must have been laid bare on her face, because he asked
what was wrong.
‘It’s Roz,’ she said, reluctant to break her promise.
‘She might be in trouble and I don’t know what to do.’
Seamus followed her over to the sofa. He looked
smart in his shirt and tie, having finished late at work.
Dympna had met him through his father’s estate agent
business when she was looking for a place to rent. She’d
immediately been taken in by his dark wavy hair and
warm hazel eyes.
‘What sort of trouble?’ Seamus said, his face scrunch-
ing into a frown. Three years older than her, he was a
man in Dympna’s eyes. She admired his ambition. There
wasn’t a day that passed when he didn’t say something to
encourage her to aim a little higher herself. She trusted
him, which was why she needed his advice.
‘I can’t say. I promised Roz I’d keep it a secret.’ She
sighed, gathering up a pile of magazines to clear a space
on the sofa for them. ‘It’s hard, though. She made a deci-
sion I don’t agree with and now I’m worried about how
she’s getting on.’
‘Is this to do with the job abroad?’ Seamus threaded
his fingers together as he sat down. ‘I thought that all
happened a bit fast.’
Dympna picked at a loose thread in the knee of her
jeans. ‘There’s no job.’ That much she could say. She had
agreed not to mention the pregnancy, so her promise was
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still technically intact. She wished she’d inserted a clause in case of extreme worry.
Seamus began cracking his knuckles, and she gave
him an elbow to the ribs. She hated it when he did that.
‘So … she’s not gone to America for a job?’ he said,
but his words were stilted, as if he was reluctant to hear
her response.
Dympna let it go. She had a tendency to read too
deeply into things. ‘She’s gone away to sort something
out. Something she couldn’t fix over here.’ She pursed her
lips. She was close to the imaginary line that should not
be crossed. ‘I can’t say any more than that.’ But Seamus
was clever. If he figured it out on his own it was hardly
her fault.
‘And it’s nothing to do with work?’ Seamus said, star-
ing ahead at the television, even though it was turned off.
‘No, it’s not.’ A sense of betrayal crept in. She could
almost feel Roz’s disapproving glare. She inhaled deeply,
catching the scent of Seamus’s aftershave. It was spiced
musk, sexy and inviting. She wished she could forget
about Roz and drag Seamus off to bed.
‘So how did she afford the flights?’
Dympna sighed. She did not trust herself to answer.
‘Someone paid for her to fly abroad?’ he said.
She nodded, feeling like she was in a game of charades.
‘So, she’s gone to sort out her problem,’ Seamus con-
tinued. ‘Is it to do with her mother?’
‘No,’ Dympna replied, ‘and she can’t know about this.’
Silence fell between them. Outside, car horns beeped
and late-night shoppers chattered below their flat window,
but Dympna barely heard them. She was too wrapped up
with Seamus, willing him to guess correctly so she didn’t
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have to deal with this on her own. She toyed with the
ends of her hair as she stared, unblinking, at his face. She could almost hear his thoughts ticking over in his brain.
‘Is she pregnant?’ he said quietly. ‘Has she gone for
an abortion?’
The practice was illegal in Ireland, although most
women with this predicament went to the UK. Seamus’s
first presumption was right but the second was wrong, so
Dympna shrugged in response.
‘I’ve said too much. Besides, she’s gone. There’s noth-
ing I can do except wait to hear from her.’
Seamus nodded, giving her knee a squeeze. ‘When
she comes home, will everything will be back to normal
and the problem sorted out?’
‘Yes,’ Dympna exhaled a low breath. ‘That’s what
Seamus turned to her, finally meeting her gaze. ‘Look,
from what you’ve told me about Roz, she’s taken some
hard knocks and come out the other side.’ He checked
for Dympna’s understanding. ‘She’s strong. And I’m not
saying she always makes the right decisions…’ His words
floated away as he paused, deep in thought. ‘But things
have a habit of working out in the end. Just be there for
her when she comes back. And keep your promise. Don’t
let on I know anything. Friendships like yours are hard
to come by.’
‘Thanks,’ Dympna said, as Seamus leaned forward and
picked up the TV remote control from the coffee table.
Their conversation was over. He had imparted his
advice and he didn’t want to know any more. He threw
an arm over her shoulder and she relaxed into his em-
brace. But the air was thick between them, filled with a
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sense of words left unsaid. Dympna told herself Seamus
did not want to come between her and Roz by giving
bad advice. That was why he had changed the subject
so quickly; nothing else. But still, unease lingered. She
could not escape the niggling feeling that there was more
to his response than that.
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Roz
George did not just buy me designer sunglasses; he insisted on purchasing a pair of shoes too.
