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"Another cup of juice? Please?"

In the middle of frantically trying to tidy the kitchen while stuffing one small cheese sandwich, one fun-sized apple and one cereal bar into a bright red lunch box shaped like a rocket, Ellie paused and grinned at her son.

"You're trying my patience," she chided, lifting him up and kissing him noisily on each cheek before depositing him back to ground level.

"I'm thirsty," William complained hopefully.

"And I'm in a rush. If we don't leave now, we'll be late to Jenny's and then I'll end up late for school. You wouldn't want Mummy to end up late for school, would you?"

"Yes."

"No, you wouldn't, and besides Jenny said you little devils are in for a treat today. She's going to take the three of you to the swimming baths and then to a park. I've already packed your bathing costume." The carrot dangled provocatively for a matter of seconds and then the small face, with its mop of black hair, broke into a smile. Juice was promptly forgotten.

She grabbed her handbag, fumbled inside it for the house key, and was on her way to the front door when the telephone rang.

Ellie looked at it, in two minds as to whether she should delay her rushed departure by picking it up. But then it might be Jenny. Maybe she was ill and wouldn't be able to have William today. Even the best of child-minders had their off days and who else could be calling at 7:45 in the morning?

"Wait here," she instructed her son. She half ran to the telephone, snatched it up, and said, "Yes?" into the receiver.

"Eleanor James?"

"Yes??" She felt a tingle of apprehension flutter like moth wings inside her stomach, even though she had no idea who was on the other end of the line. It was just the tone of voice. Soft, lazy, somehow purposeful. Not like any of the reporters who had been hounding her for the past few days, ever since that incident at the school. Thank goodness other more recent events were beginning to overshadow hers. She had given her press conference, reluctantly, posed for pictures, also reluctantly, and she couldn't wait for all the fuss to die down.

"Remember me?"

And suddenly it hit her. Like a sledgehammer to the skull, temporarily paralyzing her power of speech. Temporarily turning her legs to jelly so that she had to immediately sit down on the nearest kitchen chair.

"I'm sorry?." she stammered. "If you're a reporter," she added, clutching the last straw at her disposal because the alternative was too horrific to bear thinking about, "I'm in an awful rush. I've already said all I have to?to say, anyway?."

"Tut, tut. You disappoint me." A soft laugh came down the end of the phone, but it wasn't a pleasant laugh, designed to lighten a situation. "Don't you remember Las Vegas? Four years ago?"

"Las Vegas." Her mouth had developed the texture of cotton wool. "Four years ago."

"I've been looking for you for quite some time."

There was no use in holding on to the pretense that she didn't know who was talking to her. She glanced toward the kitchen door, suddenly praying that William wouldn't begin to make any noise. He was busy trying to retie his shoelace at the moment, but toddlers could move from a state of relative silence to one of screeching pandemonium in a matter of seconds.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound firm, trying not to let her trembling hands convey a similar message to her vocal cords, "I'd love to sit here and chat but I'm in a terrific rush?."

"So why do we not meet later? Say 7:30 this evening for dinner. A table has been booked at the Square. Hanover Square. Very elegant, highly rated, so I believe. I will expect you there. Oh, and Ellie, do not even think of not turning up because I have your address and I will not hesitate to come and find you. We have so much?to talk about?."

Ellie replaced the receiver, her mouth dry, and stared blindly at her son, at their son. So much to talk about?so much for her to lose?

To be continued...



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