I’ve got a present to give his assistant Mel for her birthday, which was yesterday. I’m quite pleased with it actually — it’s a gorgeous pair of cushions from the Conran Shop — and as I hand over the carrier bag, I actually hear her gasp, “Oh, Becky! You shouldn’t have!”

“I wanted to!” I beam, and perch companionably on her desk as she admires them. “So — what’s the latest?’’

Ooh, you can’t beat a good gossip. Mel puts down the carrier bag and gets out a box of toffees, and we have a lovely old natter. I hear all about her terrible date with an awful guy her mother’s been trying to set her up with, and she hears all about Tom’s wedding. And then she lowers her voice and starts filling me in on all the office gossip.

She tells me all about the two receptionists who haven’t been speaking ever since they came to work in the same Next jacket and both refused to take it off — and the girl in accounts who has just come back from maternity leave and is throwing up every morning but won’t admit anything.

“And here’s a really juicy one!” she says, handing me the box of toffees. “I reckon Alicia’s having an affair in the office.”

“No!” I stare at her in amazement. “Really? With who?”

“With Ben Bridges.”

I screw up my face, trying to place the name.

“That new guy who used to be at Coupland Foster Bright.”

“Him?” I stare at Mel. “Really?”

I have to say I’m surprised. He’s very sweet, but quite short and pushy. Not what I would have said was Alicia’s type.

“I keep seeing them together, kind of whispering. And the other day Alicia said she was going to the dentist — but I went into Ratchetts and there they were, having a secret lunch—”

She breaks off as Luke appears at the door of his office, ushering out a man in a purple shirt.

“Mel, order a taxi for Mr. Mallory, would you please?”

“Of course, Luke,” says Mel, switching into her efficient secretary voice. She picks up the phone and we grin at each other — then I walk into Luke’s office.

His office is so smart. I always forget how grand he is. He’s got a sweeping maple desk that was designed by some award-winning Danish designer, and on the shelves in the alcove behind it are all his shiny PR awards.

“Here you are,” he says, handing me a sheaf of papers. The top one is a letter from someone called “Howski and Forlano, U.S. Immigration Lawyers,” and as I see the words “your proposed relocation to the United States,” I feel a tingle of excitement which reaches right to my fingertips.

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” I say, walking over to his floor-length window and gazing down at the busy street below. “We’re really going to New York.”

“The flights are booked,” he says, grinning at me.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do know just what you mean,” he echoes, and wraps me in his arms. “And it’s very exciting.”

For a while we just stand there, the two of us, looking down at the busy London street below. I can hardly believe I’m planning to leave all this to live in a foreign country. It’s exciting and wonderful — but just a little scary, at the same time.

“Do you really think I’ll get a job out there?” I say, as I have every time I’ve seen him in the past week. “Do you honestly think I will?”

“Of course you will.” He sounds so assured and confident, I feel myself relax into his arms. “They’ll love you. You’re talented, and you’re charming, and you come with a record of success… no question at all.” He kisses me and holds me tight for a moment. Then he moves away to his desk, frowns absently, and opens a huge file labeled “New York.” No wonder it’s so huge. He told me the other day that he’s been working toward a New York deal for three years. Three years!

“I can’t believe you’ve been planning this for so long and never told me,” I say, watching him scribble something on a Post-it.

“Mmm,” says Luke. I clench the papers in my hands slightly harder and take a deep breath. There’s something I’ve been wanting to say for a while — and now is as good a moment as any.

“Luke, what would you have done if I hadn’t wanted to go to New York?”

There’s silence apart from the hum of the computer.

“I knew you’d want to go,” says Luke at last. “It’s the next obvious step for you.”

“But… what if I hadn’t?” I bite my lip. “Would you still have gone?” Luke sighs.

“Becky — you do want to go to New York, don’t you?”

“Yes! You know I do!”

“So — what’s the point in asking what-if questions? The point is, you want to go, I want to go… it’s all perfect.” He smiles at me and puts down his pen. “How are your parents doing?”

“They’re… OK,” I say hesitantly. “They’re kind of getting used to the idea.”

