I forced myself to focus on this nightmare. Did I love him? I’d come to realise that my emotions couldn’t be trusted. Did I want to marry him? Not this very minute, but I wouldn’t mind another couple of years of deliberation.
But was I going to humiliate him in front of all these people? No. There was nothing else for it.
I nodded my head.
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
He slipped a gleaming diamond solitaire on to my finger. I didn’t mention that years ago I’d had another one just like it.
The roar from the crowd would have raised the roof if it wasn’t for the fact that we were in the basement and there were forty floors above us.
G cut in. ‘Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Happy New Year, everyone!!!!!!’
We were engulfed by sweaty bodies.
‘Happy New Year, Mrs Morton.’
‘Happy New Year, Sam.’
How was I going to get myself out of this one?
My cowardly tendencies kicked in over the next few months. Instead of telling Sam that I wasn’t 100 per cent sure about the ever-after stuff, I spent my time getting used to the idea of spending the rest of my life with him.
Somehow I managed to completely convince myself that it would work. After all, I adored him and loved every moment that we spent together. Yep, it would work. Definitely. Absolutely.
So why did I keep fobbing him off when he pressed me for a wedding date?
One day in July, I was summoned by Peter Flynn. I approached his office tentatively. Somehow, I knew it wouldn’t be good news. I was right.
‘Miss Cooper, your next posting has come through.’
I was stunned. ‘But I didn’t apply for one. I was planning to stay here indefinitely.’
‘I’m sorry, but that isn’t possible. It is the policy of this hotel to change the nightclub manager every year. That way, the operation stays fresh. I do believe you knew that.’
‘Well, yes, I did…’ I vaguely remembered him telling me that when we first met, but I hadn’t realised it was set in stone. ‘… but I thought you would speak to me before deciding my fate.’
He was unrepentant.
‘Miss Cooper,’ he shrilled, ‘I am a very busy man. I have over thirty expats working in this building. If I spent my time considering all their feelings, I wouldn’t have time to run a hotel.’
I didn’t know how to answer that, especially as there was clearly no point in arguing with him.
‘And where will my next posting be?’
‘We have vacancies in London or Dubai. Both hotels are happy to accept you. It’s your choice. You leave in four weeks.’
London. Dubai. Both of them a world away from Hong Kong. Dammit.
I thought about it for the rest of the day. Did I want to stay here? I loved Hong Kong, and could probably pick up another job here, but the thought of starting over again in another venue filled me with dread. ‘Asia’ was the best club on the island, with a great clientele. Sure, there were bigger ones, but they were full of teenagers in Wonderbras and Lycra, raving themselves into exhaustion. The very thought of it was enough to give me a migraine. No, that wasn’t an option.
I could try working in another field, but managing nightclubs was all I knew. I wasn’t qualified to do anything else. Nor would I want to. I loved every drunken, decadent, unpredictable minute I spent in a club. They were as much a part of me as breasts and cellulite. No, I’d be miserable working anywhere else.
Dubai sounded appealing. Sun, sea, sand and the kind of wealth that would make my job easy. But London. Carol, Jess and Kate were there. I longed for a good night out with the girls, to be able to talk to them all night without a time delay. Surely it must be fate? But how could I ask Sam to leave Hong Kong? His whole life was here. He had the next twenty years mapped out like a battle plan. He would have enough money to open his school in two years and that was his lifelong ambition. It was his dream. How could I stand in the way of that when I didn’t know what I was going to be doing a week on Sunday?
Why did life have to be so bloody difficult?
Options raced through my mind.
Maybe Sam would want to come to London?
Who was I kidding?
What about having a long distance relationship for a year? At least that would test the strength of our commitment! Sam wasn’t Tom – he would work with me on this.
Yes, that was it. Sam wouldn’t like it, but surely he’d see that it was the best of a bad lot of options.
Wrong.
When I told Sam that night, his reaction was not the one that I’d expected. He flew into his second ever rage, smacking his fist through the wall. At least now we had a ventilation hole.
‘They can’t do that!’
‘They can, Sam. It’s just the way it works.’
‘So leave. Tell them to shove their job. You’ll get another one here, no problem.’
I said nothing. He stared at me.
After a couple of moments, absurdly, he laughed.
‘Oh, I see. You want to take one of them, don’t you? You’ve made up your fucking mind already. When were you planning to tell me, in a note after you’d left?’
As if I’d do a thing like that! Eh, had he been speaking to Joe?
I suddenly transformed into ‘cliché woman’. Every well-worn platitude I could think of was trooped out.
‘Sam, look, I want to go home for a while. I’ve been away for nearly three years. I think that maybe I want to take the one in London, but I don’t want it to be the end of us. This has all been such a rush so far. Maybe some time apart will be good for
