‘An apron at the Forge Bar and Grill,’ she said grimly.
‘You just need a lucky break,’ he said with confidence.
‘What about you? What was your last play?’
‘It was called About Face. It had a short run. You probably won’t have seen it,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders modestly.
Amy was about to ask more when suddenly her attention was elsewhere.
‘Jeez, is that it?’ she said, looking at what lay ahead of them.
‘Uh-huh,’ said Will. ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’
‘Wow.’
‘Impressive’ didn’t really do Stapleford justice. Lit from the outside by spotlights, it looked to Amy like a palace from a story book. She had occasionally been to visit Daniel’s friends at their country places, but compared to Stapleford, they looked like twee cottages.
‘How big is it?’ she said as Will pulled up on the drive, parking his Jeep between a Bentley and a silver Maserati.
‘Two-hundred-odd rooms, I think,’ said Will. ‘Actually, maybe more than that now they’ve converted the stables. They don’t live in all of it, of course. The main house is open to the public these days. Taxes, you see.’
‘Must be tough,’ said Amy, gazing up at the tall windows, twinkling from the inside. ‘Light bulbs alone must cripple them,’ she added sarcastically.
Will got out of the car and came round to open the passenger door for her.
‘We’re guests here,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s try to be nice.’
She stepped out of the car, her Ralph Lauren heels crunching on the gravel drive.
‘Ready?’ asked Will, looking at her.
She was momentarily distracted by how great he looked. He had picked her up from her apartment, waiting in the car until she had come down to the street. On the two-hour journey to Oxfordshire, she had tried not to notice how handsome he was – how his hair had been cut, his face cleanly shaved – but standing in the shadow of Stapleford, he looked tall and strong and manly, like someone straight out of an aftershave advert.
She looked away from him, and rubbed her hands up and down her little black dress nervously.
He touched the small of her back and led her past the uniformed valets and into the house.
Amy took a second to compose herself. The outside of Stapleford was intimidating enough, but stepping into the crowded entrance hall – God, that was the tallest Christmas tree she’d ever seen – did nothing to ease her anxiety. What am I going to do exactly? she thought. Go up to the lady of the manor and say, ‘Hi, you don’t know me, but you’re a liar’?
‘Don’t worry, it’s just a party,’ said Will in a low voice that no one else could hear.
‘Just a party.’ She laughed nervously. ‘Just a party where I’m completely out of my depth,’ she said, playing with a cocktail ring she’d bought at Walthamstow market.
‘You know, if you accepted that you are the most beautiful woman in this place, you might relax and stop fidgeting,’ said Will, accepting two glasses of champagne and handing her one. ‘Here, try that. It might help,’ he said, leading her through the entrance hall.
She was still blushing at his compliment as they threaded through the many well-dressed revellers and into what Amy had to assume was the ballroom. There was a raised platform at one end with a seated jazz band playing gentle swing tunes, but there was no dancing; rather the floor was filled with people standing in groups laughing and talking.
‘Hey, there’s my dad,’ said Will. ‘Let’s go and say hello.’
Amy stopped him and pulled him to one side where they wouldn’t be overheard.
‘You know, I think I should do this. Talk to Clarissa.’
Will opened his mouth to object, but she stopped him
.
‘It’s better coming from a stranger. But before we do, remind me of the set-up so I don’t balls it up. Your dad is Clarissa’s brother, right?’