Which is sort of true. They were fairly shocked when I told them, I have to admit. In hindsight, perhaps I should have introduced Luke to them before making the announcement. Because how it happened was, I hurried into the house — where they were still sitting in their wedding gear, drinking tea in front of Countdown — and I switched off the telly and said joyfully, “Mum, Dad, I’m moving to New York with Luke!”

Whereupon Mum just looked at Dad and said, “Oh, Graham. She’s gone.”

She said afterward she didn’t mean it like that — but I’m not so sure.

Then they actually met Luke, and he told them about his plans, and explained about all the opportunities in American TV for me — and I could see Mum’s smile fading. Her face seemed to get smaller and smaller, and sort of closed in on itself. She went off to make some tea in the kitchen, and I followed her — and I could see she was upset. But she refused to show it. She just made the tea, with slightly shaking hands, and put out some biscuits — and then she turned to me and smiled brightly, and said, “I’ve always thought you would suit New York, Becky. It’s the perfect place for you.”

I stared at her, suddenly realizing what I was talking about. Going and living thousands of miles away from home, and my parents, and… my whole life, apart from Luke.

“You’ll… you’ll come and visit lots,” I said, my voice trembling slightly.

“Of course we will, darling! All the time!”

She squeezed my hand and looked away — and then we went out into the sitting room, and didn’t say much more about it.

But the next morning, when we came down for breakfast, she and Dad were poring over an ad in the Sunday Times for holiday properties in Florida, which they claimed they had been thinking about anyway. As we left that afternoon, they were arguing vigorously over whether the Disneyland in Florida was better than the one in California — even though I happen to know neither of them has ever set foot near Disneyland in their lives.

“Becky, I have to get on,” says Luke, interrupting my thoughts. “Scottish Prime’s new fund launch is tomorrow, and I’ve got a lot to do.” He picks up the phone and dials a number. “I’ll see you this evening, OK?”

“OK,” I say, still loitering by the window. Then, suddenly remembering, I turn round. “Hey, have you heard about Alicia?”

“What about her?” Luke frowns at the receiver and puts it down.

“Mel reckons she’s having an affair! With Ben Bridges! Can you believe it?”

“No, frankly,” says Luke, tapping at his keyboard. “I can’t.”

“So what do you think’s going on?” I perch on his desk and look excitedly at him.

“My sweet—” says Luke patiently. “I really do have to get on.”

“Aren’t you interested?”

“No. As long as they’re doing their jobs.”

“People are more than just their jobs,” I say reprovingly. But Luke isn’t even listening. He’s got that faraway, cutoff look which comes over him when he’s concentrating on business.

“Oh well,” I say, and roll my eyes. “See you later.”


As I come out, Mel is not at her desk — but Alicia is standing there in a smart black suit, staring at some papers. Her face seems more flushed than usual, and I wonder with an inward giggle if she’s just been canoodling with Ben.

“Hi, Alicia,” I say politely. “How are you?”

Alicia jumps, and she quickly gathers up whatever it is she’s reading — then looks at me with a strange expression, as though horns have sprouted from my head.

“Becky,” she says slowly. “Well, I never. The financial expert herself. The money guru!”

What is it about Alicia? Why does everything she say sound like she’s playing some stupid game?

“Yes,” I say. “It’s me. Where’s Mel gone?”

As I approach Mel’s desk, I feel sure I left something on it. But I can’t quite think what. Did I have an umbrella?

“She’s gone to lunch,” says Alicia. “She showed me the present you bought her. Very stylish.”

“Thanks,” I say shortly.

“So.” She gives a faint smile. “I gather you’re tagging along with Luke to New York. Must be nice to have a rich boyfriend.”

God, she’s a cow! She’d never say that in front of Luke.

“I’m not ‘tagging along,’ actually,” I retort pleasantly. “I’ve got lots of meetings with television executives. It’s a completely independent trip.”

“But…” Alicia frowns thoughtfully. “Your flight’s on the company, is it?”

“No! I paid for it myself!”

“Just wondering!” Alicia lifts her hands apologetically. “Well, have a great time, won’t you?” She gathers up some folders and pops them into her briefcase, then snaps it shut. “I must run. Ciao.”

“See you later,” I say, and watch as she walks briskly off to the lifts.

I stand there by Mel’s desk for a few seconds longer, still wondering what on earth it was that I put down. Oh, I don’t suppose it can be important.