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However, Samantha had always had an absolute fetish about making sure that her apartment was in pristine, apple-pie order when she left for work in the mornings. Mainly because, when she returned home after a long and exhausting day at the office, she’d found that she needed to relax in a calm, tranquil space which was completely uncluttered.
Now, as always, she got a good deal of satisfaction and enormous pleasure from the sight of the pale oak floorboards and the simply draped, white muslin curtains over the large floor-to-ceiling windows. The current vogue for ‘minimalism’—which seemed to involve having as little furniture as possible, with everything tidied away in vast storage cupboards hidden from view—was her idea of absolute heaven.
‘But it’s so terribly bare!’ her older sister had shrieked in dismay on her first visit to Samantha’s new apartment two years ago.
Shuddering as she’d viewed what seemed blank, empty acres of floor space—broken only by two, huge modern sofas and a deep leather chair, surrounding a long glass and stainless-steel coffee table—Edwina had turned to gaze at her with a worried frown.
‘I simply can’t believe that you really want to live in this great barn of a place? Quite honestly, Sam, it would drive me absolutely up the wall!’
But when Samantha had pointed out to her older sister that this was really what she wanted, Edwina had merely responded with a bewildered shrug of her shoulders. In fact, she had firmly placed the blame for her younger sister’s strange taste in interior decoration on a legacy from their Swedish grandmother.
‘Well, it has to be the answer, Sam. After all, you’re the only one of us who inherited Granny’s dead straight, pale flaxen hair.
‘Yes, I know...’ she’d added impatiently as Samantha had rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. ‘I know you probably only remember Granny as a white-haired old lady. But I’ve seen a photograph of her as a young girl—and it could easily have been a picture of you!
‘And besides,’ Edwina had continued with a laugh, ‘I reckon this place would definitely go down a storm in Gothenburg! However, if it’s what you really want—then I hope you’ll be very happy living here.’
And, indeed, she had been extremely happy, Samantha thought, closing her front door and taking the lift down to the ground floor, where her early morning taxi was waiting to take her to the office.
Traffic congestion in the city of London was now so bad that, as Samantha frequently told her friends, anyone who tried to drive to work clearly needed their head examined. Her apartment was situated in the up-and-coming district of Clerkenwell—only a short distance away from her office near St Paul’s Cathedral. So, it obviously made sense to leave her car safely parked in the underground car park, beneath her apartment, and take taxis to and from the office.
‘G’morning, Miss Thomas,’ her regular taxi driver called out as she climbed into the back of the black cab. ‘I reckon it’s going to be a lovely hot day. In fact, my wife thinks that it’s going to be a real case of flaming June!’
‘You may be right, Joe,’ Samantha murmured, extracting a file from her briefcase.
She generally found that this journey to work was a perfect time to make notes, or jot down any memos concerning the day’s work which lay ahead. But this morning, for some unaccountable reason, she didn’t seem to be able to concentrate on business.
Leaning back on the leather seat, she closed her eyes, trying to ignore the strange nauseous feeling in her stomach.
It was all the fault of that heavy, indigestible meal which she’d had last night, Samantha told herself ruefully. It had proved to be virtually impossible to refuse to eat the dishes, proudly produced by a newly married friend—who obviously needed to take an urgent course in basic, everyday cooking!
All of which clearly explained why she was feeling a bit rough this morning. But goodness—what a contrast to the wonderful food she’d had at the Four Seasons in New York, just six weeks ago.
She could feel a hot, crimson flush sweeping up over her pale cheeks at the memory of that lost weekend. A weekend when, to her astonishment, she’d seemed to completely forget all about plain, ordinary everyday life, and had completely abandoned herself to... to... Samantha paused in her thoughts, hunting for the right word to describe accurately what had happened, before giving a helpless shrug.
Unfortunately, there simply was no word which embodied all the extraordinary feelings and sensations which had so quickly swamped both her mind and body. And, however shocking it might be to admit the fact, there was no doubt that she had totally abandoned herself to the overwhelming power...of lust!
In fact, swiftly losing all track of time and space, she couldn’t remember a time of such intense, magical joy and happiness—all crammed into two short days.
After spending that early Saturday morning making thrilling and exciting love to one other, Samantha would have been quite happy either to sit dozing and reading by the fire, or go for a slow, leisurely walk down Riverside Drive, the broad, shady street outside Matt’s apartment. However, he had planned quite a different, and far more exhausting, itinerary.
‘Come on, lazy bones! Hurry up and get dressed. We’ve got a lot to do—and very little time in which to do it,’ Matt had declared, practically booting her out of bed and into the shower, before transporting her off to Bloomingdale’s massive shoe department.
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