Letters From My Sister Read Online Free PDF Page B

so even I can do it.
    ‘Not sure I can get away early, sweetheart. Busy day,’ he told me.
    ‘But I haven’t seen you all week.’
    He seemed to be considering. ‘What have I done to deserve this, Katie?’ I could hear his chair swivelling around. ‘Are you feeling guilty about shagging someone behind my back?’ And then he crowed with incredulity, as if the very idea of someone cheating on him was impossible. Sam has enough arrogance to bottle up and sell internationally. Yet this is what I find most attractive about him. I always thought I would end up falling for an academic or maybe a writer. My last boyfriend was a composer who travelled the world creating soundtracks for television shows and films. I barely saw him, which was why it ended, I knew a relationship like that was heading nowhere. Yet I never thought I would go for someone like Sam. Then again, I fancy Simon Cowell, which says it all.
    I put the photograph frame back down on the bedside table and open the sliding doors to our wardrobe, clothes neatly folded into different compartments. What shall I wear? I go for the dark red lace top with the velvet trim around the neck. I’ll wear my black lacy bra underneath. Bottom half will be jeans with black boots. Sam loves those boots. I peel off my oyster pink shirt and toss it into the laundry basket, unzip my skirt and look at myself in the long mirror. My hair, now dyed back to its original dark brown, hangs loose around my face. It’s getting long. I pin it up with a clip. I have my father’s fine hair. In fact, I have inherited most of my features from Dad; the long Fletcher nose, the wide mouth and my dimple.
    I open one of the mirrored cupboards in our bathroom to find some cotton wool pads and cleanser. Sam gets infuriated with me if I leave my toothpaste or cotton wool pads lying around in the bathroom – everything has to be packed neatly into the mirrored cupboards. I like it that he is tidy. If he wasn’t, his place would look like it had been burgled.
    I wipe the day’s make-up off my face. From Mum I’ve inherited a splattering of freckles across my nose and cheeks, and my green eyes. Dad always says he fell for her eyes straight away. They were the colour of olives, and Dad loves olives. When I first met Sam he told me I had ‘come to bed eyes’. Wait till he sees Bells’ eyes, which are far more beautiful. They’re a vivid green with no sludgy grey in them at all. I sit on the edge of the bath and run the water, pouring in a capful of neroli oil, and finally I step into the sweet-scented water. It’s been a long day. Tonight will be fine. Sam will be cool about Bells and everything will be OK, I reassure myself for what must be the hundredth time.
    Later I finish laying the table, placing the new napkins I made out of muslin by each plate. Mum could turn her napkins into the shape of lilies. I used to try and copy her as a child. Now I simply fold mine in two. I open the fridge and pour myself a second glass of white wine. Sam should be here any minute now. I hear a key turn in the front door and something jolts sharply inside me. I breathe deeply, I think about Emma’s advice to come clean.
    ‘Hi, honey,’ I call. The room smells of scented candles and chips frying in golden oil. Music plays softly in the background.
    Sam enters the kitchen, hands me a bunch of scarlet and orange tulips. I thank him with a kiss and he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close to him. ‘Kitty-kins.’ He rubs his nose against mine. ‘I’m a lucky boy. I raced home. Not too late, am I?’
    ‘Perfect timing. Good day?’
    ‘Great day in the markets. Fabulous. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.’ He winks. ‘And now I’m all yours.’
    ‘That’s brilliant, Sam.’ When he’s excited about closing a deal I have tried to ask him in the past about it, but he always says, ‘Top-secret, babe, confidential,’ and taps his nose. So I rarely bother now, just make encouraging