a wonder some determined young woman hasn’t snaffled him up.”
Carefully Miranda wiped her hands, putting the apple core into a disposable bag. “There is one determined young woman on the scene. But no announcements as yet. Annette Atwood. You know the family?”
“Of course!” Peter nodded. His best feature, his mane of thick golden-brown hair, gleamed in the sun. He was growing it artistically long, as Miranda had suggested. The look suited him and added a certain panache. “Dad’s a big-time lawyer turned property developer?”
“That’s the one.”
“Think they’ll make a go of it?” Peter asked, sensitive to how Miranda might feel about that.
“Corin has never come close to telling me about his love life,” Miranda returned very dryly.
“What about your love life?” He turned questioning blue eyes on her. Corin’s sister, who was a really lovely person and a great beauty in the classic style, was making it her business to introduce Miri to a lot of high-flying guys.
But Miranda smiled as though she didn’t have a care in the world. “I have a powerful reason to stay on course, Peter. So do you. We have careers lined up.”
“That we do. I’ve often wondered where your driving interest in medicine and medical research came from, Miri. Your background isn’t like mine, with so many doctors in it. They say genius is random. Dad says it has to be in your genes.”
“Then it must be a very long way back.” She laughed. “I come from a line of small farmers.”
“So it’s just as they say. Genius is random.”
“And we’re both geniuses!” She lightly punched his arm. “Better get going. Haven’t you got a master class at three-thirty?”
Peter started. “Hell, I almost forget. It’s so lovely being with you, Miri.” He stood up, all of six-four, dusting his jeans off. “So, what are you going to do about your birthday? It’s coming up. I suppose Zara will have something arranged?”
“No, no!” She shook her head vigorously. “Zara doesn’t know anything about it. And you are not to tell her. I don’t want any fuss. No presents, except a little one from my best mate—and that’s you!”
“But you should celebrate!” he insisted. “You’re only twenty-one once.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Of course it is! What say we get dressed up and have dinner at some posh hotel? I have money. The parents are very generous these days.”
Miranda handed over the picnic basket, then took his arm. “That will suit me just fine.”
Peter felt so happy he could have shouted with joy.
The best laid plans could always go awry, and circumstance forced them to move her birthday date forward to mid-week. Peter had been selected at short notice to replace the cellist in a highly regarded quartet, who had fallen ill. With a new member on board, intensive rehearsals would have to take place all over the weekend.
“No worries, Peter,” she reassured him, thrilled he was getting such a lucky break. “New horizons are opening up for you. Wednesday evening will be fine.”
And so it eventually turned out that Miranda’s early twenty-first birthday dinner with the young man who would become her life-long friend proved a special treat.
The following day Zara and three of her colleagues, all foreign-exchange traders, led by her boss, Sir Marcus Boyle, were to fly off to Berlin for a series of top-level business meetings.
Zara eased her tall, elegant body into the jacket of her Armani suit, picked up her briefcase, then walked to the front door that led onto its own private patch of emerald-green lawn and blossoming flowerbeds. Miranda was holding the door open for her, waving acknowledgement to the London taxi driver who had just arrived to take Zara to Heathrow. At twenty-six, Zara was very good indeed at her job. Miranda had learned that from one of her colleagues at a recent party.
“Tremendous flair. Not afraid of taking risks. She’s a star turn. In the genes, I
Carefully Miranda wiped her hands, putting the apple core into a disposable bag. “There is one determined young woman on the scene. But no announcements as yet. Annette Atwood. You know the family?”
“Of course!” Peter nodded. His best feature, his mane of thick golden-brown hair, gleamed in the sun. He was growing it artistically long, as Miranda had suggested. The look suited him and added a certain panache. “Dad’s a big-time lawyer turned property developer?”
“That’s the one.”
“Think they’ll make a go of it?” Peter asked, sensitive to how Miranda might feel about that.
“Corin has never come close to telling me about his love life,” Miranda returned very dryly.
“What about your love life?” He turned questioning blue eyes on her. Corin’s sister, who was a really lovely person and a great beauty in the classic style, was making it her business to introduce Miri to a lot of high-flying guys.
But Miranda smiled as though she didn’t have a care in the world. “I have a powerful reason to stay on course, Peter. So do you. We have careers lined up.”
“That we do. I’ve often wondered where your driving interest in medicine and medical research came from, Miri. Your background isn’t like mine, with so many doctors in it. They say genius is random. Dad says it has to be in your genes.”
“Then it must be a very long way back.” She laughed. “I come from a line of small farmers.”
“So it’s just as they say. Genius is random.”
“And we’re both geniuses!” She lightly punched his arm. “Better get going. Haven’t you got a master class at three-thirty?”
Peter started. “Hell, I almost forget. It’s so lovely being with you, Miri.” He stood up, all of six-four, dusting his jeans off. “So, what are you going to do about your birthday? It’s coming up. I suppose Zara will have something arranged?”
“No, no!” She shook her head vigorously. “Zara doesn’t know anything about it. And you are not to tell her. I don’t want any fuss. No presents, except a little one from my best mate—and that’s you!”
“But you should celebrate!” he insisted. “You’re only twenty-one once.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Of course it is! What say we get dressed up and have dinner at some posh hotel? I have money. The parents are very generous these days.”
Miranda handed over the picnic basket, then took his arm. “That will suit me just fine.”
Peter felt so happy he could have shouted with joy.
The best laid plans could always go awry, and circumstance forced them to move her birthday date forward to mid-week. Peter had been selected at short notice to replace the cellist in a highly regarded quartet, who had fallen ill. With a new member on board, intensive rehearsals would have to take place all over the weekend.
“No worries, Peter,” she reassured him, thrilled he was getting such a lucky break. “New horizons are opening up for you. Wednesday evening will be fine.”
And so it eventually turned out that Miranda’s early twenty-first birthday dinner with the young man who would become her life-long friend proved a special treat.
The following day Zara and three of her colleagues, all foreign-exchange traders, led by her boss, Sir Marcus Boyle, were to fly off to Berlin for a series of top-level business meetings.
Zara eased her tall, elegant body into the jacket of her Armani suit, picked up her briefcase, then walked to the front door that led onto its own private patch of emerald-green lawn and blossoming flowerbeds. Miranda was holding the door open for her, waving acknowledgement to the London taxi driver who had just arrived to take Zara to Heathrow. At twenty-six, Zara was very good indeed at her job. Miranda had learned that from one of her colleagues at a recent party.
“Tremendous flair. Not afraid of taking risks. She’s a star turn. In the genes, I
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