For the Sake of Love

by Chrissie Loveday

  ‘So, Amanda, cherie . . . tell me a little about yourself. What do you do?’

  ‘Do? Erm . . .’ She blabbered, stuck for words. What could she tell him? ‘I er . . . sell magazines and such.’

  ‘Really?’ He sounded surprised. ‘I’d have thought you’d have much more of a career than that.’

  ‘It is a career,’ she protested. If it wasn’t for people who sold the magazines she wouldn’t have a job at all.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sure it’s interesting to meet new people all the time. And I guess you have the chance to read the magazines. You’ll understand my hatred of this sensational publicity. If they can’t get a story, they just make something up.’

  ‘You really do have a complex about this don’t you?’

  He shrugged. ‘You know, if anyone believed everything that’s been written about me, they’d think I have wife in every country and children by the dozen.’

  ‘And you haven’t of course?’

  ‘How could you ask? I’m never in one place long enough even to begin a relationship let alone take it as far as marriage. No, I reckon I shall be a bachelor until I give up playing tennis.’

  ‘But surely, most of the players get married? They always appear on television with the suitably glamorous wife sitting in the special box. The infant child wheeled in at an appropriate moment.’

  ‘Maybe. But it’s a difficult life and when I settle, I want it to be just that. At the moment I am travelling all the time. Eventually, I shall find someone and maybe have a kid or two. But I’m nowhere near that point in my life.’

  Amanda smiled to hide a slight sense of disappointment. Then she grinned broadly. What on earth was she thinking of? She was having the evening of her life with a gorgeous man. Even if it was to be only the one. She knew she was the envy of every other woman in the place. Sacha Manon. Rising tennis star. Once he’d left the country again she might be able to write a really sensational piece for Personal. One that would get Penelope Withenshaw jumping with excitement. After all, they were never likely to meet again, were they? He was speaking again.

  ‘Somehow, you keep turning the subject round to me. I want to know all about you, please. Your home, family, what you want from life.’

  What questions. Where did she start?

  CHAPTER TWO

  The evening passed in a sort of dream. Sacha was the perfect companion. Charming, complimentary, enthusiastic. Amanda was beginning to see why the gossip columns were so anxious to know all about him. He was totally charismatic but with a warmth and friendliness that was most unusual in her experience of minor celebrities.

  ‘Amanda, ma chère Amanda, I have enjoyed our evening so very much. Will you accompany me for dinner again tomorrow? Then I have to leave. I am flying to America the following day to compete in another tournament. I have to practise during the day but I can be free by say, six-thirty?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ she whispered, almost breathless at the thought of seeing him again and delighted that he wanted to spend more time with her. Her conscience had been pushed well to the back and she already planned to deny that she had even got close to her assignment. Perhaps there would soon be another player she could catch up with, to write her piece.

  ‘That’s great. Shall I see you home?’

  ‘Well, I came by cab so I’ll have to call another. I think you are staying in the opposite direction so it isn’t practical for you to see me home. Where do you want to meet tomorrow?’

  ‘I’d like to see something of this city of yours, besides the odd restaurant and tennis courts. What do you suggest?’

  ‘Well, depends what sort of thing do you want to see?’

  ‘I’ve never been on this London Eye. How about we begin there?’

  ‘Okay, you’re on. Maybe we could take a river boat or have dinner somewhere near there?’

  ‘Wonderful.’ They ordered two cabs and stood waiting, He pulled her into his wonderfully strong arms and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘Ma chère, my dear one. I have so enjoyed meeting you and I look forward with great pleasure to tomorrow. I’ll meet you near the ticket office at the London Eye tomorrow. Six thirty. Don’t be late.’

  She nodded, scarcely able to breathe.

