A man in his sixties, wearing a pin-striped suit over a groovy floral shirt, is raising a glass to us. I raise mine back, feeling awestruck. Sir Nicholas Murray! When I was Googling the company, I saw pictures of him with the prime minister, and Prince Charles, and everybody.

“Never turn down a bash if I can help it,” Sir Nicholas says cheerfully. “Missed the speeches, have I?”

“Spot-on timing.” Sam grins. “Don’t tell me you sent your driver in to see if they were over.”

“I couldn’t possibly comment.” Sir Nicholas winks at him. “Did you get my email?”

“Did you get mine?” counters Sam, and lowers his voice. “You’ve nominated Richard Doherty for this year’s Dealmaker Award?”

“He’s a bright young talent, Sam,” says Sir Nicholas, looking a little caught out. “Remember his work with Hardwicks last year? He deserves recognition.”

“You put the Ryan Energy deal together. Not him.”

“He helped,” Sir Nicholas retorts. “He helped in many ways. Some of them … intangible.”

For a moment they stare at each other. They both look as though they’re suppressing laughter.

“You’re incorrigible,” says Sam at last. “I hope he’s grateful. Now, you know I’m just back from Germany? Few things we should discuss.”

He’s totally frozen me out of the conversation, but I really don’t mind. Really. In fact, maybe I’ll just creep away while I have the chance.

“Sam, do introduce me to your friend,” Sir Nicholas cuts into my thoughts, and I smile back nervously.

Sam obviously has no desire at all to introduce me to Sir Nicholas. But he’s obviously also a polite man, because after about thirty seconds of what is clearly an internal struggle,69 he says, “Sir Nicholas, Poppy Wyatt. Poppy, Sir Nicholas Murray.”

“How do you do.” I shake his hand, trying not to give away my excitement. Wow. Sir Nicholas Murray and me. Chatting at the Savoy. I’m already thinking of ways I could casually drop this into conversation with Antony.

“Are you at Johnson Ellison or Greene Retail?” inquires Sir Nicholas politely.

“Neither,” I say awkwardly. “Actually, I’m a physiotherapist.”

“A physiotherapist!” His face lights up. “How wonderful! The most underrated of all the medical arts, I always think. I’ve been going to a super man in Harley Street for my back, although he hasn’t quite cracked it… . ” He winces slightly.

“You want Ruby,” I say, nodding wisely. “My boss. She’s amazing. Her deep-tissue massage makes grown men weep.”

“I see.” Sir Nicholas looks interested. “Do you have a card?”

Yessss! Ruby made us all cards when we first started out, and I have never been asked for mine before. Not once.

“Here you are.” I reach in my bag and produce a card nonchalantly, as though I do it all the time. “We’re in Balham. It’s south of the river; you may not know it… .”

“I know Balham well.” He twinkles at me. “My first flat in London was on Bedford Hill.”

“No way!” My canapé nearly falls out of my mouth. “Well, you’ll definitely have to come and see us now.”

I can’t believe it. Sir Nicholas Murray, living on Bedford Hill. God, it shows. You start off in Balham and you end up knighted. It’s quite inspiring, really.

“Sir Nicholas.” The guy with olive skin has materialized from nowhere to join the group. “Delighted to see you here. Always a pleasure. How are things going at Number Ten? Found the secret to happiness yet?”

“The wheels turn.” Sir Nicholas gives him an easy smile.

“Well, it’s an honor. Absolute honor. And Sam.” The olive-skinned guy claps him on the back. “My main man. Couldn’t do what we do without you.”

I stare at him indignantly. He was calling Sam a “stubborn fuck’ a moment ago.

“Thanks, Justin.” Sam smiles tightly.

It is Justin Cole. I was right. He looks as sneery in real life as he does in his emails.

I’m about to ask Sir Nicholas what the prime minister’s really like, when a young guy approaches us nervously.

“Sam! Sorry to interrupt. I’m Matt Mitchell. Thanks so much for volunteering. It’s going to make such a difference to our project to have you on board.”

