“I don’t listen to a word he says about the book,” admitted Harry. “I’m only interested in the number of hardback copies he will print for the first impression. He can’t bluff that. Because if it’s over a hundred thousand this time, it means he thinks he’s got a number-one best seller.”

“And under a hundred thousand?” said Seb.

“Then he’s not so sure.”

Father and son walked down the gangway together just over an hour later. One of them was clinging onto a manuscript and heading for a publishing house in Manhattan, while the other took a cab to Penn Station armed with no more than an address in Georgetown.

Chapter 26

26

SEBASTIAN STOOD ON the other side of the road clutching a large bunch of red roses. He stared at the front door of a small, single-story redbrick house. In front, a little square of grass that could have been cut with scissors, was surrounded by begonias. A swept path led up to a recently painted front door with a brass knocker that shone in the late morning sun. So neat, so tidy, and so Samantha.

Why was he fearless whenever he took on Adrian Sloane, or crossed swords with someone over a million-pound deal, when knocking on what might not even prove to be Sam’s front door filled him with apprehension? He took a deep breath, crossed the road, walked slowly up the path, and knocked tentatively on the door. When it opened, his immediate reaction was to turn and run. It had to be Sam’s husband.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, eyeing the roses suspiciously.

“Is Samantha in?” Seb asked, wondering if suspicion would quickly turn to anger.

“She hasn’t lived here for over a year.”

“Do you know where she’s moved?”

“No idea. Sorry.”

“But she must have left a forwarding address,” said Seb desperately.

“The Smithsonian,” the man replied, “that’s where she works.”

“Thanks,” said Seb, but the door had already closed.

This encounter made him feel a little bolder, and he quickly returned to the street and hailed the first passing cab. During the journey to the Smithsonian, he must have repeated to himself a dozen times, stop being so feeble and just get on with it. The worst she can do is …

When he got out of the cab, he found himself standing in front of a very different door: a massive glass panel that never seemed to remain closed for more than a few seconds at a time. He marched into the entrance hall. Three young women in smart blue uniforms were standing behind a reception desk, dealing with visitors’ queries.

Seb approached one of them, who smiled when she saw the roses. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Samantha Sullivan.”