giggles. “You said ‘y’all.’”
“Focus, Jilly.”
“Grape scissors are only rarely used, you know.”
“Like when you eat grapes?”
“Exactly. I wouldn’t go worrying about those. You’ve got a few social engagements coming up. There’s the exhibition opening for Sebby’s father’s foundation and Johnathan and Phoebe’s wedding—”
“I’m a bridesmaid at that.”
“Oh, lovely. Will Geraldine be there? What am I saying, of course she will. Johnathan Bentley’s family and the Huntington-Rosses have been friends for centuries. Well, other than the time around Charles II’s reign when some of them tried to poison the other to take their land. I’m not sure whether it was the Bentleys poisoning the Huntington-Rosses, or the Huntington-Rosses poisoning the Bentleys.” She looks at me questioningly, as though I should have the answer.
I shrug. “No idea.”
“Oh, well. That’s all water under the bridge now. Or poison in the bloodstream, you could say. The point is, Geraldine will be there, so you’ll need to be the perfect BM.”
“The perfect BM,” I echo, my tummy doing backflips.
She studies me across the table for a moment before her face breaks into a smile. “Emma, I would love to help you. I will train you up to be the very best Lady Martinston you can be, and together we will win Geraldine over. You mark my words.”
Relief washes through me. “You are an absolute lifesaver, Jilly. How will I ever repay you?”
She waves my question away with a flick of her wrist. “Make darling Sebby happy. That’s enough for me.”
I grin back at her. “That I can do.”
“Now, the first thing on the agenda it would seem to me should be how we clean up this opera debacle.”
A fresh wave of mortification pounds up against me. “Oh, yes. That.”
She grins at me. “We may need some more of those yummy biscuits for that, darling girl.”
“I’m on it.” As I make my way over to the counter, I feel a huge weight lift from my shoulders. I have a plan, I have an accomplice, and I’m going to show Geraldine that I’m worthy of her grandson and the title Lady Martinston.
Chapter 9
“What’s Heather McCabe like?” I ask Sebastian as he skillfully backs his car into a parallel park on a busy street in Shepherd’s Bush. It’s an area of London that, by the looks of the traffic clogged streets, the buildings, and the streams of people going about their business, has got absolutely nothing to do with sheep. Or bushes, for that matter.
It’s something I’ve noticed in my time here in the UK. They’ve got some pretty funny names for places. Point in case, the word “Bottom” appears in a ridiculously large number of place-names, from Shepherd’s Bottom to Wild Church Bottom, to my personal favorite, Loose Bottom, which sounds like the sort of place no one would want to visit ever.
And don’t even get me started on all the place-names that involve words that describe parts of the anatomy, because things can go downhill pretty fast, I can tell you that. (Titty Hill, anyone?)
Back in Shepherd’s Bush, Sebastian turns the ignition off and says, “Heather is good at her job, that’s for certain.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning she’s blunt. She calls a spade a spade. You know where you stand with her.”
I climb out of the car and close the heavy sports car door with a clunk. “She sounds a little scary.”
“She’s harmless. She just knows what she wants.”
“Well, for the sake of Martinston, let’s hope she wants us.”
He takes my hand in his. “Who wouldn’t?”
We walk together along the bustling city street for a couple of blocks until we arrive at a nondescript mid-century modern brick building that looks like it could do with a serious upgrade. Standing outside the building, talking animatedly on her phone, is Jilly. She’s here in her official capacity as the Huntington-Ross’s lawyer, but I’m glad to see a friendly face.
“All right, darling. Okay. Just don’t let it go pear shaped, ya? I’m relying on you. All right. Bye bye, now.” She hangs up the phone and greets me as though she didn’t just see me at the café on Saturday and she has in fact been starved of my attention for far too long. “Sebby, Emma! Darlings!” M-wah, m-wah. You know the drill.
Gotta love Jilly.
“Are you ready to go in?” Sebastian asks her.
“Wild horses could not keep Jilly away,” she replies. “Oh, and Emma, don’t you look scrumptious in that divine pants suit of yours? What is it, gaberdine?”
I’m pretty sure my suit is a crappy polyester mix of some description with