‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning I don’t think of you as Mr McMaster any more. I think of you as the man who saved my grandma.’

His gaze didn’t leave her face. ‘So take a pay cut,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t see how abandoning me is showing your gratitude.’

‘You know what I mean.’

He did. She saw a flicker behind his eyes that might almost be read as pain if she didn’t know how aloof this man was. How he stood apart.

‘There’s no need to leave.’

‘I think there is.’

‘You’re under contract,’ he snapped.

‘No.’ She met his gaze calmly, hoping he couldn’t guess the tumult behind her words. ‘My contract’s up for renewal. It expires next month.’

‘You’re responsible for keeping contracts up to date.’

‘So I am. So I have. My contract expires. It’s not to be renewed, so we move on.’

‘So you tell me now?’ he snapped. ‘And you expect us to calmly go on sharing Christmas when you no longer work for me?’

She flinched, but there was no avoiding what needed to be said. She knew him well enough now to accept the only way forward was honesty.

‘It’s the only way I can go on sharing Christmas,’ she said simply. ‘Feeling the way I do.’

‘Feeling…’

‘Like you’re not my boss any more.’

‘This is nonsense.’

‘It’s not nonsense,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I’m sorry but there it is. I’ve quit. If you want me to keep working until you get a replacement…’

‘That means you’ll still be working over Christmas.’

‘I’m returning my Christmas bonus.’ She glanced down at her dress. ‘I’ll take these in the form of severance pay. You won’t be out of pocket.’

‘What nonsense is this? You can’t afford the grand gesture.’

‘It’s not a grand gesture,’ she said stiffly. ‘It’s what I need to do. I can’t afford not to.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means not everything’s about money.’ She hesitated. ‘Who’s Elinor?’ she asked again and his brows snapped down in a sharp, dark line of anger.

‘Is that what this is about?’

‘You mean am I, your PA, jealous of a woman called Elinor?’ She managed a smile at that one. ‘Of course I’m not. All I’m saying is that the lines between personal and professional have been blurred. Last week I wouldn’t have dared ask that question-I wouldn’t want to. However, suddenly I want to know why you never had a dog when you were a kid. I want to know how you learned to climb when you were a boy. And, yes, I do want to know about Elinor.’ She hesitated. ‘Maybe this can’t make sense to you, but a week ago I didn’t mind…that you seemed aloof and a bit…unhappy.’

‘I’m not unhappy,’ he said, startled, and she thought about it. ‘Okay, not unhappy,’ she conceded. ‘Wrong word, but I don’t know what the word is. Just…holding yourself tight against the world, when letting the world in could make you happy.’

And he got it, just like that. ‘Like caring about Scott and Letty?’

‘Like caring about Scott and Letty.’

‘And if anything happens to them?’

‘Then my world falls apart.’

‘Then that’s dumb. You can’t afford to think like that.’

‘Why not? That’s all there is.’

‘Emotional nonsense.’

‘So who’s Elinor?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘It’s not,’ she agreed. ‘And as my boss you can tell me to mind my own. As a casual acquaintance you can tell me that as well. But now I’m your hostess for Christmas, and you saved my grandma’s life. So I owe you and you owe me and I really want to know that there’s someone in your life who can take that horrid, reserved look away from your face.’

He stared at her, nonplussed. She managed to meet his gaze and hold. This wasn’t just about her, she thought. There was something she had to reach…something it was important to reach.

He’d saved Letty. She owed it to him to try.

But then breakfast arrived. The smell reached her before the meal, wafting across the room as a delicious, tantalising siren call. A couple of early lunch diners were being ushered to their tables. She saw their noses wrinkle with appreciation and she thought-mine, hands off.

She turned back to William, and the same thought flickered. Mine… Only it was a stupid, stupid thought. It was why she had to get out.

Maybe she didn’t want to know who Elinor was. Personal or not, boss or…friend?…she didn’t have the right.

But she wasn’t retracting and her question hung.

And it seemed he’d decided to tell her. The meal was set before them and he started to talk even before he started to eat. There was anger beneath his words, an edge of darkness, but the words were coming out all the same.

