It only took a minute to put in her details: name, job, home address and a few clinical details. She uploaded a few photos of her house she had on her phone. She’d taken them just the other day to send to her brother in Australia. The next box was the hard part. Where was she looking for a job? She shook her head and just left it open. Fate. She’d leave it to fate.
The spinning egg timer of doom appeared on the screen in front of her. She groaned. Chances were the website had just died, or the search was too wide and the system couldn’t cope. Any time the whirling egg timer appeared on a computer screen in front of her, it generally meant bad news.
She pushed her chair back, ready to go back out onto the ward, as the screen blinked and then changed.
Her mouth fell open. There was a match. One.
She leaned forward and read everything on the screen. London. In the Royal Hampstead Free Hospital. No way. That place had just as good a reputation as St Christopher’s. Why would anyone want to job swap from there?
Her heart gave a flutter. Fate. She’d left it to fate. And fate had answered. One job opportunity in a place with a fabulous reputation. Pictures of a flat that looked very swanky. This was just too good to be true.
There was a big button on the screen, inviting her to find out more. For the first time in a long time her heart gave a little leap.
She hesitated for only the briefest of seconds before reaching out and clicking on it.
London. Get ready for Clara Connolly.
CHAPTER ONE
Two weeks later
SHE WAS CRAZY. She was definitely crazy. Yesterday she’d been finishing her last day working in Edinburgh, going back to her cute cottage with a view of the Scottish countryside and being disturbed by one of the sheep pressing its face up against her kitchen window. All entirely normal.
Now, she was circling the same confusing streets of London over and over again, sweat trickling down her back as she realised there was absolutely nowhere to park.
She hadn’t thought to ask about parking. It hadn’t even crossed her mind. She’d assumed that there would be somewhere convenient and close to the flat to leave her car...and was learning quickly just how wrong that assumption was.
Some of the streets had no parking at all. Others only had parking for permit holders. One car park charged thirty pounds a day. Thirty pounds? She wanted to laugh out loud.
The drive down from Edinburgh had started well. She’d left plenty of time in case of delays—and there had been many. A collision on the motorway near Newcastle had slowed traffic, followed by horrendous roadworks near Doncaster. By the time she’d hit London her timing had been way off, and it was clear she was in the rush hour. It didn’t help that her satnav seemed to have forgotten a vital update and had a completely different idea of which streets were one-way and which streets were totally blocked off. By the time the tenth black cab driver tooted at her, shaking his head, she was close to tears.
Clara had always prided herself on her driving skills. Touch wood, she’d never been in an accident or even had a near miss before. One hour in London and she’d almost had one head-on collision and more near misses than she wanted to admit. By the time she finally saw the sleek tower block near Canary Wharf that had the correct address, her nerves were more than a little frayed.
She pulled up outside the building, ignoring all the signs that told her not to stop, and got out, slamming her door and sucking in a breath of the warm, clammy air.
A man leaving the smart building frowned as she strode past him, trying to see if there was anyone who could give her some directions about where to park. Her car was stuffed full of her possessions. Surely she was allowed to unload?
The front wall of the foyer was completely glass, with the building at a slight angle, facing towards Canary Wharf. There was a bank of small boxes to her left and she scanned them, finding 14C and keying in the appropriate code. She sighed in relief at the sight of the silver key, a cream key fob and the slim electronic card—apparently both the key and the card opened the door to the flat.
She glanced back at her car, wondering if she should go back and grab some things before heading up in the lift, but curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to see her home for the next six months.
The silver doors glided open and she barely felt the lift move before they opened again on the fourteenth floor. A short walk down the corridor took her to the flat and she scanned the card in front of the round pad, letting the door click open.
As she pushed inside her breath caught somewhere in her throat. The sun had lowered in the sky and the whole apartment was bathed in warm light.
Everything was so clean-looking! The entrance hall had smooth cream tiles, leading to a matching immaculate kitchen on her right that opened out to a largish sitting room furnished with three curved cream sofas, a glass table and TV set into the left side wall. But it was the view that was the most spectacular. Windows took up the entire facing wall, showing all the beauty of Canary Wharf, just a stone’s throw away. Her feet moved automatically, carrying her over to the windows, and she realised quickly they weren’t windows but, in fact, concertina-style doors. She fumbled for the button then pushed them open, stepping out onto the balcony beyond.
It wasn’t quite on the edge of the dock, but it was close enough that she could see the activity on the dockside. There was a row of restaurants and bars, boats bobbing on the water. The busy noise of people finishing their day at work and hitting the bars and restaurants below floated across the air beneath her, along with the aromas of food, making her stomach growl.
She looked out across the London skyline, spotting the event arena and the snaking river beyond. She really was here. She’d done this. She’d left Scotland behind and made a change. For a few seconds she closed her eyes, leaning against the balcony barrier and breathing in the warm air again, letting the different sensations surround her. It was certainly warmer than it was back home, but her skin prickled.
She opened her eyes again and almost jolted at the view again. Several of the tower blocks around the dock were dotted with lights, sending a purple and pink glow shimmering back upwards from the water. It was beautiful, but could take a bit of getting used to. She spun back around, putting her hands behind her and looking back inside the flat.
This place wasn’t like any flat she’d been in before. It was like a show home, decked out in gorgeous pieces of furniture, all ergonomically placed. If it wasn’t for the few scattered cushions and the row of books in a nearby bookcase, she might believe no one even lived here.
Her stomach curled as she thought of her inelegant squishy sofa back home, dark stone walls and temperamental fire. She prayed that Ryan had tidied up the way he’d promised and left the welcoming note and food before he left.
Clara left the doors open and wandered through the rest of the flat. The bedroom was just as immaculate as everywhere else, with white bedlinen and a big comfortable pink throw at the end of the bed. A space had been cleared for her in the closet and Clara resisted the temptation of looking to see what clothes her counterpart had left behind.
There was a nice writing desk looking out at the view across London, with a bottle of champagne sitting on it, tied with a big pink ribbon and note.
I thought if you were anything like me you’d need some of this after your long journey.
There’s a secret chocolate stash in the drawer on the right and I did an online order for food that, hopefully, Louie the concierge has left in the kitchen for you.
Any problems, give him a dial on 01 and he’ll be happy to help.
Other than that, enjoy London!
Georgie xx
Clara couldn’t resist; she slid open the drawer on the right to see a whole array of chocolate. Dark chocolate mints, milk chocolate orange, foil-wrapped caramels and a huge sea salted caramel bar.
Things were d
efinitely looking up.
She frowned. Concierge? She hadn’t noticed anyone behind the desk in the foyer. She walked back to the kitchen and opened the gleaming fridge. Sure enough, milk, butter, eggs, cheese and bacon were waiting for her, along with a variety of fruit and vegetables in the cool drawer. In one of the cupboards she found bread, some pasta and a few jars, enough to make dinner for a few nights. Her stomach growled loudly. It was so nice. So considerate. But what she really wanted right now was pizza.