Though an hour later she was forced to concede defeat. There was a problem with the train: it was delayed until late afternoon. The cabs and limos were gone, already spoken for, and she hadn’t had any luck getting a boat, either. The man on the phone thought she was joking when she asked about helicopters, and hung up on her. As she slumped in a chair, drinking a bottle of sparkling water, the smell of pine needles made her nose itch.
“Heard you need a ride to London.”
The guy was dressed in jeans and a sweater with his hair pulled back in a ponytail. He gestured to the door. “My mum works for the rental company. Said I was to find the nice American and see if she wanted the car that just came in.”
The water shot out of the bottle as she squeezed it hard. “Oops. Yes, I want the car. Thank you, you’ve saved my job.”
“Don’t know about all that. Come along before there’s a stampede.” He looked back at her. “She said you were the only one who didn’t yell at her.”
“Why would I? It’s not her fault the sky is falling. Unless she’s Mother Nature and she works at a rental car company in an airport for fun.”
The guy pretended to think about it. “Some days I think she could be Mother Nature. When she’s mad, I take myself off to the pub until she calms down a bit.”
“I’m sure that makes her happy.”
The guy left her at the counter, and after filling out the forms, she was in possession of the last rental car in all of Wales, for all she knew. Let Mitch think he’d won. On the way, she’d call the hotel and have them hold her room, then she’d call costume shops, and once she arrived in London, she’d skip the hotel, go straight to the shop, wear the dress out, and drive as fast as she could out to the country estate of Mr. Havers.
It was a little after two now, with the three and a half hours there, a half-hour at the shop, and two to the estate… She’d never make it. That would put her there at eight tonight if nothing went wrong and she floored it all the way.
She sat in the car, adjusting the mirrors, and made the call. “Dot, it’s Ashley?—”
“I heard you had to land in Wales. How’s the weather?”
She tapped her foot. “Listen, I need Mr. Havers’ number. I’m running late.”
There was silence. “You’re running late? Is the world ending?”
“Funny, Dot. The number.”
She waited until her assistant came back on the line with the number.
“Thank you. Could you call shops between Wales and the estate, as well as London, and see if you can find me a medieval dress? Maybe I can make the after-dinner drinks.”
“Okay, that’s a lot of calls, but I’ll see what I can find online first. Dinner isn’t until eight—Mr. Havers eats late—so as long as you arrive by ten or eleven at the very latest, I think you’ll be fine.”
Ashley hung up and dialed the estate, where she spoke to the butler or somebody who said they would inform her new boss. He was aware of the weather and understood. Flexing her hand to get the blood flowing again, she punched the air. “Yes!”
With a cushion of a couple of hours, she’d make it no problem. Impressed by her charm and good looks, Mr. Havers would offer her the promotion on the spot, and Mitch would be the one walking briskly out of the building, carrying the pathetic box.
A horn honked and she waved. “Sorry. American here. Not used to driving on the left.”
Okay, so the guy couldn’t hear her, but it made her feel better to say something. For the next hour, she paid attention to the road and focused on staying on the left. Before she left for the trip, Dot had asked her about driving on the left, couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t drive on the right. Ashley had dredged up some obscure bit of knowledge and told her it was because America was such a young country compared to Europe. Her assistant was sweet but not that bright, and blinked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“In the past, in a feudal and violent society, pretty much everybody traveled on the left because it was sensible. Think about it. Most people were right-handed, and swordsmen preferred to keep to the left so their right arm was closer to an opponent and their sword.” And that was the extent of her medieval knowledge. Not like she needed to know anything else; she worked in finance, not at a museum or historic site. Always forward, never back. That was her mantra.
The girl had nodded. “So we drive on the right because we never cared about all that silly stuff.”
“Something like that.” Ashley went into her office to gather up a few more files. Dot was incredibly nice, but sometimes Ashley wondered how the girl managed to get the job. Her company wasn’t known for hiring those with less-than-average intelligence. And then she remembered someone saying that Dot had a cousin high up in the firm, which explained a lot. Or maybe Mitch was right and Harry only hired bimbos.
A half-hour later, Dot called. “I couldn’t find anything, and I’m late for my date, so just show up as you are and smile. It will all work out.”
And that was Dot. Sweet and completely out of touch with the real world. “Thanks for trying.”
With a little under two and a half hours to go until she arrivedin London, Ashley wasn’t conceding defeat yet. She used the voice assistant on the phone, furiously calling shops. By the fifth call, she’d hit pay dirt. The man promised to hold the two dresses he described and stay open for her. Both sounded perfect for a medieval night in the countryside. Mr. Havers was a bit obsessed with the time period, and she wished she’d had more time to review history so she could contribute something interesting to the after-dinner conversation.
Ashley firmly believed in visualizing her goals and imagining where she would be in five years. The only thing looking back was good for was regret, and she was not going there. Regret didn’t help anyone. And since it didn’t serve a purpose, she refused to indulge.