‘You can pay me back from the money they’re paying
you,’ he said confidently, referring to the couple whose
identity I had yet to learn.
‘But what if they don’t like me? What happens then?’
I slipped my feet into the new kitten heels. George
failed to hide his disdain as he deposited my grotty old
sandals in a bin.
‘The lady of the house takes no prisoners,’ he said,
giving me a knowing look. ‘If you don’t click, then you’ll
be flying back to Ireland before your pretty little feet
touch the ground.’
Weaving through shoppers, I trotted after him as he
signalled to a shiny black sedan across the road. ‘But she
said she’d help me interview new couples if it doesn’t work out with them.’ My voice jiggled as I tottered behind him.
As George turned, he saw my crestfallen expression and
gave my arm a squeeze. ‘Darling, you’re living in cuckoo
land if you think she’s got time to interview couples with
you.’ He guided me to the kerb. ‘Let’s focus on the best-
case scenario. You’re going to knock her socks off, as long as you abide by her rules.’ I noticed he referred strongly
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to the woman of the house and guessed that she was the
main decision-maker. He pointed to the Mercedes he
had signalled earlier, which was now pulling up next to
the kerb. ‘Hop in.’
I peered through the tinted windows, Dympna’s pre-
vious warnings to be cautious echoing in my head.
‘It’s OK, we’re not the Mafia.’ George held the door
open as I paused. ‘Remember I told you about the law-
yer’s office? They’ve drawn up an NDA for you to sign.
Non-disclosure agreement,’ he explained in response to
my blank expression. ‘It’s just a precaution, so you won’t
kiss and tell. Now, hurry up.’ He nodded towards the car.
‘He can’t park here all day.’
‘Are you coming too?’ My knees felt suddenly weak.
George rolled his eyes. ‘For Pete’s sake, are all Irish
people this suspicious? How about I get in first?’
I slid in beside him, inhaling the scent of soft leather –
that lovely new-car smell.
‘I’m not going to tell anyone.’ I clicked my seat belt
into place. ‘And it works both ways. I don’t want anyone
to know about…’ I eyed the back of the driver’s head. ‘My
predicament, either.’ The car pulled away, and I gripped
the armrest as if I were on a roller coaster ride. In a way, I was. This was the adventure of my life.
George pressed a button on the side of the door and
a glass barrier rose from behind the driver, keeping our
conversation private.
‘They’re just protecting their family,’ he said. ‘But
remember: if you break the confidentiality agreement,
they’ll make an example of you, just like they did with
the last member of staff.’
‘What? Do you mean someone else had a baby for
them?’
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‘Keep up, dippy. I said member of staff. You’re not
a member of staff, are you?’ George met my gaze and I
saw amusement in his eyes. ‘It was their housekeeper,
Rachel. She got the sack after selling her story to some
gossip magazine. Turns out she’d been blabbing to them
for years – she was their inside source. Aren’t you lucky,
arriving in the wake of that shit-storm?’
‘I take it she didn’t say very nice things?’ I looked
out the window at the streets I had not yet visited, at the buildings passing in a blur.
‘They were burned. Badly. Hence the new and im-
proved agreement we all have to sign.’ He turned to me,
his face growing serious as the driver pulled up to the
kerb. ‘We’re here. Now, Roz, this is a deal-breaker. You
can walk away, and we can have you on a flight home
tonight. You can tell your friends that you had a really
weird weekend with some gay guy who did your make-
up and gave you fashion advice. But you’d be blowing
the chance of the best start in life for this little one.’ He nodded towards my tummy and his voice grew quiet.
Sincere.
My breathing fell in line with his as I drank in his
words. This was serious. My last chance to back out.
‘There’s nothing to be scared of,’ he continued. ‘It’s
just an agreement saying that you can’t talk about them
or tell anyone who they are. It’s customary. We’re well
paid for our loyalty and that is all they ask of you.’
‘Along with the baby, of course,’ I smiled.
‘No, they’re not asking you for your baby. You’re asking
them to give your baby a home. They’re being gracious
enough to compensate you for the next six months of
your life.’ He paused as his mobile phone beeped with
a text notification. ‘Don’t lose sight of that, Roz. They
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are giving you the biggest gift of all. Hell, I wish they’d adopt me. What I’d give for a life like that!’
I nodded. He was right. It was just so much to take in.
‘Be humble. They will love you for it. But darling, if
this is all too much for you, and I can see how it would
be, do yourself a favour and back out now. The people
you’re about to meet will be beyond your wildest dreams.
But an experience like this … it’s not for everyone.’
