The Independent Bride. Sophie Weston

the moment you open your own company.’

      Dave’s career had been with big international corporates. He looked at his friend curiously. ‘Is it worth it?’

      ‘It’s great,’ said Steven. There was no mistaking his enthusiasm.

      ‘You never want to slow down?’ Dave asked tentatively.

      Slowing down was heresy in business, of course. But he remembered the gorgeous blonde whom Steven had dated all those years ago. No one mentioned her any more. Nobody linked his name with anyone else, either. Dave thought he had never met anyone as lonely as Steven Konig.

      ‘Do you never think about—er—a family, maybe?’

      Steven’s face changed. He didn’t frown exactly. He just withdrew—very slightly, very politely. Suddenly Dave wasn’t talking to his old buddy any more. He was taking formal leave of an international figure.

      Dave sighed and gave up.

      ‘Well, don’t forget you’re going to come and stay with us the very next vacation you get. Marise and I are counting on it.’

      Vacation? Steven managed to repress a hollow laugh.

      ‘Sure thing,’ he said. It was vague enough not to count as a promise. Steven always kept his promises, so he didn’t hand them out lightly.

      ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

      Steven gave his sudden smile, the one that made him look just like the student who had once worked out how to set off fireworks by remote control from Queen Margaret’s venerable tower. His eyes were vivid with amusement.

      ‘I’ll put it in the five-year plan.’

      Dave flung up his hands in mock despair. ‘You’re crazy.’

      ‘You said it yourself. I’m a Big Name,’ Steven said crisply. ‘For that, there’s a price.’

      David Guber was an important man, with stock options and the power to hire and fire. But he wasn’t Steven Konig, who had single-handedly taken his food research business from the small companies sector to the big time. The press fell over themselves to interview Steven Konig in five continents. Of course there was going to be a price.

      Dave sighed. ‘Well, if you ever get off the carousel come see us,’ he said. And to the glamorous flight attendant, who still hovered, ‘Make sure Professor Konig has the journey of his life. We owe this man, big time.’ He pumped his hand again. ‘You’re a great guy, Steven. Have a good flight.’

      Steven was already opening his briefcase before Guber had left the plane.

      ‘Can I get you anything, Professor?’ the attendant asked.

      Steven bit back a wry smile. So Dave Guber thought he ought to date, did he? How was a man to do that when every woman he met called him Professor? Or Chairman? Or even, God help him, Master?

      ‘A drink?’ The flight attendant knew her duty to the friend of a boss so big she had only ever seen him on video before. ‘Coffee?’

      Steven gave her his ordinary smile, the one he used when more than half his mind was elsewhere. ‘No, thank you.’

      ‘A warm towel?’ pressed the flight attendant, trying hard.

      ‘Nothing.’ He corrected that. ‘You’ll give me everything I need if you just keep other people away.’

      He had caught sight of several British delegates from the conference in the airport. He could just see them grabbing the chance of a transatlantic flight to buttonhole him. Experience had taught him that someone always wanted advice they didn’t listen to or the name of contacts whom they misused.

      He said with feeling, ‘I’d really appreciate some peace.’

      ‘You’ve got it,’ said the flight attendant, relieved.

      Steven worked until long after the attendants had put out the cabin lights and his fellow passengers had composed themselves for sleep. He finished making notes on the monthly statements of Kplant, dictated two memos and a letter, and then skimmed the agenda for the next college meeting. Finishing that, he looked at his watch. Space for two hours’ sleep if he was sensible.

      And I’m always sensible, thought Steven wryly. With two jobs, three titles and more responsibilities than he could shake a stick at, he had to be.

      He stretched out on the wonder of a first-class transcontinental airline bed and clicked off his overhead light. He was asleep in seconds.

      Pepper had never flown coach before. It was an experience, she thought grimly.

      The seat was uncomfortably tight. The woman in the next seat kept jabbing her in the ribs and maintained an agitated monologue until she finally fell asleep. And in the row behind a party of young entrepreneurs were drinking and laughing loudly about some conference they had been to in New York. By the time the cabin crew had finally settled them down Pepper knew that sleep was hopeless.

      Suppose that’s the price of running away, she told herself, with an attempt at humour. No more business class for you.

      Only it didn’t make her laugh. Not even smile. In fact she felt her stomach clench as if she had just swallowed a glassful of ice. And not because of the loss of luxury.

      I am not running away. I am not running away.

      Pepper winced. Even in her head she sounded defensive.

      Who are you kidding, Pepper? Of course you’re running away!

      She shivered—then pulled the thin flight blanket up to her chin. It made her feel a bit warmer but it did not stop the inner turmoil.

      She had always known that crossing her grandmother was a risk. But she had never suspected the lengths that Mary Ellen would go to.

      Because I still thought I was her little princess! I thought she loved me. What an idiot I was. What a blind, naïve idiot. And I thought I was so street-smart!

      Mary Ellen’s revenge had not been subtle. It had been fast.

      Within two days of their secret meeting Pepper had notice to quit her apartment. Well, she had expected that; her grandmother had rented it to her in the first place. She had not expected to find her appointment diary suddenly emptying. Or the company that rented her office space suddenly demanding that she pay a year’s rent up-front or leave in a week. Or to have her platinum credit card suddenly withdrawn.

      She had tried to speak to Mary Ellen. But her grandmother had refused to take her calls. So Pepper had gone to the Calhoun Carter building.

      Mary Ellen refused to see her. More, she’d kept her waiting for half an hour, then had the security force escort her from the building under guard.

      Pepper had not believed it. ‘Why?’ she had said to Mary Ellen’s PA. She had known Carmen all her life.

      Carmen had tears in her eyes but she did not stop the uniformed guards.

      ‘Everyone will think I’ve been stealing from her,’ Pepper said, still too bewildered to be indignant.

      Carmen looked as if she were going to cry in earnest. ‘That’s why.’

      ‘You mean—’ Pepper struggled with it. ‘This is a publicity stunt?’

      ‘Mrs Calhoun says you want independence, you’ve got it.’ Carmen sounded as if she had learned it off by heart. And as if she were eating glass.

      ‘You mean she wants to destroy my credibility,’ said Pepper slowly. ‘Oh, Carmen!’

      The PA blew her nose. ‘Better go quietly, Pepper. You don’t want to make the evening news.’

      So Pepper went.

      She went back to her apartment, sat down and made a list of what she had got going for her. It was frighteningly little—a good business brain, a wardrobe of executive suits, enough money