Bond of Hatred

The following week, Sarah went back to work to complete the statutory two weeks’ notice required if she was to receive a full month’s pay. And she couldn’t afford to lose that money. Gina’s neighbour, a registered childminder currently without any other charges, took over Nicky. Sarah found it an appalling wrench leaving him every morning.

‘You can come and work for me at the shop,’ Gina announced over breakfast at the end of the first week.

Sarah felt awful. Gina, who owned a florist’s shop, was very fussy about employing only trained staff. ‘But I know nothing about flowers—’

‘You can learn, but you can start by sorting out all the paperwork. Nicky can come with you. You can stick his basket in the back room.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Sarah muttered awkwardly. ‘I’m very grateful.’

‘I gave you no help with Callie,’ Gina sighed, ‘but I think we should all stick together this time. I kind of like the company round the house and, although things are a bit frantic right now with Nicky being so young, that’ll soon settle down. He’ll be off to school before we know it.’

‘Do you think I’m doing the right thing...keeping him?’ Sarah finally had the courage to ask outright. She so badly needed to hear someone telling her that she was.

‘I think you’re doing what you have to do,’ Gina said nebulously. ‘Anyway, it’s all up to them now, isn’t it?’

‘How?’

‘Well, sooner or later Damon is surely going to roll up on the doorstep and if you want my advice you let him see Nicky without any argument. Nicky has a right to know his father.’

Sarah stiffened and then bit her lower lip. Nicky did have a right to know his father, she acknowledged ruefully...but then she was still waiting for Damon to beat a hot, enthusiastic trail to their door, eager to meet his baby son.

‘Mind you, I would’ve thought he would have shown up by now,’ Gina remarked, speaking aloud Sarah’s own thoughts on the subject.

Late morning, Sarah became aware of the subdued murmur of voices that usually distinguished the office abruptly rising to a much more noisy level and then suddenly falling very, very quiet. She was in the file-room where she spent most of her working day.

Someone cleared his throat. She spun round and was transfixed by the sight of a phalanx of the top-floor executives all standing out in the corridor staring in at her as though she had grown horns. Her dismayed eyes fell on the managing director, Mr Soames.

‘Miss Hartwell...?’ he began uncertainly, for he didn’t know her, had certainly never spoken to her before.

The executives parted like the Red Sea as another figure strolled into view.

‘I came to take you out to lunch,’ Alex Terzakis drawled.

‘It’s n-not my lunch-hour.’ Scarcely crediting the scene before her, unable even to absorb his announcement, Sarah answered automatically.

Mr Soames paled. ‘Nonsense, Miss Hartwell... you’re free to go whenever you like. Take the rest of the day off if you want,’ he hastened to add with a strained smile.

Sarah focused on Alex. With effortless ease, he dominated, the sole male in the group who

didn’t look as though he was standing barefoot on a bed of nails. In a navy pinstripe suit of exquisite tailoring, he had a dark exotic splendour that was undeniably riveting. For an instant she collided with night-dark eyes and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

‘Miss Hartwell no longer works here,’ Alex murmured. ‘I have other duties for her.’

‘A truly excellent employee,’ the managing director rushed to assert heartily.

What the heck was going on? Her cheeks crimson, Sarah moved forward, but before she could speak Alex had planted a hand like an iron bar to her rigid spine and pressed her out of the room. ‘You have things to collect?’

‘Yes, but—’

He turned his dark head. ‘Have Miss Hartwell’s desk cleared and her possessions conveyed to her home.’

Somebody said, ‘Yes sir.’

She was thrust into the lift in a state of furious bewilderment. ‘What the heck are you playing at?’

‘I just sacked you.’ Alex stared down at her, his handsome mouth tightening. ‘You have appalling dress-sense—’

‘You sacked me?’