Page 52 of Pyg

“What I mean to say is, please don’t mention any of this to Catherine.”

Alice nodded and left the room, manila file in hand and head swimming with her new assignment. This was the sort of thing she’d usually run by Maggie. But seeing as her sensible sister was sunning herself on a white sandy beach, Alice would have to make do with her own instincts. And she was more than a little intrigued by Francesca Dalton.

* * *

“As if this place is real!”Alice blinked through the windscreen as the vast expanse of Stonehurst Abbey unfurled into view at the end of the tree-lined driveway. Amidst a thick curtain of ivy, the abbey’s weathered sandstone facade glowed in the mid-morning sun.

Alice pulled into a parking spot and cranked the handbrake; her Fiesta groaned with the effort. But it’d just passed its MOT, so there were plenty of miles left in the old girl yet.

Having recently turned forty, Alice felt a bit the same; still roadworthy, but prone to groan, especially when effort was required. She stepped outside into the fresh country air which, if she were honest, smelt a bit like shit, but there was something wholesome about it. Just as there was something wholesome about being out and about at this hour on a Saturday, instead of lying in her pit, doom-scrolling whilst eating Pop-Tarts straight from the box.

By the looks of the abbey, work would be a pleasure. Plus, with the double-time Jeremy had promised, she’d be able to pay Maggie back for the little loan, at last.

The notes in Jeremy’s manila file had outlined a smart-casual dress code, but Alice had erred on the side of smart. She’d met Francesca Dalton in the flesh, and she seemed so stuck-up it was entirely possible the woman slept in formal evening wear.

Alice adjusted her blouse where it had ruffleden routeand smoothed down her charcoal-grey pencil skirt, which hugged her hips, showing off her hourglass figure. She even looked good in the reflection of her grubby car window; blonde curls tumbling around her face, full lips painted deep red to match her blouse.

If nothing else, she’d nailed the part of ‘sexy PA’, although admittedly that wasn’t the part she’d been hired to play. No, essentially she was here to take the minutes for a meeting where a bunch of bored, rich housewives took themselves way too seriously. But as well as overtime, this was a free stay in an incredible hotel she’d never have been able to afford otherwise, so the least she could do was look professional — sexiness was a bonus.

Pulling her small wheelie case behind her, Alice stepped through the stone-arched entrance into a dark, wood-panelled Reception. Archways encircled the room and led to stone corridors spidering in every direction. Enormous pillar candles flickered in elaborate candelabras, and statues in various states of undress adorned plinths everywhere she looked. Alice felt like she’d gone back in time as she wheeled up to the front desk and dinged the bell. A moment later, a concealed door in the panelled wall opened; a tall man in a hotel uniform appeared and eyed Alice over the top of the spectacles perched on the end of his long nose.

“How can I help you?” The corners of the man’s thin lips tugged upwards with the hint of a smile.

“Alice French. I should have a reservation.”

The man’s gaze dropped to the computer concealed within the desk. His frown deepened as he tapped at the keyboard and clicked the mouse.

“I’m with Francesca Dalton. Ivywood Ladies Club?”

“Ah yes.” The man stood taller and removed his glasses. “Let me show you to your room.” He stepped from behind the desk and took Alice’s small suitcase. “This way, please.”

“Are you able to let Mrs Dalton know I’m here?”

“Yes, of course. I am to show you to your room first, though.”

The clip-clop of Alice’s heels echoed along the corridor as she followed behind the man; she glanced about herself, trying to work out how she’d remember the way. They came to a wooden staircase at the end of the hall.

“We have you just up here.”

The wooden stairs led to a small landing with two doors facing each other. The man swiped a key card in the door to the right, then stood back to hold it open. Alice stepped into the most luxurious hotel room she’d ever seen. A four-poster bed draped in red linens and plush pillows dominated the centre of the room. From the high ceiling hung an ornate chandelier, its teardrop pendants sparkling in the sunlight spilling through the window.

“Enjoy your stay with us, Ms French.”

Alice had almost forgotten the man. He’d deposited her case on the luggage rack, and no doubt looked on in bemusement as she’d gawped at her surroundings, hoping there hadn’t been some mistake and this room was actually meant for somebody else.

“Thank you,” she smiled.

The man bowed his head and closed the door behind him. Alice released an excited squeal and stamped her feet before kicking off her heels and jumping starfish-style onto the bed. She’d have sent Maggie a selfie if she weren’t on a different continent. Besides, she needed to get herself together — she was here for work, not play.

Alice squealed again when she entered the bathroom and saw a freestanding clawfoot tub with its own view of the sprawling grounds. Resisting the urge to strip off and dive in immediately, Alice straightened her clothes again, spritzed on a little perfume, and scrunched her hair.

“I have a date withyoulater,” she said to the bathtub.

As she stepped onto the landing, the door opposite swung open, revealing Francesca Dalton dressed in dark-blue high-waisted jeans and a fitted white shirt with sleeves rolled to her elbows. She’d nailed the brief of smart-casual.

Amusement flickered in the woman’s eyes as she caught Alice staring, probably with the same levels of awe she’d had for her hotel room just moments ago. If that room exuded opulence, the woman stood in front of her exuded elegance.

“Alice! We haven’t yet been properly introduced. Francesca Dalton.” The woman extended a hand. Her chestnut hair fell in loose waves, grazing the collar of her shirt.

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