  She waved as her taxi drove away and blew him a kiss. But reality began to set in as she was driven back to her flat. What on earth was she doing fantasising about this man? He was a famous, or nearly famous sportsman. She was definitely not sporty. She quite enjoyed watching a bit of Wimbledon but that was the extent of her involvement since she had left school. Worst of all, she was exactly the sort of person he claimed to despise—a journalist looking for personal details. Besides, he was in England for literally a few weeks a year and had the choice of dozens—hundreds possibly—of gorgeous women. How could she ever be anything more than a companion with whom he might share the occasional meal? He’d called her something in French which had sounded totally intimate and meaningful and here she was, believing he had a serious, hidden message for her. Even the sexy way he pronounced her name made her feel very special. What rubbish! She could enjoy his company for one more evening and that was it. Nothing more. Tomorrow she needed to find her excuses for Penelope and look for another subject. There was no way she could write about this star, even if she never saw him again.

  She spent a restless night, smiling at the memory of his final goodnight kiss. She’d had plenty of boyfriends in her time and plenty of kisses in her life but this one had seemed somehow special. She’d kissed several of her interview subjects, famous people in the public’s gaze. They were so used to kissing everyone, it meant nothing. But none of them made her feel quite like Sacha had done. She had felt so safe in his arms and adored the feeling of strength that seemed to flow from him.

  She rose early and planned her day. She needed to take a change of clothes into the office and, somehow, she must appear normal and casual in case someone suspected who she was really going out with that evening. If anyone got wind of it, she would be doomed. She would have to confess to Sacha who she really was. Write one of the scandalous pieces so loved by her boss and the public and hated by Sacha.

  * * *

  As Sacha tossed and turned for most of the night in his own apartment, rented for his stay in London, he wondered about his companion. She was so perfect. An English rose. Sweet and innocent compared to the women he usually met on the tour circuit. He knew nothing about her but he desperately wanted to know all there was to know. Her kiss was so fresh and he wanted more. Much more. What chance would he have? After tomorrow he would be away for several weeks. Someone like her couldn’t be expected to wait till his next visit. Then his coach would be so demanding all the time. Practice, practice, practice. Damn it, he lived and breathed tennis but surely he was entitled to something more? But it was not in his master game plan. No serious relationships until he had at least tried to achieve his ambition.

  Maybe he should follow his father’s wishes and begin to play for Britain instead of France, if he was allowed. At least it would mean he could be in England more often. He might have more of a chance with this girl who had got to him like no one else ever had. Her slender body and that hair. Long, silky, blonde hair. He felt his mouth tighten, just like when he was playing and felt that surge of determination he needed to win. It was tempting to move to this country permanently. In Britain, he would also have a higher profile in the tennis world. Maybe he should give up tennis altogether and return to France and help run the family vineyard. He shook himself. This was all so foolish. He had picked up some woman outside the tennis courts, one of a dozen who stood around and here he was, already fantasising about some sort of future with her. She could be married for all he knew. But something told him she wasn’t. No sign of a wedding ring. She wasn’t the type to cheat on anyone. Those wonderful clear blue eyes were so totally honest. And her hair. He came back to the thought. He loved blondes and suspected Amanda’s was long, smooth and straight wh
en it was let loose. It would be heaven to stroke it, to caress it when it was spread over his pillow. He rose from his rumpled bed and took a shower. Just over 12 hours and he would see her again. He could hardly wait.

  * * *

  Penelope called Amanda into her office first thing.

  ‘So, how did you do with the tennis people? Manage to nab anyone?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I tried but they were all rushed out by their coaches or guarded by their not so tame Rottweilers. I’ll give it another try tomorrow. I have to finish the piece on celebrity maternity fashions today.’

  ‘Don’t leave it too late. It will be the major Wimbledon fortnight before long and everyone will be plastering their issues with tennis gossip. I want us in there first. One of these sexy looking, rising stars, preferably. Someone the tabloids haven’t reached yet.’

  ‘Okay. Leave it with me.’ Penelope had described Sacha to perfection.

  ‘Don’t let me down. You look tired. Get an early night.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Unless it’s one of those tennis guys. In that case, you should stay on as late as it takes.’ Penelope laughed.

  Amanda blushed, hoping her boss hadn’t noticed. She’d be furious if she realised the real situation. She left the office and went back to her desk. The other girls looked at her curiously.

  ‘So what’s the news?’ Jenny, her best friend asked.

  ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘You don’t bring a silk shirt, smart linen trousers and your best strappy sandals into the office unless you have a date. So, come on. Who is he? Where did you meet him and how long have you known him?’

  ‘Shut up, Jen. Yes. I have got a date but it’s only casual. Just someone I met and in any case, he’s going away tomorrow so there’s nothing more to it than a pleasant evening ahead. Okay?’

  ‘Did you have any luck with the tennis interview?’ she asked suddenly. Amanda coloured again. She could keep nothing from Jenny but could she really trust her to keep this particular secret?

  ‘They were all guarded like the Crown Jewels,’ she said quickly. ‘You wouldn’t believe the security.’

  ‘I guess. Danger of kidnapping and everything. And those awful celeb magazines who hang around, hoping to dish the dirt.’

  ‘Too right. Never go near them myself.’

  ‘It’s a pretty lousy job we do, isn’t it? I can’t think why people want to know all this so-called intimate stuff about anyone really.’

  ‘Part of the fantasy I s’pose. “What I would do if I was rich”, sort of thing. Well, someone will doubtless be delighted to know what Jemima Super Star plans to wear for the last two months of her pregnancy. If I ever get round to writing it up. Speak to you later.’

  ‘You can bet you will. I haven’t given up on hearing about your mystery man. I need all the details. Height. weight. Inside leg measurement.’

  ‘Get lost, Jen.’ She turned on her computer and picked up her notebook. She struggled to concentrate, wondering what Sacha was doing at this moment. Had he given her any thought at all? She doubted it as he would be busily packing ready for his next trip and he’d mentioned something about practising. Even when he wasn’t actually playing in a tournament, he needed to keep playing. Keep training to hone that amazing body.

  She shook herself back to reality. She began to jot down a few notes. Just for her own interest and if she did indeed write up a piece, it would ensure she didn’t forget details. It was a dangerous thing to do. Anyone could peek over her shoulder and get the wrong impression. Quickly, she tore off the sheet of paper and screwed it up. She stuffed it into her handbag, intending to put it through the office shredder.

  * * *

  The day dragged on until at last it was five o’clock and she could think about leaving. She tidied her desk, shut down the computer and went to the rest room to change. Inevitably, Jenny was lying in wait.

  ‘So, come on. Details please.’

  ‘You sound worse than our esteemed boss lady.’

  ‘Oh, ha, ha. There must be a juicy story behind your date or you wouldn’t be so coy about telling me. Spill the beans.’

  ‘I told you. Just someone I met casually. A visitor to these shores and he wanted to go on the Eye. I said I’d go with him. End of story.’

  ‘That’s only the opening line,’ Jenny persisted. ‘Where did you meet him? What’s he like?’

  ‘I met him while I was waiting for a train and we got talking. He’s not really my type at all. Too quiet and he probably doesn’t even dance. I’m doing my bit for international relations. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to change.’

  ‘Okay. But I’m still not satisfied. Didn’t you have your car yesterday? So what were doing on a train?’

  ‘Ever thought of signing on with MI5?’

  ‘Never. I’m just an investigative journalist who’s very good at her job and first class at spotting evasion. I shall get to the truth, young lady. Persistence is my middle name.’

  ‘And I never said I’d met him yesterday, when I certainly did have my car, Miss Clever Clogs.’

  Amanda sighed and locked herself into a cubicle, hoping Jenny would get bored and disappear. It was already getting late and she still had to cross London in the rush hour. She changed her clothes and stuffed the worn ones into a plastic carrier. She would leave it here till tomorrow and take it home after work.

  ‘Still here, I see,’ she muttered angrily to her friend, as she freshened her make-up in front of the long mirror.

  ‘My, my. The full works. Have I seen that outfit before?’ asked her friend.

  ‘No. Got it in the sale last week.’

  ‘Good colour,’ Jenny said as she felt the quality of the royal blue silk shirt. ‘Nice feel. Mmm, he should like that. Okay, I give up—enjoy.’ She left the room but opened the door again and called in, ‘But I’ll want all the info tomorrow. And I mean all. Bye.’