“Volunteering?” Sam shoots a sharp look at me.

Oh God. I have no idea. My mind is working overtime, trying to recall. Volunteering … volunteering … what was it again …

“For the expedition to Guatemala! The exchange program!” Matt Mitchell is glowing. “We’re so excited that you want to sign up!”

My stomach flips over. Guatemala. I’d totally forgotten about Guatemala.

“Guatemala?” echoes Sam, with a kind of rictus smile on his face.

Now I remember. I sent that email quite late at night. I think I’d had a glass of wine or two. Or … three.

I risk a tiny peek at Sam, and his expression is so thunderous, I want to slink away. But the thing is, it sounded like an amazing opportunity. And from what I’ve seen of his schedule, he never takes a holiday. He should go to Guatemala.

“We were all really touched by your email, Sam.” Matt grasps Sam’s hand earnestly with both of his. “I never knew you felt that way about the developing world. How many orphans do you sponsor?”

“Sam! Oh my God!” A dark-haired girl, quite drunk, lurches up to the group and elbows Matt out of the way, making him drop Sam’s hand. She’s looking highly flushed and her mascara is smudged, and she grabs Sam’s hand herself. “Thank you so much for your e-card about Scamper. You made my day, you know that?”

“It’s quite all right, Chloe,” Sam says tightly. He darts an incandescent glance of fury at me, and I flinch.

“Those beautiful things you wrote,” she gulps. “I knew when I read them you must have lost a dog yourself. Because you understand, don’t you? You understand.” A tear rolls down her cheek.

“Chloe, do you want to sit down?” says Sam, extricating his hand, but Justin cuts in, a malicious grin at his lips.

“I’ve heard about this famous e-card. Could I see it?”

“I’ve got a printout.” Wiping her nose, Chloe drags a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, and Justin immediately grabs it.

“Oh, now, this is beautiful, Sam,” he says, scanning it with mock admiration. “Very moving.”

“I’ve shown everybody in the department.” Chloe nods tearfully. “They all think you’re amazing, Sam.”

Sam’s hand is clenching his glass so hard, it’s turning white. He looks like he wants to press an ejector button and escape. I’m feeling really, really bad now. I didn’t realize I’d sent quite so many emails. I’d forgotten about Guatemala. And I shouldn’t have sent the e-card. If I could go back in time, that’s the moment I’d go up to myself and say, “Poppy! Stop! No e-card!”

“Young Scamper’s joined his friends in heaven, but we are left to weep,” Justin reads aloud in a stagy voice. “His furry fur, his eyes so bright, his bone upon the seat.” Justin pauses. “Not sure seat exactly rhymes with weep, Sam. And why is his bone on the seat, anyway? Hardly hygienic.”

“Give that here.” Sam makes a swipe for it, but Justin dodges, looking delighted.

“His blanket empty in his bed, the silence in the air. If Scamper now is looking down, he’ll know how much we cared.” Justin winces. “Air? Cared? Do you know what a rhyme is, Sam?”

“I think it’s very touching,” says Sir Nicholas cheerfully.

“Me too,” I say hurriedly. “I think it’s brilliant.70”

“It’s so true.” Tears are streaming down Chloe’s face. “It’s beautiful because it’s true.”

She’s absolutely plastered. She’s completely fallen out of one of her stilettos and doesn’t even seem to have noticed.

“Justin,” says Sir Nicholas kindly. “Maybe you could get Chloe a glass of water.”

“Of course!” Justin deftly pockets the sheet. “You don’t mind if I keep this poem of yours, do you, Sam? It’s just so special. Have you ever thought of working for Hallmark?” He escorts Chloe away and practically dumps her on a chair. A moment later I see him gleefully beckoning to the group he was with earlier and pulling the paper out of his pocket.

I almost don’t dare look at Sam, I feel so guilty.

“Well!” says Sir Nicholas, looking amused. “Sam, I had no idea you were such an animal lover.”

