bath. Dinner will be ready in five minutes.’ She paused, then added kindly, ‘You look confused.’
‘I am confused,’ said Sam, running a hand through his hair, then shaking his head. ‘I was expecting you to be about five years old. At the very most.’
She smiled, covered the dish of sautéd potatoes and put them into the oven. ‘I’m mature for my age. How’s Gina?’
‘Damp, but she’ll live. Did you make all this?’ Deeply appreciative of good home cooking, he leaned forward to take a closer look at the Stroganoff into which she was now stirring double cream.
‘It isn’t difficult,’ said Katerina. Then she added wryly, ‘Unless you’re my mother.’
‘Well, I’m impressed. I’d planned on taking Gina out to dinner this evening, but I’m glad now that I didn’t. What are you, a professional chef?’
‘She’s a professional schoolgirl,’ said Izzy, who had been watching them from the doorway. Pink-cheeked from her bath and now wearing a white tracksuit, her glossy dark hair cascaded past her shoulders. Apart from the fact that the tracksuit top was unzipped to display a distinctly adult amount of cleavage, she looked absurdly young. ‘So, what’s the verdict?’ she continued, her tone light but her eyes bright with challenge. ‘Are you going to stay or is the thought of sharing a house with three neurotic females too much to cope with?’
‘Objection,’ put in Katerina calmly. ‘Two neurotic females and an extremely staid schoolgirl.’
‘All this,’ murmured Sam, running his fingers through his hair once more, ‘and jet lag too.’
Sam Sheridan hadn’t got where he was by ignoring or underestimating women. Having grown up quietly observing his brother Marcus - a useful four years older than himself - plough through school and university, causing havoc with his flashing smile and superlative seduction techniques and provoking equally dramatic showdowns whenever he tired of his girlfriends and unceremoniously dumped them, Sam had gradually come to realise that his brother didn’t even like the opposite sex all that much. Girls were for sleeping with. They were what one talked about rather than to. They were, as far as Marcus was concerned, nothing more than appendages. And, like cigarettes, when he’d finished with them he stubbed them out. Sam, on the other hand, had never found girls a bother, and as he grew older he found his brother’s attitude towards them even harder to understand. He genuinely enjoyed their company and found them every bit as interesting to talk to as males. Then, of course, there was also the added attraction of sexual chemistry . . .
But Sam miraculously never encountered the problems which had so complicated Marcus’s own life. For although there were many girls who were friends as opposed to actual girlfriends, such was his easygoing charm and immense popularity during those growing-up years that the amount of kudos attached to being one of Sam’s girls-who-were-friends had almost outranked the other kind, simply because girlfriends were par for the course, whereas friendship without sex indicated that you had a personality really worth getting to know.
And since Sam had always made a point of remaining on good terms with his ex-girlfriends, he engendered virtually no bitterness. He enjoyed instead a riotously happy three years at university, ending up with a better-than-expected 2:1 in economics and a vast circle of friends of both sexes, none of whom could for the life of them envisage Sam Sheridan holding down a job in any kind of financial institution where his degree might be of any practical use at all.
But Sam, despite his easygoing nature, had - unbeknown to his peers - already hit on the answer to his needs, which were access to a good standard of living coupled with the indescribable pleasure of non-stop socializing. The weekend parties he had thrown in the crumbling Victorian house
‘I am confused,’ said Sam, running a hand through his hair, then shaking his head. ‘I was expecting you to be about five years old. At the very most.’
She smiled, covered the dish of sautéd potatoes and put them into the oven. ‘I’m mature for my age. How’s Gina?’
‘Damp, but she’ll live. Did you make all this?’ Deeply appreciative of good home cooking, he leaned forward to take a closer look at the Stroganoff into which she was now stirring double cream.
‘It isn’t difficult,’ said Katerina. Then she added wryly, ‘Unless you’re my mother.’
‘Well, I’m impressed. I’d planned on taking Gina out to dinner this evening, but I’m glad now that I didn’t. What are you, a professional chef?’
‘She’s a professional schoolgirl,’ said Izzy, who had been watching them from the doorway. Pink-cheeked from her bath and now wearing a white tracksuit, her glossy dark hair cascaded past her shoulders. Apart from the fact that the tracksuit top was unzipped to display a distinctly adult amount of cleavage, she looked absurdly young. ‘So, what’s the verdict?’ she continued, her tone light but her eyes bright with challenge. ‘Are you going to stay or is the thought of sharing a house with three neurotic females too much to cope with?’
‘Objection,’ put in Katerina calmly. ‘Two neurotic females and an extremely staid schoolgirl.’
‘All this,’ murmured Sam, running his fingers through his hair once more, ‘and jet lag too.’
Sam Sheridan hadn’t got where he was by ignoring or underestimating women. Having grown up quietly observing his brother Marcus - a useful four years older than himself - plough through school and university, causing havoc with his flashing smile and superlative seduction techniques and provoking equally dramatic showdowns whenever he tired of his girlfriends and unceremoniously dumped them, Sam had gradually come to realise that his brother didn’t even like the opposite sex all that much. Girls were for sleeping with. They were what one talked about rather than to. They were, as far as Marcus was concerned, nothing more than appendages. And, like cigarettes, when he’d finished with them he stubbed them out. Sam, on the other hand, had never found girls a bother, and as he grew older he found his brother’s attitude towards them even harder to understand. He genuinely enjoyed their company and found them every bit as interesting to talk to as males. Then, of course, there was also the added attraction of sexual chemistry . . .
But Sam miraculously never encountered the problems which had so complicated Marcus’s own life. For although there were many girls who were friends as opposed to actual girlfriends, such was his easygoing charm and immense popularity during those growing-up years that the amount of kudos attached to being one of Sam’s girls-who-were-friends had almost outranked the other kind, simply because girlfriends were par for the course, whereas friendship without sex indicated that you had a personality really worth getting to know.
And since Sam had always made a point of remaining on good terms with his ex-girlfriends, he engendered virtually no bitterness. He enjoyed instead a riotously happy three years at university, ending up with a better-than-expected 2:1 in economics and a vast circle of friends of both sexes, none of whom could for the life of them envisage Sam Sheridan holding down a job in any kind of financial institution where his degree might be of any practical use at all.
But Sam, despite his easygoing nature, had - unbeknown to his peers - already hit on the answer to his needs, which were access to a good standard of living coupled with the indescribable pleasure of non-stop socializing. The weekend parties he had thrown in the crumbling Victorian house
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