A Funny Thing Happened...

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Can’t you find him for me?’

  The doorman shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, madam, he’s busy at the moment. I can’t disturb him—’

  ‘But I need to speak to him! I’ve got something to tell him!’ she said urgently. She scanned the crowd forming behind the man through the big doors, and there amongst them she caught sight of him.

  ‘Sam!’ she called, and he turned his head and waved. Detaching himself from the crowd he made his way across to her and hugged her, then stood back and looked at her.

  ‘Wow, you look stunning! Come on, there are lots of people you’ve got to meet.’ And without giving her a chance to say a word he towed her across the floor and started introducing her to the rest of the design team, the building contractor who’d done the work, and a host of others whose names she instantly forgot.

  She tried to interrupt him, but there was no chance, and every time there was the slightest lull someone else jumped in.

  She tugged his sleeve. ‘Sam, I have to talk to you—’

  ‘Later—the civic dignitaries have arrived. Stand by for the official hoo-hah.’ He turned to greet them, and she sighed with frustration and wondered how on earth she could get his attention.

  Inspiration struck. ‘Have you got a pen?’ she asked one of the design team, and he handed her a ball-point. Without further ado she rolled down her left glove, wrote on her forearm and shoved it under Sam’s nose.

  He glanced down, frowning slightly, did a distinct double take and turned to her, ignoring the rather pompous official he’d been talking to.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, sounding slightly stunned.

  ‘Sam, I was just coming out of your flat when the phone rang—you’ve done it! You’ve got the award!’

  ‘What?’

  The colour drained from his face, and shock held him rigid. ‘What?’ he said again, and she repeated what she’d heard.

  ‘They’d just come out of the meeting and they wanted you to know before tonight, because they knew it was the official opening. They said they’d try your mobile—someone called Carol something—Carter?’

  ‘Cartwright,’ he said slowly, and deep in his eyes the joy started to shine. ‘We’ve done it. My God, we’ve done it! We’ve won!’

  ‘Well done,’ she said softly, and, going up on tiptoe, she laid a kiss on his lips.

  He laughed and hugged her, whirling her round, and when he put her down and she looked up from his shining eyes, the civic dignitaries were standing looking bemused just a few feet from them.

  ‘Sorry, gentlemen. I’ve just been told we’ve won the design award—a message was left on my answer-phone.’

  There was a hubbub of back-slapping and congratulations, and into it all walked his parents—at least, she assumed they were his parents. The man was older, but the spitting image of Sam, and the woman had his eyes and the same smile.

  ‘Well done, Sam,’ his father said, pumping his hand, but his mother pulled a handkerchief out of her bag and told him to stand still.

  ‘You’ve got lipstick on,’ she said, dabbing at it, and then she hugged him, unable to hide her pride any longer, and Jemima sniffed and smiled and tried to remember if her mascara was waterproof...!

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WAS the last conversation she had with him for ages. Everybody wanted to talk to him, and news of the award spread like wildfire through the crowd. Jemima stood beside him, spoke when she was spoken to and looked around at the wonderful theatre building and the things Sam had done to it.

  It was fascinating, full of warmth and character, and she could imagine how popular a venue it would become. It had raked seating at one end, and above it a gallery with more raked seating, and the stage projected out into the auditorium slightly, giving the open, vaulted area an intimacy it might otherwise have lacked. She imagined the stage was flexible, and could be extended or contracted to suit the production, and she found herself itching to see the other parts of the building and what else he’d done.

  However, there was no opportunity, at least not at the start. The function started like a cocktail party, with everyone talking over everyone else until Jemima thought her head would explode with the brilliant laughter and the witty repartee. She smiled until she thought her face would crack, and then at eight o’clock the opening ceremony started.

  Sam was whisked away to the stage with all the relevant and irrelevant dignitaries, who spoke ponderously about the historical role of the Maltings in the local community, and the history of the buildings themselves, and the transformation that Sam and his team had achieved.

