Lost and Found. Jane Sigaloff
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Praise for Jane Sigaloff’s
Name & Address Withheld:
“This book is the perfect antidote to Christmas
get-togethers. Escape to a comfy chair and enjoy!”
—Company
“Sigaloff’s first novel is without doubt
an engaging romantic comedy!”
—Booklist
“Witty, juicy and romantic—a clever, controversial
comedy about finding love in all the wrong places.”
—Bestselling author Sarah Mlynowski
“Moving and cleverly written…
a great present for a girlfriend in need of some love advice (we all have one of these).”
—handbag.com
“4½ stars… Sigaloff has an interesting
take on the relationship conundrum.”
—funkybitch.com
“Unusually daring in its approach…”
—The Big Issue
Jane Sigaloff
was born in London and, despite brief trips into the countryside, Jane has always been a city girl at heart. After studying history at Oxford University she entered the allegedly glamorous world of television, beginning her career as tea and coffee coordinator for Nickelodeon U.K. After she progressed to researcher and then to assistant producer, her contracts took her to MTV and finally to the BBC where she worked for over three years.
Since 2000, Jane has enjoyed a double life as a part-time P.A., which has given her more time to write and feel guilty about not going to the gym. She lives in London with her laptop and ever-expanding CD collection. Lost & Found is her second novel.
Find out more about Jane at: www.janesigaloff.com
By the same author:
Name & Address Withheld
Lost & Found
Jane Sigaloff
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In a concerted attempt to be more concise than last time, immeasurable thanks and much love to my friends and family for their unwavering support, for listening (or at least making encouraging noises while thinking about other things), for their positivity and for ensuring that the life of this writer is by no means a solitary one.
In particular:
Omi—my PR granny extraordinaire. Kate—for always being there for me (and for valiant shelf patrol). Charlotte—for indispensable and immediate fast-talking advice. Louise, Alice, Gemma, Mandy, Fred and all at the Barnes Ladies Writing Circle—it wouldn’t be as much fun without you. Marten Foxon, the most flexible boss in London—for employing the only part-time part-time P.A., for being grammatically pedantic and for tales of the city. Melissa, Stuart and Clodagh—for providing insight into life as a lawyer and answering all my questions with due consideration. Peter French and Alex Tscherne at the Carlyle Hotel, New York, for unrivaled hospitality.
As always, thanks to my agent, Carole Blake, to Sam Bell for editorial prowess and keeping me focused, to Claire Sawford for PR duties and to the whole Red Dress Ink team who have worked so hard on my behalf both in the U.K. and North America.
For my parents—
all of them
and
for Paul—
my little big brother and partner in crime since 1975.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter One
‘Something to drink, sir?’
‘We’ll have champagne…’
Sam hid behind her eyelids. She’d closed them for the steep climb from JFK and must have slipped straight into a power nap. But now she was very much awake. And listening. Taittinger + senior supervising partner (flirting) + altitude of 38,000 feet = certain recipe for disaster.
‘Just a still mineral water for me, please.’ Opening her eyes, Sam automatically ran a finger along her bottom lashes to remove any smudges of mascara, whilst flexing her calves and curling and uncurling her toes to prevent the onset of DVT. If she focused on her legs she was almost sure she could feel that the blood flow was a little sluggish in the bended knee area. Hypochondria in action. Sometimes knowledge was definitely not a good thing.
‘Oh, come on, let’s celebrate.’ Richard punched her arm playfully. Regrettably, despite the extra room in business class, he was still well within touching distance.
‘No, really. I might have some red with supper. You go ahead.’ She still couldn’t believe he’d flown out for the meetings. As for his behaviour last night—she was generously going to attribute it to the martinis. Yet he was sitting next to her. For the next seven hours. Twenty-first century purgatory.
‘Couldn’t you squeeze in one glass? We’re not billing them for this hour.’
Now he was trying lawyer jokes. ‘No, thanks.’ Champagne invariably gave her a headache at sea level. ‘Just the water.’ She exchanged an esoteric smile with the flight attendant as another waft of his Eau de Testosterone threatened to choke them both.
‘Great work this week. Very impressive. You know how highly I rate you.’
Typical ambiguity on the personal-professional