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Ronnie’s eyes narrowed. “How long since you had sex or went on a date even? I never hear about anything juicy going on in your life.”

Kitty’s heart sank. Not only had her knickers seen little action over the last couple of years, but she could count the number of friends she had on one finger. To say life had been all work, work, work, and more work was an understatement.

“A while,” said Kitty, playing with her glass.

“Don’t look so glum about it. Just remember what Mum always used to tell you.” Ronnie put on a sing-song voice reminiscent of their mother’s. “You’d be rather pretty, Katherine, if you would put on a bit of makeup and wear your hair down once in a while.”

Kitty groaned and tapped her nail on the black marble bar top. She’d heard those words so often it was surprising her mum hadn’t inked them on her forehead as soon as she popped out of the womb.

“Yes, thank you for the reminder.” Kitty pulled her hair out of its low ponytail and shook it out. “How is Mum? I bet she’s proud as punch that I’m unemployed and technically homeless.”

“Oh, you know, barely coping. She’s currently knee-deep in re-writes ofThe Devil in the Keep.It’s the usual. Untamed Scottish Laird ruins buxom heiress. Pulitzer Prize, watch out!”

Kitty almost spat out her drink with her giggle. Their mum was a prolific historical romance writer. It’d been a curse during their teenage years.

“At least it’s a decent hotel. Not the Travelodge at Heathrow Airport. That gives her something to be proud of, surely.” Kitty swept an arm around the expansive art deco bar, past marble statues and giant palms whose leaves shuddered gently in the air conditioning.

“Whyareyou living in a hotel in Mayfair?” asked Ronnie, summoning the bartender with a flick of her wrist and an enormous smile. “We’ll have the same again,” she said to him. “But make it doubles.”

“The company owned my apartment. I leased it from them. This is a stopgap until I work out what I’m doing.”

“Well, it’s a fancy stopgap!”

“I think I’ve earned it. If I’m going to be on the breadline shortly, I’ll do it in style. Plus, I don’t want to get a place if I land a job requiring a lot of travel. Do you want something to eat?”

While Ronnie studied the snacks menu, Kitty glanced around the bar, their reflections cast on the mirrors all around them. Her eyes flicked to the right and landed on two young men at the other end, looking far further into their evening than the Cameron sisters.

Kitty’s cheeks fired hot under their interested gaze. They were city types, wearing a uniform of neat navy-blue suits and floppy fringed hair. When they noticed her attention, one of them gave her a long slow wink. Kitty froze. This sort of thing didn’t happen to her! She’d never been picked up in a hotel bar in her life. Yes, in a conference centre cloakroom and a train carriage, but this was different. This felt grown up.

Kitty leaned into Ronnie, whispering. “Don’t look now, but the strippers you hired have arrived,” she said, the whisky taking effect.

Ronnie followed Kitty’s gaze and grimaced. “I don’t like the look of yours much. Any port in a storm, though. Of course, as an old married lady, I only qualify as your chaperone.”

“Ronnie, they can’t be older than twenty.”

She grinned, her impish face lighting up with delight. “Ah, the youth of today, famous for their loose morals. Go get ‘em, gorgeous.”

As Kitty was about to throw a screwed-up napkin at her sister, the barman arrived, carrying a chilled bottle of champagne.

“Courtesy of the gentlemen along the bar,” he said, nodding in the direction of the two men.

If Kitty thought her cheeks were red before, they must be like a fire truck now. The man who’d winked at her earlier licked gently along his lower lip, ending the gesture with a leer.

“We’ve got to send it back! Please, can we send it back?” Kitty pleaded with the barman, palms growing clammy.

“Calm down, Kitty,” said Ronnie, examining the bottle’s label. “This is good stuff; we don’t want to offend anybody. Besides, it’s already open. It would be a waste. Let’s invite them over. I think you could do with some fun.”

“No, thank you. This isn’t my idea of fun.”

“Are you crazy? Twoyoung, good-looking men bought you a bottle of champagne and no doubt they’re up for a good time. What’s to say no to?”

Kitty sighed. Ronnie always did this. Railroaded whatever she wanted to do. Took over.

“Honestly, I can leave the three of you to it,” Ronnie smirked. “I’ll go upstairs to the room and put my rollers in.”

Kitty’s cheeks worked hard to suppress a smile at the image of her glamourous sister sitting in a fluffy hotel robe with lines of curlers in her hair, like a fifties sitcom housewife.

“Stop! I’m not accepting it. We’ve got our own drinks,” she said.