‘It’s nice,’ I said firmly. ‘But you might feel more partyish with a different top. Should I come and help you look? I’ve got about ten minutes before Marilise is expecting me.’
Astrid clutched at my hands.
‘Would you?’ she whispered urgently. ‘I’d be so grateful.’
We went to leave the room, when who should come in but the lord of the manor himself, wearing nothing but a pair of black chinos, with his hair damp from the shower and wafting some delicious peppery cologne. For a moment, I froze; nurses are used to bodies, but in my line of work I don’t often get to see one as toned and muscular as this. He must have kept up his youthful hobby of swimming, with a side order of weights. My reverie was quickly broken when he spoke, his voice tight with irritation.
‘Have either of you seen Angela? This shirt needs ironing.’
‘I can do that for you,’ said Astrid immediately, reaching out for it. Mindful of the minutes ticking away, and my hackles rising at this man who apparently couldn’t wield his own iron, I broke in.
‘We’ve only got a few minutes to find you something to wear, so we’d better go up.’
‘But what about his shirt?’
In my head I was shoutingwell, what about it? Can’t he iron his own bloody shirt?but I managed to keep that particular thought internal.
‘I’m sure it can be sorted out later,’ I muttered, furious that this domestically challenged manbaby might stop poor Astrid finding something she would feel comfortable wearing that evening. I got the strong impression that her needs came very far down everybody’s lists, including her own. Nick glared at me,and I looked back at him as coolly as I could, until he surprised me by giving a sudden bark of laughter.
‘Oh! You think I can’t iron my own shirt?’
I shrugged.
‘It’s not that,’ he said. ‘I don’t expect anyone to do it for me. But Angela is very strict about the iron, what water goes in it and so on, and I don’t want to muck it up. That’s why I need her; I don’t usually iron anything, so when I have to, I can never remember the rules.’
Astrid’s shoulders dropped in relief.
‘Oh well, I can’t help you with that,’ she said. ‘I once put some lavender essential oil in it to make the sheets smell nice and she was cross with me for weeks.’
‘Look, here she is now,’ I said gratefully, seeing her come through the door at the end of the corridor. ‘Should we go and look in your wardrobe?’
Astrid and I hurried upstairs and she took me into her bedroom, another grand affair but impossibly messy. There were clothes, books and magazines scattered everywhere, and the bed was unmade.
‘Sorry about the state of it,’ she said nervously, twitching the duvet and making it look worse than it had before. ‘I never seem to get time to sort it out.’
I didn’t comment, instead going to the large wardrobe and opening it. To my surprise, it was stuffed with clothes.
‘Sorry again,’ said Astrid, coming to stand next to me. ‘I hardly ever shop, but I also find it hard to throw anything away. Some of this is my mother’s, and most of it doesn’t fit, I don’t think.’
I glanced at my watch discreetly; I only had a few minutes until I needed to be with Marilise.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘your skirt is beautiful, so why don’t we find a top that would work with it?’ Panic gave me laser focus. ‘Look, what about this?’
I pulled out a pearl grey silk blouse with long sleeves.
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Astrid. ‘That was Mum’s, I forgot it was there. I couldn’t possibly wear it, I’ll only spill something down it.’
‘Try it on,’ I said firmly. ‘I promise that I am an expert at getting out stains, so it doesn’t matter if you do.’
I could see her looking with excitement at the gorgeous garment and I pushed it towards her.
‘I need to go. Please, at least try it on.’
She took it and I hurried out of the room, hoping that she would dare to do this one nice thing for herself.
I tapped lightly on Marilise’s door, then pushed it open. She was still asleep, so I moved quietly around the room preparing the things we would need when she awoke. Checking my watch, I was about to gently wake her when I heard her say my name, and hurried over to the bed.
‘Laura,’ she said again, clutching for my hand. ‘Is it time to go? Have I overslept?’
