into a seat with her little girl beside her, and her husband sat just in front with their son. The girl had ginger hair and was perhaps nine or ten, complaining about the injustice of being denied a promised sweet. Her brother ignored her and played a game on his father’s mobile phone.
The woman reached for her iPod and earphones. Thank God for noise-blocking technology. She had far too much work to be doing to sit here and listen to children complaining and video games beeping and parents shushing their little darlings for two-plus hours.
Still, as she busied herself drafting a few notes on her mobile before the flight attendant asked them to shut off all electronic devices, her glance strayed once again to the girl and her brother. They were cute kids, she thought. For a moment – just for a moment – she allowed herself to imagine having a little ginger-haired girl, or a tow-headed little boy, of her own...
She pressed her lips together and turned her thoughts back to the matter at hand. Work. She had plenty to be doing, she reminded herself firmly, and a deadline to meet. She forced her attention back to her mobile screen.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! The little girl just behind her was kicking the back of her seat in time as she sang a (very loud) CBeebies song.
She let out a long, aggrieved sigh.
Bloody deadlines. Bloody economy. Bloody children.
‘What d’you mean, you don’t have a hire car?’
Dominic Heath, his face inches away from the man’s standing behind the hire counter, spoke in a deceptively calm voice despite the dangerous glint in his eyes.
The hire agent’s smile was apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Heath, but we haven’t a car reserved for you.’
‘Well, get me another one.’
‘Regrettably, we have no other cars available at this time. They’ve all been hired out.’
‘That can’t be,’ Dominic ground out. ‘My agent, Max Morecombe, arranged for a car – along with a driver ‒ for my fiancée and me two weeks ago.’
With a nod and a nervous smile at the rock star and his glowering girlfriend, the agent tapped once again at the keys of his computer. ‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ he said a moment later, ‘but I see no reservation under ‘Dominic Heath.’ Did he perhaps arrange it under another name?’
‘Try Rupert Locksley.’
More tapping, more frowning, and another regretful shake of the hire agent’s head followed. ‘Nothing, I’m afraid.’
‘Try “Dr Feckle”. Or “Mr Clyde”.’
The agent looked at him oddly, but nodded and tapped. ‘Erm...no luck with either. Sorry.’
‘Right, then. Get me another car,’ Dominic demanded.
‘As I just explained, sir, there are no other cars—’
‘So what the fuck am I supposed to do in the meantime?’ the rock star raged. ‘Sleep in this poxy airport lounge all night? Get me a bloody CAR!’
Natalie, alerted by Dominic’s raised voice as she waited with Rhys to get their hire car, glanced over.
‘Oh, dear,’ she murmured, and touched Rhys’s sleeve. ‘Dom and Gemma seem to be having a problem.’
He followed her glance. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, his expression dour. ‘And I’ve no doubt Dominic is the problem. He always is.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Natalie agreed. ‘Just the same, I think I’ll go over and see if I can help.’
Rhys shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. Although I wouldn’t bother.’
Natalie left and made her way across the crowded floor to the car agency counter. Gemma, her attention focused on finding the perfect wedding gown on her mobile phone, didn’t look up as she approached.
‘Hullo, Dom,’ Nat said warily as she joined him at the counter, ‘what’s wrong?’
He looked up, a scowl on his face. It morphed into surprise as he caught sight of her. ‘Natalie! What are you doing here?’
‘Rhys and I are on our way to Loch Draemar to visit Tarquin and Wren. You remember Tark, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, of course I do. He’s that Scottish bloke with the castle and shedloads of money, isn’t he?’
She nodded. ‘He’s invited us to stay for the Christmas holidays. I’m really looking forward to it.’ She glanced over at Gemma, still texting and oblivious to anything around her, and back at Dominic. ‘Why were you shouting just now? What’s wrong?’
‘What’s wrong?’ he echoed. His face darkened. ‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong! This poxy hire car agency doesn’t have a car reserved for Gemma and me. And now there’s not so much as a clown car available for hire, thanks to Max’s screw-up and this bloody blizzard!’
Natalie cast an apologetic glance at the hire agent and drew Dominic aside. ‘We’ll just be a moment.’
Gemma, alerted by Dominic’s raised voice, looked up from her texting long enough to see her fiancé having a cosy tête-à-tête with Natalie, his ex-girlfriend.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Natalie,’ she said as she put away her mobile and strode over, ‘what are you doing here? I didn’t expect to see you in Scotland.’
‘Obviously not,’ Nat said, and sniffed.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘How could you possibly know what I’m doing, when you haven’t spoken to me in months?’
Gemma had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘I’ve been busy,’ she said defensively. ‘There’s lots going on.’
‘So much going on that you couldn’t even tell me you’re about to get married?’ Natalie hissed.
‘Shh! It’s a secret!’ Gemma hissed back.
They glared at each other.
‘All right, you two,’ Dominic interrupted, ‘do you mind having your hen fest or catfight or whatever the fuck it is some other time? I still have no idea ‒’ he scowled at the man behind the counter ‘ ‒ how we’re getting from here to Northton Grange with No. Bloody. Car.’
Gemma sighed. ‘You’re right, Dom.’ She met Natalie’s eyes. ‘Sorry, Nat, it’s been crazy, it really has. But that’s no excuse to ignore one of your best mates.’
‘It’s okay,’ Nat said. ‘The most important thing right now,’ she added briskly, ‘is to find you both a ride. I’ve an idea ‒ why don’t you come along with us? Rhys is just getting our hire car now. We can take you as far as Loch Draemar, at any rate.’
‘Ooh,
