SAMANTHA stepped back from the dining-table and surveyed it from a little distance, smiling at the sheen of highly polished silver, the scallops of lace on the cloth, the crystal bowl of dark red roses in the centre.
"Looks really romantic, doesn't it?" Anna said beside her, cramming her apron into her carrier bag as she spoke.
"Yes, doesn't it?" agreed Samantha, her dark blue eyes switching to the other woman's face. "Thank you for staying on too late to help me get everything ready."
"That's all right, ma'am. It was a pleasure; I hope you have a lovely evening. That chicken smells delicious already; I've left the cherries on the side to be reheated in the microwave, and the oranges are in the fridge. I think that's everything..." Anna added, "...ooh, I nearly forgot..." she rummaged in her bag again and pulled out a tall, well packaged box. "Happy Anniversary, Mrs Sutter."
"Oh...thank you...you're so kind." Samantha pulled out a black wine bottle taped with red ribbons and a card and smiled, very touched.
Anna observed her expression with satisfaction. "I'm glad you like it. Now, sure you wouldn't like me to stay and serve the dinner, and wash up afterwards? You don't want to be rushing in and out on a special evening like this..." Samantha laughed softly, mischief in her eyes.
"Anna, when we were first married I couldn't afford to have anyone to cook or clean for me. I did it all myself, and enjoyed doing it. Thanks for offering to stay, I appreciate all the help you give me, but this evening I'd like to have my husband all to myself. I won't even bother about the washing up tonight, it can be done tomorrow." Anna winked.
"I get you. Mr Sutter is always that busy, isn't he? Be a special treat to have him all to yourself for once. Well, enjoy yourselves." She bustled out, the front door banged it behind her, and when she had gone Samantha carefully placed the bottle among the two other bottles already standing on the dinner table with all the food and carefully placed the card among the handful already standing on the white marble mantelpiece above the fireplace.
Few people had sent them anniversary cards, few people knew it was their anniversary, and she was quite content with that because the cards which had come were all from people she loved and knew loved her.
She did not want an avalanche of cards, like those which came each Christmas, from business connections of Darius; customers or suppliers, people who worked for him or bought from him, or had met him socially, or wanted to...all the hordes of London acquaintances her husband seemed to have.
Darius apparently knew hundreds of people, most of whom Samantha had never met. His secretary usually dealt with the straightforward business cards sent to his London office, but there were still a great many who wanted to claim a more personal relationship and sent their cards to his country house, to be opened and gazed at blankly by his wife. Each year there seemed to be more of them, and they increasingly took some of the meaning out of Christmas, for her.
There was no anniversary card from Darius himself, but he had sent her the dark red roses she had arranged so happily on the dinner table, her hand tender because, although she often received bouquets of flowers from her husband, for once she could be absolutely certain it had been Darius himself who had chosen these, not his secretary, the super efficient Miss Porter.
Only Darius knew that the first flowers he had ever sent her were dark red roses, which had cost far more than he could afford at the time. She had scolded him, tears of pleasure in her eyes, because they needed every penny of his salary for more essential things than roses, but he had kissed her and said, "One day I'll send you so many red roses you'll be smothered by them."
Eyes fixed in memory, she stared at the mantel piece without seeing it for a moment, then suddenly focused on the elegant clock hanging on the wall and gave a cry of horror at the time.
Darius would be home any minute and she wasn't dressed yet! She flew up the stairs, unbuttoning her blouse as she went, turned on the shower as she shed the rest of her clothes, then carefully fitted a shower cap over her blonde hair and stepped under the lukewarm jets of water.
She had timed this whole operation perfectly, and now she was running late and would have to hurry over this very important part of the evening. Damn! She stiffened as the her house phone began to ring. She looked at her cellphone and saw no missed calls.
Now, who was that? She had intended to set the phone to automatic answering machine; she must do that as soon as the phone stopped ringing. Thank heavens Darius wasn't home yet. It would almost certainly be for him, the house phone hardly rings except at weekends, at weekends calls on the house phone were mostly for him, and she did not want anything to distract him from her tonight.
Stepping out of the shower, she took off the plastic cap, shook her long hair free, wrapped herself in a loose, white towelling robe, ignoring the insistent ringing of the phone until it stopped, and then rushed downstairs and switched on the answering machine. Any further calls would be re-routed and could be dealt with tomorrow.
She went back upstairs into her bedroom and gently towelled herself, putting on the white silk lingerie she had earlier laid out on the bed; a lace trimmed bra, a lacy teddy, suspender belt, matching slip, ultra-fine stockings. Looking around to check the time on her cellphone, she realized she'd left it downstairs, she shrugged and continued her business.
She was quite tall: a slightly built girl with pronounced cheekbones, large, deep set blue eyes, a wide, finely cut mouth. Viewing herself before she slipped into her dress, she sighed over her lack of curves. She was too thin, her breasts small, if rather nicely shaped; she lacked the sort of sex appeal she would love to have.
People always said blondes were sexy, but they didn't mean her type of blonde. Her hair was so pale it was almost silver; she wore it long because Darius had often said he preferred it that way. For years now she had wound it on top of her head in a perfect bun because Darius said it made her look elegant, and if she couldn't look sexy she could at least look elegant for him.
The reflection she was staring at was too familiar; she had been looking like this for so long, she couldn't remember the last time she had made any changes to the way she looked, and it had been Darius's preferences which dictated her appearance, although it had been an age since he had paid her any compliments, or indeed made any comment on how she looked.