Page 33 of The Work Husband

‘Sam, why?’ My voice had risen, almost whining. ‘It’s just not fair. If there’s something going on, you need to tell me.’

‘I can’t.’ There was regret in his voice, I thought, but also obstinacy. ‘I… It’s nothing to do with you. It really isn’t.’

‘But I’m supposed to be your partner. We’re meant to share things.’

‘We are… we do. But there’re some things – one thing – I can’t share, and this is it.’

I pulled my hand away. ‘Fine, I’m going to have a shower and go to bed.’

‘Georgia, please. Trust me on this. There’s nothing you should worry about. Nothing going on between me and Ava. We’re just talking, that’s all.’

‘Just talking,’ I echoed bitterly. ‘Just meeting up when I’m not there and talking. About what? About me? About us?’

I framed quotes around the word so he’d know that the us I was referring to wasn’t him and me.

‘There is no us with me and Ava,’ he insisted. ‘We’re just… not even friends. But we’ve got a lot of history. There’s stuff to unpack. That’s all.’

‘And I just have to suck it up and not know what’s going on?’

‘There’s nothing going on.’

‘That’s not how it looks to me.’

I stood up, too quickly, so my head spun again and I had to steady myself on Sam’s shoulder. He stood up too and put his arms around me.

‘Next weekend,’ he said gently, ‘let’s do something nice together. Just you and me.’

I didn’t return his hug. ‘Next weekend I’m away. Remember? That work thing I’m going to with Jamie.’

Sam’s face fell, and I felt a flash of horrible triumph.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘The weekend after, then?’

‘Whatever.’

I turned and walked away towards the bathroom. I felt horrible – sick and sore, in my heart as well as my body. But I’d seen the way Sam looked when I mentioned the work weekend away with Jamie, and I knew how it had made him feel.

That was fine with me. He needed to know – to understand – how what he was doing was making me feel. If he was going to play games with me, I’d play them right back.

And I’d win.

SEVENTEEN

‘Well, this’ll do, won’t it?’ Jamie said with a satisfied grin.

‘Not too shabby,’ I agreed. ‘I’ve seen worse.’

The taxi drew to a halt on a gravel driveway in front of a long, graceful sandstone building. Wings stretched east and west on either side of a porticoed entrance, which was in turn flanked by immaculately trimmed yew peacocks in stone urns. A flight of shallow steps led up to the door, where two blokes – footmen? Butlers? Concierges? – in top hats stood waiting.

As soon as we opened the car doors, they sprang forward in unison, one greeting us and the other waiting while the driver opened the boot to remove our bags.

‘Good afternoon, Ms Meadows, Mr Baldwin.’ The first man half-bowed to me and Jamie in turn. For a second, I was worried that his top hat might fall off and had to resist the urge to hold it on for him, but to my immense relief it stayed put. ‘Welcome to Hadleigh Hall.’

‘Thank you.’ I managed to get the words out, but my breath was almost literally taken away by the swishness of the lobby into which he led us. The ceiling was double height, with a galleried landing running along the far side. A shiny round table stood on a velvety Persian carpet, a vast flower arrangement on it scenting the air with roses and oriental lilies. A waitress offered us glasses of champagne from a silver tray.

It’s not half bad being on the receiving end of service like this for a change, I thought, catching Jamie’s eye with a delighted smile. I could see that he was trying to look as if he stayed in places like this every weekend of his life, but it wasn’t working.

‘Please, take a seat,’ one of the butlers said, once he’d offered to show us to the powder room if we needed – I mean, powder? ‘My colleague will take your luggage up to your rooms, and Patrizia, our guest relations manager, will be with you in just a moment.’