‘Elinor’s a foster mother in Manhattan,’ he said. ‘She’s a lovely, warm Afro-American lady with a heart bigger than Texas. She’s old enough to retire but there are always children who need her. Right now she’s fostering Ned and Pip. Two years ago she took them in while their mother supposedly undertook a court-ordered rehab, but instead she robbed a drug store, with violence. She’s been in prison ever since and she doesn’t contact them; she treats them with complete indifference. Elinor’s trying to persuade her to give them up for adoption but she won’t. So Elinor’s the only mother they know.’

‘And…you?’ she asked, stunned.

‘I met Elinor when I agreed to sponsor the Manhattan Foster-Friends programme. It’s an organisation designed to give foster carers support, for people who’d love to help but who only have limited time to give. So Elinor and the children have become my… Foster-Friends. I’d promised to take them out for Christmas.’

‘I see,’ she whispered, and she did see. Sort of. So the image of a sleek, sterile Manhattan apartment wasn’t right. Or maybe it was right; it was just that he moved out from it in a way she hadn’t expected.

‘So what will they do now?’ she asked, feeling dreadful-for Elinor, for Pip and Ned, and for William himself.

‘Elinor has said not to worry. She’ll give them Christmas. They don’t depend on me.’

‘Oh,’ she said in a small voice.

‘Eat your breakfast, Meg,’ he said gently and she turned her attention to her plate, though the enjoyment wasn’t in it now. Or not so much.

It did, indeed, look wonderful. Pleasure laced with guilt.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t get you home,’ she said.

‘It’s not your fault. Eat.’

Eat. She’d almost forgotten she was hungry. Or maybe not. She was fickle, she thought, piercing an egg and watching the yolk ooze across the richly buttered toast. Mmm.

She glanced up and William was watching her and she thought, with a tiny frisson of something she was far too sensible to feel-Elinor’s a retirement age foster mother. And William cares about kids.

But William only cared about these kids part-time. In the bits he had available. She knew he was out of the country eight months out of twelve.

The coldness settled back-the bleak certainty that this man walked alone and would walk alone for ever. There was nothing she could do about it. She’d resigned. She didn’t have to watch him self-destruct.

But maybe he was right. Maybe he wasn’t self-destructing-maybe it was she who was putting herself out there to be shot down with emotional pain.

The whole scenario was too hard. There was only one thing to do here.

She looked back down at her egg-firmly-and concentrated-firmly-on her truly excellent breakfast.


There wasn’t a lot of conversation after that. After their third coffee William rang the hospital while Meg stared into the dregs of her cup. He put it onto speaker so Meg could hear the nurse’s response.

‘She’s still asleep. Yes, she’s fine. I promise we’ll ring you the moment she wakes.’

‘So let’s walk,’ he decreed and Meg could only agree. She didn’t want to go back to the hospital and wait. And think.

Think of what she was walking away from.

So they walked down to the beach, and Meg slipped off her sandals and headed for the shallows.

William watched her from further up on the sand. He kept his shoes on. He’d swapped his boots for a pair of casual loafers but he wasn’t taking the next step. W S McMaster with bare feet, walking in the shallows? Unthinkable.

She walked along, letting the last run of the waves lick over her toes, kicking sprays of water up in front of her.

William walked parallel to her but fifteen feet up the beach. She was in the shallows. He was on solid sand.

Solid sand?

There was no such thing, she thought. Nothing was solid. Everything was shifting.

Why wasn’t he taking his shoes off? Why wasn’t he coming close?

She knew why. She even agreed it was sensible that he shouldn’t.

The wind was warm on her face. The sand and salt between her toes felt fabulous. All it needed was for William to take fifteen steps and take her hand and life would be…

A fairy tale.

So get real, she told herself and kicked up a spray of water so high she soaked the front of her dress. This guy is a billionaire from Manhattan-my ex-boss. I’m unemployed, with a hundred dairy cows, a little brother and a grandma who needs me and will need me for years.

She kicked the water again and glanced sideways at William.

He wasn’t looking at her. He was striding along the beach as if he was there to walk off his too-big breakfast and that was that.

And why shouldn’t it be that? The man hadn’t been to the gym for two days. He’d be suffering from withdrawal.

‘You go on by yourself,’ she called to him. ‘Burn some energy. I’m happy to stay here and kick water.’

He glanced at her and nodded, brisk, serious.

She turned to watch the windsurfers and he headed off along the beach. Alone.


He was being a bore.

He didn’t know what else to be.

There were a thousand emotions crowding into his head right now and he didn’t know what to do with any of them.