Page 6 of Tangled Trust

"No more sleet and rain for me, thank you very much."

"Oh, please. You’re going to miss London."

"I know. I’m going to miss you, Anna."

"Don’t set me off again. I’ve been on the brink of hysterical tears the whole flipping day. The nurses kept asking me if I was okay. It’s not every day your best friend moves halfway around the world to get away from you, you know."

"Oh, Anna. I’m trying not to think about that right now. At least you still have all your peeps with you. I’m a lone English lass in cowboy land."

"You’re in LA, you drama queen. It’s hardly the Wild West," Anna chuckles.

"Uh-huh. Palm trees all the way."

"Are you leaving for your temporary home now?"

"Yup. As soon as I get my luggage. I’ll call you later. Get some sleep. I love you."

"Me too. Be careful, Ella."

"Of course."

Next, I call Sue. She’s weepy but wishes me well. We don’t talk long, as it’s late at night over there and I’m about to find a taxi to take me to the guest house.

"I’ll call you tomorrow," I promise.

"Send me photos of your new place."

"I will. Love you. Sleep tight."

"I love you too, sweet girl."

* * *

It’s been a month since I arrived in LA, and I love everything about it. I’m on my way to meet a very wealthy client for an interview for the position of Au Pair for his young son. Mrs. Digby at the agency called and said she thought I’d be a good fit for the family.

I don’t know why, but I’m a little nervous. Perhaps it’s because it’s been a while since I interviewed for a job. It’s not that I’m unsure that I’ll be a good Au Pair because I love kids and they seem to like me. I guess it’s the whole new life and all that has me at a disadvantage.

Come now. Pull yourself together. Queen and country, Elizabeth…do it for the queen and good ole England.

I chuckle to myself. It seems that the voice in my head has a sense of humor all of its own.

I check the map on my phone one more time before I pull into the driveway. Bloody hell. This house is huge. New money, I guess. There are never any doubts about England and those with old money. Castles, country estates, etc. New money owns more than half of London. California has a distinct air about it. It’s new money all the way.

I steel my nerves before I get out of the compact car I’ve hired for now. The house is recessed on a large property, and I can hear the waves breaking onto a beach at the rear of it. I switch off the engine and percolate in the silence that follows. I wonder about the family that used to be a unit behind the grand doors that lead into the palatial home. How did it all go wrong? I learned at a young age that money isn’t the cure-all that those who don’t have it think it is. Even the super-rich aren’t immune to heartbreak.

The front door opens, and out rushes a boy with curly hair. He’s followed closely by a Golden Retriever puppy. The two appear to be thick as thieves as they rush about. That must be Jagger. He’s very cute. His cheeks are plump and pink, and he has a smile that must make his parents’ hearts melt. He stops abruptly when he spots me walking toward him.

"Hello," I smile and wave at him from a distance.

"Hi."

The puppy barks a greeting before the pair rush off and disappear around the side of the house.

"You must be Ella," I hear a man say, so I turn around toward the front door.

I’m a little taken aback. Dark, wavy hair, perfectly quaffed stubble, dark, almost black, brown eyes, and a larger version of the smile I just saw on the little boy’s face. Mr. Moore is exceptionally handsome. The kind of handsome that makes my knees tingle.

"Yes. Hello," I smile and walk toward him.

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