Guy looks genuinely thrown. He pushes his hair back with both hands.
“I felt terrible about that,” he says. “It wasn’t me. It was Charlotte. I was furious with her—”
“Of course you were.”
“I was!”
“Yeah, right,” I say sarcastically. “So I suppose you had a huge row about it and broke up.”
“Yes,” says Guy.
The wind is totally taken out of my sails.
“Yes?”
“We’ve split up.” He shrugs. “Didn’t you know?”
“No! I had no idea! I’m … sorry. I really didn’t—” I break off in confusion. “It wasn’t … it wasn’t really over me?”
Guy doesn’t answer. His brown eyes are becoming more intense.
“Samantha,” he says, not moving his gaze from mine. “I’ve always felt …” He thrusts his hands in his pockets. “I’ve always felt we somehow … missed our chance.”
No. This can’t be happening.
We missed our chance?
Now he says this?
“I’ve always really admired you. I always felt there was a spark between us.” He hesitates. “I wondered whether you felt … the same.”
This is unreal. How many millions of times have I imagined Guy saying these words to me? But now that he’s actually doing it … it’s too late. It’s all wrong.
“Samantha?”
Suddenly I realize I’m staring at him like a zombie.
“Oh. Right.” I try to pull myself together. “Well … yes. Maybe I used to feel like that too.” I fiddle with my skirt. “But the thing is … I’ve met someone. Since I’ve been here.”
“The gardener,” says Guy without missing a beat.
“Yes!” I look up in surprise. “How did you—”
“Some of the journalists were talking about it outside.”
“Oh. Well, it’s true. His name’s Nathaniel.” I feel myself blush.
Guy frowns. “But that’s just a holiday romance.”
“It’s not a holiday romance!” I say, taken aback. “It’s a relationship. We’re serious about each other.”
“Is he moving to London?”
“Well … no. He hates London.”
Guy looks incredulous for a moment, then throws back his head and roars with laughter.
“Samantha, you really are living in fantasyland.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, incensed. “We’ll make it work somehow. If we both want it enough—”
“I’m not sure you’ve quite got the situation yet.” Guy shakes his head. “Samantha, you’re leaving this place. You’re coming back to London, back to reality, back to work. Believe me, you’re never going to keep up some holiday fling.”
“It was not a holiday fling!” I yell furiously, as the door opens. Hilary looks from Guy to me with alert, suspicious eyes.
“Everything all right?”
“Fine,” I say, turning away from Guy. “I’m fine.”
“Good!” She taps her watch. “Because it’s nearly time!”
The entire world seems to have descended on the Geigers’ house. As I venture out the front door with Hilary and two PR managers, there are what looks like hundreds of people in the drive. A row of TV cameras is trained on me, photographers and journalists are in a crowd behind, and Carter Spink PR assistants are milling around, keeping everyone in line and handing out coffee from a refreshments stand that seems to have sprung up from nowhere. At the gate I can see a group of regulars from the pub peering in curiously, and I shoot them a mortified grin.
“It’ll be a few more minutes,” says Hilary, listening to her mobile. “We’re just waiting for the Daily Telegraph.”
I can see David Elldridge and Greg Parker standing by the cappuccino machine, both typing on their BlackBerrys. The PR department wanted as many partners as possible, but none of the others could make it. Frankly, they were lucky to get this many. As I’m watching, to my disbelief I see Melissa approaching them, dressed up smartly in a beige suit and holding … is that a CV?
“Hi!” I hear her begin. “I’m a very good friend of Samantha Sweeting, and she recommended I apply to Carter Spink.”
I can’t help smiling. The girl has some nerve.
“Samantha.” I look up to see Nathaniel coming across the gravel, his blue eyes tense. “How are you doing?”
“I’m … fine.” I feel his hand clasping mine and intertwine my fingers between his as tightly as I can. “You know. It’s all a bit crazy.”