Page 3

However, in the two years that Nancy had worked for Ari, it had turned out that there were a few additional bolt-ons which hadn’t been in the original job description. Nancy’s workday had her acting as an errand runner, last-minute reservation magician, finder of lost handbags, caffeine provider, and hangover supplies collector.

Nancy had accepted that working for Ari meant expecting the unexpected. Still, the paycheque was decent, and Ari, whilechaotic, was never rude to her. You couldn’t guarantee that with the moneyed. So she wasn’t thinking about going anywhere. Not unless things with Ari took a downward turn.

But until that day, Nancy would do her job, take her money, and keep her distance from the worst of Ari’s messes. It wasn’t personal, and it wasn’t complicated. The sweet spot.

Nancy parked herself on a chair and re-checked the route for the big Scottish journey while she awaited Ari. It was going to take a few days to get to Dunmore Hall, with one stopover. Though Nancy couldn’t memorise the route as such, she liked to know what it was about. She could only hope that Ari wouldn’t throw her any curveballs.

Ari walked out of the bathroom, stunningly fresh and quaffed. Nancy didn’t know how the hell she’d done it.

‘How do I look?’ Ari asked.

‘Very put together,’ Nancy said.

Ari sighed. ‘Wow. Sweep me off my feet with the compliments, why don’t you?’

Nancy didn’t engage. It was best if you didn’t with Ari. ‘OK, ready to roll?’ she asked, standing.

‘Yes. Though I’d love a—’

‘There’s coffee and painkillers in the car,’ Nancy assured her.

Ari moaned. ‘You’re a legend. Never leave me. I would die in a week.’

‘There’s also water,’ Nancy told her.

‘I probably won’t drink the water, but I appreciate the thought,’ Ari said with a cheeky grin.

‘I know you won’t,’ Nancy said agreeably. ‘But I feel compelled to at least try to hydrate you.’

With one final glance around the dismal hotel room, Nancy opened the door wider and gestured for Ari to follow. Together, they stepped out into the corridor, leaving behind the remnants of a night that had been as unpredictable as the woman she was determined to help navigate another day.

Three

Ari moved around the room in a frenzy, clothes tossed into the suitcase without care. She didn’t pause to fold or even consider. Whatever was closest went straight in, a mess of high-end fabric crammed together like the contents of a laundry hamper.

‘We definitely heading out today?’ Nancy’s voice was light, but Ari could hear the concern underneath it.

Ari glanced over her shoulder, unfazed, and grinned playfully. ‘Oh, stop fussing. On the hangover scale, this one’s barely a five.’ Another pair of shoes flew into the suitcase, tossed in with an exaggerated flourish.

Nancy bent to pick up a jacket that had fallen to the floor. ‘It might be worth packing a little more… strategically.’

Ari laughed, not taking her eyes off the suitcase. ‘Strategic packing? Yes, that sounds like something I’m going to start doing any minute now.’

Just then, Ari heard the front door open. There was only one person with a set of keys besides Ari and Nancy, so Ari knew who the uninvited guest was. Dread filled her heart.

The sharp click of her heels echoed across the floor as she casually pushed past Nancy and entered the bedroom. Ari’s mother was among them.

‘You’re taking the week off?’ she began. ‘A whole week?’

Ari didn’t look up, her hands still moving, though at a slightly slower pace.

‘I’m just taking annual leave,’ Ari muttered, the words coming out brittle, already drained by the coming confrontation. ‘People do that. It’s normal.’

Her mother exhaled sharply. ‘Not for you. Not when you’ve been given an opportunity most people would kill for. Do you think I pulled strings so you could waltz out whenever you feel like it?’

Ari’s fingers tightened around a jumper sleeve, her knuckles going white for a second. She swallowed and exhaled, trying to remain unaffected.

‘It’sleave,’ Ari said, her voice a little slower now, almost like she was trying to make her mother hear her. ‘I got permission.’