this morning to find Sam halfway up a jackfruit tree tossing fruit down to the girls below. He claims that he couldn’t sleep because of the heat but he is now their official hero in long pants and is mobbed wherever he goes. I have just peeked outside and he is showing his little gaggle of fans the slideshow of photos on his digital camera. Amazing!

He even had me playing Christmas carols and nursery songs to amuse the girls during meal times in exchange for helping to organise the juniors. They adored him. I think he may never be allowed to leave!

My fiendish plan is to steal Sam away long enough for a walk along the beach at dusk and talk him into working on Parvita’s story instead of mine. It is worth a try. Otherwise I don’t know how long I can keep him hanging on.

The good news is that my wrist is feeling a lot better and I am enjoying playing for the first time in ages.

Cheers from Kerala. Amber

From: Kate@LondonBespokeTailoring.com

To: Amber@AmberDuBois.net

Subject: Sam Report

Sheesh, that man has no shame when it comes to charming the ladies. Don’t be fooled. Glad that your hand is feeling better. Don’t forget to drink plenty of water. Love ya. K

Sam wiped the spark plug from the janitor’s ancient motor car on a scrap of cotton and held it up to the fading sunlight before deciding that the plug had lived a very long life and needed to take retirement, as of right now. He had managed to find one replacement at the bottom of a tool kit which was so rusty that it had taken hours to clean the tools to the stage where he could use them to service what passed as a car.

But at least the work had kept him close to Amber.

They still had a lot of work to do to rebuild that fragile friendship but she had seemed genuinely delighted when he helped her collect the girls together and keep them in one place long enough for her to explain about the keys on the piano and what the notes meant. With a bit of help from a couple of coconut shells, three tin buckets and a wrench.

Weird. He had surprised himself by actually enjoying playing on a makeshift set of drums.

The only thing they were not doing was talking about her career.

She might have trusted him enough to take the risk and invite him here to his magical place to see what she was doing with her life but that was as far as it went.

So far there had always been some excellent excuse why this was not a good time to record an interview and after three days he had all the background photos he might need but not the exclusive extra material he needed to create a compelling story—her story.

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