die a thousand deaths if he ever discovered that, and Claire with her antics was hardly being the soul of subtle discretion.
But already she could sense that James was ready to move on, to circulate, and she looked wistfully at his departing back as he reached for another glass of wine and headed off, always solicitous when it came to involving each and every one of his guests.
For a few seconds, it dawned on her that those few moments of snatched time during which he had complimented her, actually looked at her, really amounted to not very much, but she quickly brushed aside that pessimistic train of thought.
‘I think,’ she told Claire later, when food had been eaten and the assembled crowd had moved on to the sort of abandoned dancing that only alcohol could induce, ‘that I’m making headway.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Ames…’ James seemed to have disappeared from the scene, although it was hard to tell because it was dark and there were so many people all over the place.
‘He asked me what I thought of the food.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Told him it wasn’t a patch on mine.’
‘You never!’
‘Yup.’
‘Bad move. Maybe he’ll sack his caterers here and rope you in to do the cooking.’
They giggled, enjoying the novelty of being far from familiar shores in a setting they would never again experience.
Amy drained her glass of wine and decided that she would try and locate the errant James.
It had gone eleven and the party, subdued considered the amount of alcohol on offer, was still going strong. No one, in fact, had gone to bed yet as far as she could see, and Amy wasn’t going to be the first. The American crowd, who were either staying at a local hotel or else returning to their own homes, would be the first to go. She imagined that, with the crowd diminished, she might yet find another opportunity to chat to James, to let him see her in a different light. Hopefully not a sozzled light. However much Amy enjoyed having a good time, she knew when to stop drinking. Despite, and she thought once again of the gardener and his high-handed, self-righteous, priggish judgements, what certain people might think.
But still…It was fun mingling and fun being asked to dance, and if her glass continued to be topped up despite her feeble attempts at shaking her head whenever one of the waiters poled along, then why shouldn’t she get into the spirit of things?
Besides, as the evening wore on the wine was doing a very good job of keeping her maudlin thoughts at bay. Having a crush on the boss was the oldest, saddest story in the book. If her brothers ever found out, she didn’t know which of the three of them would die laughing first, and she didn’t think her sisters would be too full of tea and sympathy either. She was a pretty outgoing sort and had had her fair share of boyfriends yet here she was, in the most impossibly stunning location in the world, surrounded by lots of lively people roughly her own age, and what was she doing? Ferreting around to see if she could spot a man who didn’t give her the time of day.
When she thought like that, her spirits dipped once more. Yet again, her outfit was going to be wasted. She had visions of thousands of outfits being bought and wasted in her attempts to steal James’s attention.
On that thought, she set down her wineglass and drifted away from the party and the house. Away from the crowds, the glaring realisation that she wasn’t having the good time she should have been hit her and Amy began to feel a little more upbeat. In a minute she knew that her instinct to make the best out of any situation would surface and she would be fine. She would sit a while and let Nature and her naturally buoyant personality take their course.
She quietly hived off towards the expertly landscaped wooded area, moving steadily away from the noise of the party.
It was late but not particularly cool and the fresh air was doing wonders for her fuzzy head. Indeed, her spirits were on the up when she was aware of movement in a little clearing in the trees. Goodness only knew how they had managed to do it, but the copse was cleverly interspersed with small benches that had been fashioned roughly out of gnarled tree trunks, so that at first glance they looked like part of the natural scenery. Amy went into immediate stealthy mode and didn’t even bother to try and fight her curiosity.
She peered, eventually making out who the two people on the bench were. It was dark, but not completely. Moonlight cast a dull, ephemeral light and as the couple moved apart for a few seconds she saw them clearly. The woman she didn’t recognise. Long, poker-straight hair, very fair skin and a body that was in a state of semi undress.
The man…well, the man…
She felt a tide of nausea rise up her throat and she took a couple of steps backwards, standing perfectly still when a twig snapped under her foot, but the couple were too engrossed in one another to hear the snapping of any twig. In fact, they would probably have been deaf to an approaching intercity train. When he pulled the woman so that she could straddle him, Amy fled.
Her heart was pounding. She tried hard to be quiet, but after five minutes the need to get as far away from the sight of James wrapped around a woman was so great that she stopped giving a damn how much noise she made.
She hit some part of the gardens but she wasn’t sure which part because she could no longer see the house, nor could she hear the strains of the music.
She was sharing a bedroom with Claire, who had turned in a while before. Who was going to miss her?
Amy willed herself to stop running and to get her breathing under control. Okay, here were the facts. The man she was mad about was involved with someone else. She was also lost. The first she would have to put on hold until she could cry about it later. The second she would have to sort out right away or else risk spending the night somewhere in the acres of estate with only her thoughts for company.
With typical pluckiness, Amy drew in a deep breath and did what every good Girl Guide book would suggest at a time like this. She looked for a tall tree. Not too hard. Actually, they all looked pretty tall. Enormous, in fact, to someone pretty short, but, drawing in a deep breath, she kicked off her useless strappy sandals, and yet again wished she were decked out in something more suitable—talk about getting her dress code all wrong—and began to climb.
She got high enough to panic but not nearly high enough to see where the house was, at which point she threw caution to the winds and began yelling her head off.
When she next got up the courage to look down, it was to see the unmistakable shape of the gardener staring up at her. Of course, it would be the gardener.
‘I’m stuck!’
‘Why are you up a tree?’ Rafael felt his lips twitch. That blonde tangle of hair announced its owner with a glaring lack of subtlety.
‘Never mind that! You need to get me down!’
‘Sorry, but I don’t hear you using that special little word.’
‘Now’s not the time for games!’
‘Always time to be polite.’
‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ Amy yelled down, ‘considering your rudeness the last time we met!’ She felt her grip on the tree branch get precariously unsteady and ordered him to go and fetch a ladder instantly! Please!
‘There’s no ladder at the cottage. Hang on and I’ll get you down!’
Amy closed her eyes. She was aware of him climbing up the tree, skilfully manoeuvring the trunk and the branches. She had never felt more of an idiot in her life. Her skirt was everywhere. Floaty was fine at a party but not so fine when it came to shinning up a tree and having to be ignominiously fetched down like a stray cat.
And Lord only knew what it was doing as he coaxed and aided her down, holding onto her when necessary until he could lever her gently to the ground, then he jumped down and landed softly next to her.
‘Thank