  The chairman of the borough council talked then about Sam. ‘We decided to put the contract out to international competition, because we felt it was important that we should achieve something significant here to take the borough through into the new millennium with a flagship community centre, and a competition seemed the best way.

  ‘The response was overwhelming, and amongst the submissions was one from Sam Bradley. He was a young and relatively untried architect, a bit of an unknown quantity and somewhat of a gamble. We were impressed by his initial design submission, not only by the designs themselves but by the professional way they were executed and the sound foundation of surveying that had been the basis for his submission.

  ‘His team won the contract against significant international competition, and, looking around you now, I’m sure you’ll agree that our faith in him was justified. Indeed, he’s succeeded beyond our wildest imagining, and I’m going to tell you this because I know he won’t—he heard tonight that he’s won a Design Centre award for this project, and we’re proud to have been associated with it. Congratulations, Sam. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Sam Bradley.’

  The crowd cheered and applauded, and Sam got to his feet and smiled confidently and waved them down, and only Jemima and maybe his parents knew how nervous he was.

  He scanned the crowd and found her, and his eyes locked with hers for a second. So proud she thought she would burst, she willed her courage to him, and with an almost invisible wink he turned his attention back to the wider audience.

  ‘You’re very kind,’ he said with a grin. ‘It could have gone so easily the other way. What we’ve tried to do here has been daring, and we didn’t know if we’d be able to pull it off, but now, seeing it finished, I’m pretty sure we got it right. I wondered along the way if we’d come in on time, but the gods were obviously on our side, despite a few little demons that tried to upset the applecart.’

  There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd, and he went on with a smile, ‘The award is a real bonus, and I’m thrilled for the team that we’ve won it. They’ve all worked so hard—everybody has—and I’d just like to thank all of those involved who’ve put in so much effort to make this the opening of something I hope everyone in the borough will enjoy and use for a long time to come. That was the idea—I hope it comes to pass, and I’m just grateful that I was given the opportunity to do it for you. Thank you for your faith in me.’

  He sat down to thunderous applause, and after a moment the chairman of the borough council stood up and led the party off the stage. The ceremony concluded with the unveiling of a plaque set on the wall of the theatre building, and then he announced that a buffet supper was served in the restaurant next door, and that there was an exhibition of the progress of the restoration in the art gallery upstairs.

  Jemima stood in the laughing, chattering crowd, feeling alone and separate, and waited for Sam to come and find her.

  It took ages. He was mugged by everyone, all the glittering women with sparkling jewels and sinuous bodies and portly and successful husbands, and the clever people with designer evening clothes and bright witty conversation—people from his world, people he knew, who knew him and wanted to know him, especially tonight.

  He reached her side and introduced her to the trail of people still following him, and, taking her hand, he led her through towards the restaurant.

  ‘
Unless I’m sorely mistaken,’ he grinned in a second of quiet, ‘you’re ravenous.’

  She smiled sheepishly. ‘How did you guess?’

  He laughed and squeezed her hand. ‘Easy. Come on, let’s find some food.’

  But it wasn’t that simple. They were intercepted at every step, and she marvelled at the cheerful and friendly way he dealt with the sycophantic crowd while still proceeding towards the restaurant.

  Finally they were there, and Jemima managed to clear her plate before Sam had been given a chance to take more than a couple of bites of the delicious morsels.

  He eyed her empty plate, laughed and swapped over, and she finished his off while he talked to yet another potential client.

  ‘You ought to come and see it—it’s lovely, but it needs a real master to restore it properly,’ a woman was saying, purring up at him.

  Jemima wanted to scratch her eyes out, but Sam just laughed and said she was too kind and dished out yet another card and told her to contact him.

  There was a lull, and he grabbed a satay stick off the plate and lifted it to his mouth just as someone came up and slapped him on the back. It prodded his lip, and he sighed and put it down and turned round, laughing and talking again, while Jemima tried to find something safe for him to eat.

