Kirra flashed her white grin again. “We’re glad you’re here, Sophie. We need your skills.”
Allie pasted on a smile. She just hoped Kirra still thought that after the next couple of days.
Chapter 4
The weak coffee Allie hadat the meeting had done nothing to stop the hunger pangs. She made a couple of slices of toast and Vegemite and sat on the couch to eat it while she read over her notes. Her to-do list was huge. She suppressed a sigh; most of it were things her assistant could handle—if she showed her face.
She picked up her phone. The balcony beckoned, but she didn’t want to be overheard. Sophie answered on the second ring. “Please tell me you’re in Quandong and you didn’t meet a sinfully handsome American who whisked you away on his private jet.”
“I wish,” Allie replied. “How are you doing?”
Sophie’s sigh wafted down the line. “Same old. I had a shower today, slipped and almost fell. Today’s carer must have been half my height and a quarter of my weight and wasn’t able to catch me. It nearly ended badly, but I managed to grab the towel rail.”
“So your carer is six years old? Half your height would be under a metre tall, and a quarter—”
“Don’t be so bloody literal.” Sophie huffed a laugh.
“Didn’t you have rehab today?”
“I did. She got me walking holding onto two rails. Dragging my right foot, but at least I can now swing my leg. I’ll get there. Eventually.” Sophie’s snort was audible over the phone. “It’s painful. But it’s supposed to be.”
Oh, Sophie. Allie closed her eyes and clutched the phone. What was this disruption in her life compared to what her twin was going through?
“Enough about me, though,” Sophie continued. “I’ve been on tenterhooks waiting to hear from you. How did the meeting go? I’m so relieved you’re in Quandong taking control.”
“That’s putting it a bit strongly. I’m blundering along.” Allie fingered the ends of her choppy bob. It still felt strange and light on her head.
“I’m sure you’re doing great.”
“‘Great’ might be a bit optimistic.”
“What happened?” Sophie’s voice held a brittle gaiety.
“A couple of minor personality clashes, both involving Phyll. But it’s okay—I think. I made a couple of suggestions, and I hope they’re all right.” She related her ideas for the fake wedding couple.
“Good idea, Al.” Sophie’s approval hummed down the line. “There was a bit of wrangling about that when I was there, but I thought they’d sort it out among themselves. Obviously, it hasn’t happened.”
“Apparently, I have an assistant, but I’ve yet to meet her.”
“That’s fantastic. If she’s any good, you can give her all the routine stuff to do.”
“Right now, nothing about this is routine.” Allie sighed. “I miss you.”
“I miss your tales of woeful Tinder dates and endless snacking.”
“And I miss your stories of lesbian pirates and derring-do.”
“I might have invented the pirates.” Sophie sighed. “I’d kill for a good swashbuckling adventure right now. I’m stuck with bad TV and Silent Kev the Carer.”
“I’ll be home soon, and after a few days of my care, you’ll be begging Kev to return.”
“Don’t bet the farm. I better go. A rerun ofDaysofOurLivesis starting. Vivian’s about to bury Carly alive.”
“You don’t want to skip that.” Allie blew a kiss into the phone. “Miss you, sissy. Now, wish me luck.”
“Good luck. Don’t fuck up.”
Allie laughed. “Succinct as ever.” She ended the call and brought up the job ads on her laptop, and armed with her research, started drafting application letters. Two positions were a step above her previous job—and she was well-qualified to apply for them—but the other was a junior accountant’s role. She could do that with one arm tied behind her back. Surely, even if Kirkland & Partners gave her a poor reference, with her experience, surely, someone would give her a go.