  ‘Thank heavens for small mercies,’ Amanda muttered and she clasped a gold chain round her neck. She dashed outside and hailed a taxi. She was definitely going to be late. She hoped that her tennis player was suffering the same fate. The traffic was horrendous. At six-twenty she was still a mile away. She wished she’d thought to exchange phone numbers. She stared helplessly at her mobile, knowing it was useless. An image of the tall athlete flashed into her mind. Was he really as gorgeous as she remembered? His eyes couldn’t really be almost black and his hair didn’t really curl quite as she remembered. Would she actually recognise him? She only had a broad image of him, if the truth be told.

  At last the taxi pulled up and she paid the driver. She stood looking round at the crowds of people. Where was he? Maybe she dreamt it all. Hesitantly, she stepped away from the pavement towards the crowds thronging around the ticket booths, gazing around for her date. Surely he hadn’t given up on her? She was only minutes late and he would realise how bad the traffic was. Maybe he’d thought better of it and decided against turning up himself. Or maybe he was simply late, as she was.

  ‘Hello, ma’am. Do you think I could interest you in a ride on the Eye, followed by dinner?’

  ‘Oh, Sacha, you came.’

  ‘You didn’t doubt me, did you?’ He was just as gorgeous as she remembered, in fact even more so. He was wearing beautifully cut light grey trousers and silk shirt almost the same shade, perhaps just a little lighter. His broad shoulders and slim waist were shown off to advantage. He had a light blue sweater, probably cashmere, she thought, slung over his shoulder in case it was cooler later. ‘You look lovely,’ he remarked as he kissed her on both cheeks. She felt the heat rising.

  ‘You look good yourself. Sorry I was late. The traffic was awful. Were you waiting for long?’

  ‘A while. I was impatient to see you and arrived far too early. But I have already bought the tickets to save us from queuing.’ He held out his hand and drew her towards him. She felt the earth topple slightly as they touched. She hoped she would never get quite used to the phenomenon . . . it was a
powerful effect and almost addictive. Her lips remembered his good night kiss from yesterday and tingled in anticipation of renewing the sensation. ‘You are even more beautiful than I remembered.’

  She gave an involuntary shiver of anticipation. ‘Let’s go then. I haven’t been here since it first opened.’ She felt sure her voice shook slightly.

  Hand in hand they walked along the paths and stood to wait in line with the other ticket holders. They chatted easily, catching up on their day. Already, they seemed to have an ease in their relationship that often took weeks to achieve. She managed to avoid too many direct questions about her own work, showing great interest in the way he had spent his time since last night. Four gruelling hours on the practice courts, followed by a swim and some time spent in the gym.

  ‘Wow. I’m exhausted just thinking of it. No wonder you’re so fit.’

  ‘It’s all routine. But, I admit I am a little tired today. I didn’t sleep well.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I expect it was the anti-climax after losing yesterday. You must be very disappointed.’

  ‘Not at all. I was thinking of a beautiful English rose who has filled my senses completely. I wished I had your cell phone number so I could have called you. To make sure you weren’t just a dream.’ She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. Did he mean it? He had really been thinking of her last night?

  ‘I thought of you too.’ Her voice was shaking slightly.

  ‘So, was it a busy day at the shop?’

  ‘Shop?’ she said puzzled. Then she remembered her fib. ‘Oh, the shop. Yes, quite busy.’

  ‘Here we go. This is us, next gondola.’ They stepped inside and took a position near the edge. ‘Oh, I expected it would move more quickly,’ Sacha commented as they moved upwards. ‘It’s so slow you are hardly aware of the movement at all. It’s a lovely city, isn’t it? The buildings remind me of Paris in many ways. Huge structures with many windows, clustering along the side of a river.’ As they rose and the view expanded, he was silent. He slipped an arm round her shoulder and she nestled against him, loving the feel of his firm body. His arm was sending pulses of heat through her, suggesting that her entire body was ready to join in with the conspiracy. Once more, she was aware of how tall he was. She was no dwarf at five foot nine but still he seemed to tower over her.