I almost laughed. I mean, who were they? His admi-
ration for them was obvious, but he was talking about
them as if they were gods. I wanted to tell him not to
patronise me, but took his earlier advice to be humble
instead. To tell the truth, I was grateful for his presence, and a bit of hand-holding never did any harm. I took a
deep breath and unclicked my seat belt.
‘I’m in.’
* * *
Twenty minutes later I had signed the documents and
was leaving the way I came.
‘All done?’ George said, sliding his phone into his breast
pocket as he met me in the corridor of the lawyer’s office.
I followed him outside, in no doubt that the lawyer had
already confirmed to him that I had signed. Regardless,
I nodded, offering him a wide smile.
‘Well, in that case we have some very important people
to meet.’
‘Who?’ I said, unable to wait a second longer.
‘Hmm…’ His eyes twinkled as he enjoyed drawing
out the suspense. ‘Can you handle it, though? You might
be better off sitting down.’
‘Just tell me!’ I shrieked, grabbing him by the arm.
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Beaming, he put me out of my misery, drawing me
close as he uttered the words. ‘It’s Daniel Watson and
Sheridan Sinclair.’
I barely remember getting back into the awaiting car as
George’s words began to sink in. ‘You’re joking.’ I shook
my head in disbelief. ‘Who are they really?’
George pursed his lips, a habit I was beginning to
recognise. He was trying but failing to contain his smile.
‘I told you they were special, didn’t I?’ He looked me up
and down. ‘Best you compose yourself, though. You’re
catching flies.’
I snapped my mouth shut. Daniel Watson and Sheridan
Sinclair? It couldn’t be. This was all one big joke. George was pulling my leg. There was no way I was making
myself look any bigger a fool than I already had today.
But the confidentiality agreements, the lawyers – it all
seemed possible.
‘I had a feeling you’d find this hard to swallow. Here,
cast your peepers over this.’ George thrust his phone under my nose. I glared at the screen at a series of photographs
on the screen. It was George, his arm around Sheridan
Sinclair. They looked pally. Comfortable with each other.
In another photo he sat in a booth drinking coffee with
Sheridan and her husband Daniel. His arm was held aloft
as he took the selfie, trying to squeeze them all in. ‘These are my personal photos. I try to stay out of the public eye.’
‘How do you manage that?’ I had read of some ce-
lebrity PAs who had become famous in their own right,
with a huge number of followers on social media, too.
‘Samantha Lockwood takes care of public engage-
ments. Sheridan has a dozen or so people on her team.’
His face soured as he said Samantha’s name and I
guessed there was no love lost between them.
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Mitchell
‘But I’m the only one in her inner circle,’ he said
proudly, twirling his finger in a circular motion. ‘And
I’m a member of the NYCA.’
‘NYCA?’ I said blankly.
‘New York Celebrity Assistants,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s
an elite association for assistants to celebs such as Oprah, James Patterson and so on. We all look out for each other.
They help me resource anything from mink eyelashes to
diamond-studded boots.’
‘Mink eyelashes?’ I said in surprise as a whole new
world opened up to me.
‘Check this out,’ George continued. Flicking through
his collection of pictures, he came to a video. The three
of them – George, Daniel and Sheridan – were dressed
up to the nines. It looked as if they were at some kind of
award ceremony and George seemed a little the worse for
wear. ‘Who’s the best PA in the world?’ he was saying,
his words slurred.
‘My Georgie-Worgie,’ Sheridan replied, leaning into
the camera phone until she kissed the screen. The clip
came to an abrupt end.
‘That’s where she dropped my phone,’ he said. ‘I don’t
normally go to ceremonies – Sheridan prefers me to be
incognito.’ He swiped away the images and pocketed his
phone. ‘So how do you feel about meeting them both?
Daniel’s hot property, isn’t he?’
‘They’re amazing,’ I said, barely able to string together
a coherent sentence.
Daniel Watson and Sheridan Sinclair. I knew they
were married because they were such a famous couple,
although I hadn’t heard about her in a while. Daniel,
on the other hand, seemed to be everywhere these days.
He was so damn gorgeous, and I’d watched most of
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his movies; not that I would be telling George that. It
was his characters I fell in love with, and the roles he
played: British tough guy with a soft heart. Kind but
protective, tough but caring. My ideal man. I knew it
wasn’t real and I didn’t want it to be, but now, knowing
I was going to meet him in the flesh, I felt like I was
made of jelly.
‘Oh!’ George’s exclamation made me jump. ‘There’s
one more thing. I almost forgot.’ He thrust an empty hand
towards me. ‘I’m going to need your phone.’
‘My phone? Why?’ I reached into my jacket pocket
and handed him my mobile.