“I’m not.” Sam seems barely able to operate his voice. “I … ”

I’m trying frantically to think of something I can say to redeem the situation. But what can I do?

“Now, Poppy, please do excuse me.” Sir Nicholas cuts into my thoughts. “Much as I would prefer to stay here, I must go over and talk to that interminably boring man from Greene Retail.” He makes such a comical face at me, I can’t help giggling. “Sam, we’ll talk later.” He presses my hand in his and heads off into the crowd, and I quell an urge to run away with him.

“So!” I turn back to Sam and swallow several times. “Um … sorry about all that.”

Sam says nothing, just holds out his hand, palm up. After five seconds I realize what he means.

“What?” I feel a swoop of alarm. “No! I mean … can’t I keep it till tomorrow? I’ve got all my contacts on it now, all my messages—”

“Give it.”

“But I haven’t even been to the phone shop yet! I haven’t got a replacement, this is my only number, I need it—”

“Give it.”

He’s implacable. In fact, he looks quite scary.

On the other hand … he can’t force it off me, can he? Not without causing a scene, which I’m sensing is the last thing he wants to do.

“Look, I know you’re angry.” I try to sound as grovelly as possible. “I can understand that. But wouldn’t you like me to forward all your emails on first? And give it back tomorrow when I’ve tied up all the loose ends? Please?”

At least that’ll give me a chance to make a note of some of my messages.

Sam is breathing hard through his nose. I can tell he’s realizing he doesn’t have a choice.

“You don’t send a single further email,” he snaps at last, dropping his hand.

“OK,” I say humbly.

“You detail for me a list of the emails you did send.”

“OK.”

“You hand the phone back tomorrow and that is the last I ever hear from you.”

“Shall I come to the office?”

“No!” He almost recoils at the idea. “We’ll meet at lunchtime. I’ll text you.”

“OK.” I heave a sigh, feeling quite downcast by now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up your life.”

I was half-hoping Sam might say something nice, like, “Don’t worry, you didn’t,” or “Never mind, you meant well.” But he doesn’t. He looks as merciless as ever.

“Is there anything else I should know about?” he asks curtly. “Be honest, please. Any more foreign trips you’ve signed me up to? Company initiatives you’ve started in my name? Inappropriate poetry you’ve written on my behalf?”

“No!” I say nervously. “That’s it. I’m sure.”

“You realize how much havoc you’ve caused?”

“I know.” I gulp.

“You realize how many embarrassing situations you’ve put me in?”

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” I say desperately. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I didn’t mean to create trouble. I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“A favor?” He stares at me incredulously. “A favor?”

“Hey, Sam.” A breathy voice interrupts us, and I get a waft of perfume. I turn to see a girl in her late twenties, wearing skyscraper heels and lots of makeup. Her red hair is tonged into curls and her dress is really low-cut. I mean, I can practically see her navel. “Excuse me, could I have a quick moment with Sam?” She shoots me an antagonistic glance.

“Oh! Er … sure.” I move away a few steps, but not so far that I can’t just about hear them.

“So. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” She’s gazing up at Sam and batting her false eyelashes.71 “In your office. I’ll be there.”

Sam looks perplexed. “Do we have an appointment?”

“That’s the way you want to play it?” She gives a soft, sexy laugh and swooshes her hair, like actresses do on those American TV drama series set in beautiful kitchens. “I can play it any way you like.” She lowers her voice to a throaty whisper. “If you know what I mean, Sam.”

“I’m sorry, Lindsay … ” Sam frowns, obviously at a loss.

Lindsay? I nearly spill my drink down my dress. This girl is Lindsay?

Oh no. Oh no, oh no. This isn’t good. I knew I should have canceled out Sam’s kisses. I knew that winky face meant something. I’m almost hopping with alarm. Can I warn Sam? Should I somehow semaphore to him?

“I knew,” she’s murmuring now. “The first time I saw you, Sam, I knew there was a special vibe between us. You’re hot.”