  Finally, though, even Sam’s patience came to an end.

  ‘We’ll eat later—come on, I want to show you the exhibition.’

  He towed her upstairs, dishing out cards to people who stopped him, and then talked her round the exhibition.

  At least, he tried to, but it was hopeless. ‘Come and look at it tomorrow morning when there’s no one here,’ he said with a groan, and took her back downstairs.

  ‘Where are we going now?’ she asked.

  ‘Somewhere we can be alone.’

  ‘The loo?’ she suggested wryly, and he chuckled.

  ‘The theatre—they’ve got a band on the stage and the lights will be low. I might be able to sneak around undetected for a while, and anyway it’ll give me a chance to dance with you.’

  ‘I didn’t know you liked dancing.’

  His eyes warmed. ‘I like holding you, and I haven’t had a chance.’

  They slipped through the door and melted into the little crowd. The lights were low, and he drew her into his arms and sighed as they swayed together to the music. ‘You look stunning tonight; did I tell you that?’

  She glowed inside. ‘You said something, but don’t let that stop you saying it again.’

  He chuckled, and touched her arm lightly. ‘What’s with the gloves?’

  She gave a rueful smile. ‘My hands—I didn’t want everyone thinking I was one of the construction team.’

  ‘Oh, Jem!’ He laughed softly and hugged her, then rested his chin on her head and sighed again. ‘Thank God it’s over. I can relax.’

  ‘You were wonderful,’ she told him, tipping her head back and looking up into his eyes. ‘I was so proud of you I thought I’d burst.’

  ‘I was scared to death until I saw you. Then somehow it was all right, as if you’d transferred your calm, unflappable spirit to me—’

  ‘Calm and unflappable?’ she said with a laugh. ‘I am not—’

  ‘You can be. You didn’t flap about the snow and the power cut.’

  ‘It was too depressing to flap. I just wanted to crawl into a corner—anyway, I had you to help me, thanks to Mary.’

  ‘So you did.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners as he remembered, and she felt his hands tighten and ease her closer. ‘Come here, you’re too far away.’

  He felt good, warm and hard and strong, his powerful legs shifting against hers as they swayed to the music, his back firm against her hands. She was so close to him her dress was going to have creases, but she didn’t care. She was aroused, and so was he, and the rest of the crowd might not have existed. She wondered how long it would be before they could decently slip away and be alone. It would be wonderful to have him to herself—

  ‘Sam! This is where you’re hiding!’

  He groaned softly into her hair and shifted away from her slightly, turning her so that she stood half in front of him. ‘Don’t move,’ he growled out of the corner of his mouth, and anchored her in position with one firm hand on her hip.

  Over her shoulder she was conscious of his brilliant social smile, the bright words, the diplomatic chatter that promised nothing and everything, and then the band started to play an unashamedly romantic number.

  ‘Excuse us,’ Sam said with a smile, and turned her into his arms. He took one hand in his, cradling it by her shoulder, the other hand resting lightly in the small of her back, and he whirled her away into the crowd.

  He moved beautifully, utterly in tune with her, or maybe she was in tune with him. Whatever, they moved together as if they’d done it for years, and the heat started to build in her with every subtle shift of his body against hers. It was almost too much for her—and it was too much for Sam, as well.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he muttered, and they threaded their way through the crowd yet again, fielding attempts to engage them in conversation—until they bumped into his parents in the foyer.

  ‘Ah, Sam, we wondered where you’d got to—any chance of a coffee and a bit of peace and quiet?’ his father asked.

  Jemima’s heart sank. It was the last thing she’d imagined on the agenda, but there was no way he could turn them away.

  Or was there?

  ‘Sorry,’ he said with a smile—a genuine one this time. ‘Jemima’s been up since four, I’ve had an average of three hours’ sleep a night for the last week, and frankly we were going to crash. I’ll come and see you tomorrow. I’m sorry.’

