her hands around her head, feeling uncharacteristically overwhelmed. ‘I’ve just got a lot going on at the moment. None of it any good.’ She tried not to think about last night’s fiasco. ‘Anyway, I’m here now. Just remind me who . . .’ Her gaze flicked towards the set again. The blonde had stopped pacing and was glancing over. She wasn’t looking happy.
‘Jesus, Lee!’ he whispered, almost buckling at the knees in exasperation. ‘I know you don’t rate these people. They’re not saving the world, why are we lauding them? But at least bother to know their names! Today’s the “new Eckhart Tolle”, remember—?’
‘And how are we doing? All ready to go now?’ the blonde asked, striding over suddenly and clearly out of patience.
‘Ah, Jacintha, good. Come and meet Lee. Her bike was stolen again this morning, hence . . .’ Bart waved his arms around in a vague manner. ‘Jacintha is Mr Meyer’s publicity agent.’
‘I’m sorry about your bike,’ Jacintha replied coolly, not looking at all sympathetic as they shook hands.
‘Mmm, seventh this year,’ Lee lied, taking an instant dislike to her. She lived and died by making snap judgements and there was a passive-aggressive edge to Jacintha’s words she didn’t like. ‘I’m sick of it.’
‘Where did it happen?’
‘On Prinsengracht.’
‘Really? I thought thefts were relatively low there.’
‘My luck,’ Lee shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry for the wait but Bart’s got everything set up, haven’t you?’ Her trusty assistant gave a reluctant nod. ‘So we’re good to go. No more time to waste.’
‘What were you doing on Prinsengracht?’ Bart whispered as they walked towards the set.
‘Shuddup,’ she muttered. ‘And turn that music up, will you? Did you stop at the bakery?’
They rounded the curtain and the ‘new Eckhart Tolle’ looked up from his phone.
Lee froze mid-step. ‘Sam?!’
Bart looked impressed (and relieved) that she knew his name. Then suspicious.
‘Lee.’ Sam’s expression matched hers, she imagined – namely, horrified. He was wearing a casual unlined black blazer, jeans and white shirt. ‘I didn’t . . .’ He looked to Bart and Jacintha. ‘I didn’t know it was y—’
‘You two know each other?’ Bart asked, his mischief antennae already up and scanning as he took in Lee’s stunned face and deep blush.
‘Uh, we met last week,’ Sam said, recovering first. ‘At the hospital.’ He looked across at Jacintha.
‘Oh yes, the Sinterklaas visit,’ the PR said after a momentary blankness. ‘That was very well received, by the way. The kids loved it. They’ve booked you back in for Christmas too.’ She looked over at Bart. ‘Really great for tapping into the whole family-gifting vibe.’
Lee looked away, trying to compose herself. How could it be him? Bart hadn’t told her Sam’s name – had he? No, he would have known she’d have forgotten it by this morning. And she would have remembered on Friday when she met him, she would have made the connection. Surely?
‘What were you doing there, Lee?’ Jacintha asked her.
Lee flicked her eyes over and away again. ‘I do some volunteer work there at this time of year. I covered Sam’s visit.’ She looked back at Sam. ‘Although you told me you were an artist, not an author.’ Her expression was determinedly benign, but there was accusation in her voice.
He blinked and she could see the tension in his face too. ‘I am. I’ve been a properly struggling, impoverished artist for the past decade. But then I produced a picture book that’s done quite well.’
‘Quite well?’ Jacintha laughed. ‘Honestly, if only all my authors were this modest! Sam’s book has sold over two million copies.’
Lee stared at him, not hearing, not caring. How could this be happening? The one person in the city she had hoped never to see again was standing in her set . . .?
Wait. Two million?
‘But of course, you’ll have seen it, of course you will. The details were in the press pack sent over to you.’ Jacintha cast a concerned look in Bart’s direction as if it was his fault his boss hadn’t prepped for her client’s shoot. ‘It’s been in the charts for sixty-three weeks already.’
Lee nodded dumbly. ‘Of course I’ve seen it – it’s called If and it’s got sheep on the front,’ she mumbled, saving Bart. He gave a wholly audible sigh of relief.
But Lee couldn’t take her eyes off Sam. That was his book? The one that had been put in her basket? The one that Liam had told her about? He was Liam’s friend? Oh God, the connections came thick and fast. If