“On his fortieth birthday.”
I almost swallow my tongue. He turned forty that night? I mean, I knew it was his birthday but, forty? That means there are sixteen years between us. Sixteen! Well, nearer fifteen, I guess. I read somewhere that there are seventeen years between George Clooney and Amal. And Jay Z is more than a decade older than Beyoncé. Argh! Why am I thinking this? It’s not like Alexander and I are going to have a happily ever after. No matter what he says. Plus, Bey and Amal have their stuff together—their own careers and their own money. If Alexander and I were in a relationship for real, people would label me gold-digging ho.
The duke and the girl from Mookatill.
What a joke. People would surely laugh all the way from the Highlands to my little buttphuck nowhere home.
A finger of dread pokes at my chest because I’ve had enough labels for one lifetime. I don’t want to be the nanny he once had, and I don’t want to find my name in the press. But these are wasted thoughts—he’s not serious about me at all. He might want more than a quick screw in the kitchen, but that doesn’t mean anything.
“It created quite a stir when he didn’t turn up,” she adds lightly. “His friends were furious, not least because he was reading their messages and ignoring them. Then afterwards, he wouldn’t say where he’d been. But there was a lightness in him in the following weeks. I’d catch him smiling to himself when he thought no one was looking. I’d hoped he’d met someone, but then, he went back to his usual self again.”
I can feel her watching me carefully as I digest her words like a cookie you don’t need but can’t resist anyway. A minute on the lips and a lifetime on the hips, as Nana used to say. And though Alexander says he wants more than a moment, he’s not looking for a lifetime either.
Isla can’t be looking for a positive reaction from me. For hope or pleasure. I’m not the right woman to be on his arm. She must know that.
“When you came to us, I had no idea you knew Sandy.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say with a twist to my lips because we’ve already been over this. But one thing I’m certain of, if I’d turned up and said I’d slept with her brother, I’m sure I’d have been back at the train station pretty darn quick. It’s nice that she seems to like me. That she’s comfortable talking about her family problems with me, but that doesn’t mean anything. And that’s something I need to keep reminding myself.
“I had no idea who he was,” I murmur, feeling like she’s waiting for an explanation as I drop my butt to the arm of one of the hearthside padded chairs. “I know he’s a good man because he was a gentleman that night.” A gentleman of no ordinary standing. “He helped get me out of an awkward encounter when he could’ve quite easily left me.” My eyes find hers, and I wonder what she sees there. “It was a night I won’t ever forget, but I wouldn’t have come here if I’d know I’d see him again because some things aren’t meant to be real.”
“I see.”
But she can’t. Not really. But then a thought hits me. I think I know where she’s going with this.
“Look, if you want me to sign an NDA, I absolutely understand.” Because no one should have their dirty laundry aired in public.
“No, Holly,” she says with a sad smile. “That won’t be necessary but thank you. For everything. Well, I suppose I’d better go and make sure the monsters are ready for school.”
“Sure!” I reply with the kind of perkiness that only comes with force.
Isla pauses as we reach the door. “I have a call this afternoon with Sarah from the agency.”
“Oh, cool.”
“I’m sure,” she says, touching my arm once more, “it won’t be long until you’re able to move on.”
And I should be happy about that, right? So, like an idiot, I smile.
“One other thing.” Out in the hallway, Isla turns back to face me. “Griffin seems intent on staying, too. Not that I think that will make much difference to you.”
“Nope,” I answer. “None at all.”
“Uncle Sandy says Batman has invited us over for a party next weekend,” Archie pipes up from the back seat of Isla’s Range Rover a few days later. “It’s next Saturday.”
“He means Dylan Duffy,” Hugh corrects with an air of long-suffering. “Mummy said the invitation included your name, too.”
“It did?” I ask, glancing into the rear-view mirror. Hugh nods. “So, is it Alasdair’s birthday or his brother’s?” I can’t recall the name of the younger boy.
“No, it’s not a birthday party. It’s a grown-up one, but we were invited because Alasdair is allowed to invite two friends to sleep over the same night. We’re going to watch movies and eat popcorn.”
“And play Minecraft all night!” Archie adds.
“You’re not supposed to tell. It’s a secret,” Hugh chastises.
“Holly won’t tell,” the younger boy retorts, unfazed. “She didn’t tell on you for chopping off Apollo’s head.”
“It wasn’t Apollo. It was a statue of Apollo.” Leaning over, Hugh squeezed his brother’s knee.
“Enough of that,” I say, using my stern teacher voice.
“And she took the blame for it, too,” Archie responds, punching Hugh in the arm.
“Do I have to pull over and call your mom?”
“No!” they respond in unison.
“Sorry, Hugh,” Archie mutters.
“Me, too. And I’m sorry Uncle Sandy blamed you,” he adds, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror again. “I’m also grateful you didn’t blab.”
“Snitches get stiches,” I reply with a laugh. “But that’s not true,” I add in a much more sober tone. I’m not talking to Wilder the rugrat here, but the little men I’m supposed to be setting a good example for. “You really shouldn’t hide things from grown-ups. Not the important stuff, anyway.”
“Are popcorn and movie secrets important?” Archie asks.
“Well, friend, I guess that secret won’t say secret for very long. Not when she has to deal with a couple of cranky pants the next morning.” Unless she’s expecting me to look after them that night and the following day. But I can’t see that being the case.
“I wonder what the grown-ups will be doing at their party,” Archie ponders, staring out at the fields of sheep we pass.
“Holly can tell us afterwards,” answers Hugh.
“I think I’ll be eating popcorn with you two.”
“No, you’re not that lucky,’ he answers sagely. “Because I heard her telling Uncle Sandy not to bother you, that she would tell you.”
“Tell me what?” My brows pull together.
“That your name was on the invitation. That you’ll have to wear makeup and high heels and a fancy dress.”
“She said all that?”
“No, I was just warning you that’s what you’ll need to do. It all sounds very boring.”
Confusing, more like. Why invite me? But I guess it gives me something to look forward to, apart from Archie and Hugh’s upcoming school holiday and the extra work that will bring. I push out a huffy breath, silently acknowledging that I’m just being cranky this morning. But it’s been a strange week. As planned, I’d mostly confined myself to my room when I wasn’t working. The school runs in the morning and afternoons, donning my long brown skirt and becoming Miss Boo in between. I’d made afterschool snacks and supervised homework before handing over the kid-watching reins to Isla and hurrying off to my room. I’ve barely set foot in the kitchen after the tepid welcome I’d received at the weekend. I’d called my sister a couple of times, but she was in no mood to chat. I’d read and watched TV and basically lived like a hermit. Without the inclusion of a cave.