  His parents looked from Sam to Jemima and back again, and slow smiles spread on their faces. ‘That’s all right, darling, you get an early night,’ his mother said, altogether too understandingly, and Jemima felt colour rush up to the roots of her hair.

  ‘We’re very proud of you—you’ve done well,’ his father said, pumping his hand and patting his shoulder, and his mother kissed him goodbye, pecked Jemima on her burning cheek and said something about meeting her again soon.

  Then they were free, crossing the courtyard, slipping into the lobby, dodging a crowd coming down in the lift by nipping into the maintenance stairwell and running up the three flights to the top, then sneaking across the landing and into the flat.

  Sam pushed the door to and leant back against it, pulling her into his arms and laughing. ‘We did it!’ he crowed. ‘It’s like bunking off school—I feel really wicked.’

  She tapped his nose with her fingertip. ‘You shouldn’t have put your parents off.’

  ‘Why? I didn’t want them here. Jemima, I want to be alone with you.’

  His eyes darkened, the smile fading, and his mouth came down and brushed hers, just lightly.

  It was enough. Heat leapt between them, and he took her mouth hungrily, cradling her head with one hand while the other cupped her bottom and lifted her hard against him. ‘I want you,’ he murmured against her lips, and what little strength was left in her legs deserted her completely.

  ‘Sam,’ she whispered, almost incoherent with need, and he carried her through to the bedroom and set her down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘How does this undo?’ he asked, fingers trembling.

  ‘Just the zip—I have to wriggle out of the neck bit.’ She felt the zip slide down, and Sam grasped the hem and lifted it, easing it over her head.

  Then he dropped it on the floor, and his jaw nearly joined it.

  She smiled. ‘The last time you saw this—’

  ‘—it was tied to sticks in a snow drift,’ he finished, and a strained smile touched his mouth. ‘It looks better on you than it did on the sticks.’

  She chuckled and looked down at the red bra and suspender belt. With the long black gloves, black lacy knickers and black stockings they looked wicked and exciting, and Sam’s reaction was everything she could have hoped for.
>
  ‘Just don’t move,’ he said tersely, and peeled off his clothes, throwing the immaculate dinner suit onto the white carpet without a care. Then he reached for her, and with a little cry of relief she went into his arms...

  His suit was covered in white fluff from the wool carpet, and so was her dress. She picked them up, shook them out and draped them over a chair, then tugged on his shirt and her black lace knickers and went to put the kettle on. It was five-thirty, milking time, and her body clock had woken her as usual.

  With nothing to do and Sam still asleep, she went upstairs to the sitting room and opened the doors to the balcony, breathing deeply. The air smelt stale, though, with a slightly bitter tang from the exhaust fumes, and she listened to the rumble of the traffic, the honking horns, the hooter of a train, the boats chugging on the Thames below her, and she felt incredibly homesick for her cows and chickens and the mistle thrush that sang outside her window every morning.

  Sam was at home here in this world, but it was alien to her now, and she remembered how miserable she’d been when she’d lived in London. Shivering, she stepped back inside and closed the doors, then turned to find Sam watching her oddly from the top of the stairs.

  ‘I missed you,’ he said, his voice morning-gruff and sexy. ‘I woke up and you weren’t there.’

  Like every other morning, she thought sadly. ‘Milking time,’ she said by way of explanation, and hugged her arms round herself.

  He frowned. ‘You look freezing. Come back to bed—I’ve made some tea.’

  She went, smiling brightly to disguise her unhappiness, and he tucked her up in the bed against a great heap of pillows, climbed in beside her and handed her a mug of tea.

  Then he leant over and kissed her softly on the mouth. ‘Good morning.’

  Is it? she wanted to say. She didn’t. She just smiled and sipped her tea and sighed softly. ‘I needed that,’ she said, handing him the mug. ‘Any chance of another one?’

  ‘In a minute.’ He put the mugs down and drew her into his arms again, cradling her against his shoulder. ‘Thanks for being there for me last night. I really was dreading it.’