All four of the showroom staff had enjoyed a steady stream of customers throughout the morning. Holly herself had made two reasonable sales of a stylish floor lamp and a set of cut-glass tea-light holders.

Her commission today had only amounted to fifteen pounds, but who cared? Thanks to the big sale she’d pulled off yesterday, she was set for the month now, even if she didn’t earn another penny of bonus leading up to payday.

She’d enjoyed being busy. The time had gone quickly, but despite the distractions, Emily’s words still kept drifting back to her:

You knew I’d dealt with those customers first. You knew the sale belonged to me.

Holly sighed. What use did it serve to keep replaying it over in her mind?

It was obvious to everyone here that Emily had been deluded about this particular transaction. She was clearly just sour because she’d got it wrong. She had underestimated the customers and lost out on a sale. It was as simple as that.

But there was something else she had said that kept repeating on a loop in Holly’s head:

I got rid of the last silly cow who came here thinking she could snap at my heels, and I’ll have no problem getting rid of you too.

She had all but admitted that she’d ousted the last sales assistant who’d tried to make a go of it. Holly didn’t like Emily one bit, but she knew she’d be a fool to underestimate her.

Although she was doing well here, she was under no illusion that it was early days. She was still the new kid on the block, while Emily had the benefit of more experience, and Mr Kellington and Josh knew just how consistently successful she was.

She’d really need to keep her wits about her from now on, because Emily could strike at any given time. She decided it was best all round if she just stayed as far away as possible from Miss Emily Beech and her spiteful intentions from here on in. That woman was trouble she didn’t need.

As Holly rearranged a little cluster of silverware on one of the occasional tables in the middle of the shop, she thought how that day she’d left for Manchester had been one of the few times she’d had the sense that her life was taking a turn for the better.

She had the same sensation right now, despite her concerns about Emily.

She enjoyed working here at Kellington’s, and although Cora sometimes acted a little oddly, she liked living in her comfortable home.

Perhaps, she pondered, a quiet word with Josh about Emily’s threat this morning might not go amiss. Speaking to Mr Kellington himself was a frightening prospect, but if she had to do it, she would.

She already knew that he thought well of her, and after the events of yesterday, maybe he had begun to get the measure of Emily.

She continued to tinker with the accessories, and before she knew it, her mind had drifted away from the task in hand.

---

She’d slept well that second night in Manchester. There had been no disturbances from Uncle Keith’s hacking cough in the next room, and no worrying for her life or about the half-dead drug addicts she had to share a space with, as had been the case the night before.

She’d fallen asleep with the curtains open. Although it had been too dark to enjoy the view, she’d taken great pleasure knowing it was there, and in the morning, she’d opened her eyes with that childlike, delicious sense of not quite knowing where she was and yet also sensing it was somewhere nice, and then seen the river thrashing around outside the apartment window.

She’d found it impossible to simply lie there staring at the ceiling. Instead she went out to the kitchenette, made a cup of tea and pulled a dining chair across to drink it in front of the French doors.

Despite the fact it was not yet eight o’clock, dog walkers meandered along across the bank, enjoying the early sunshine. She’d spotted a cyclist and two joggers and, to her delight, a fleet of racing rowers had skimmed past on the water.

She had sighed with a contentment she’d barely felt so far in her life. She wondered, could it actually be possible to live in a place like this, if her new start was successful?

She’d jumped slightly at a noise behind her as a sleep-addled Markus appeared in the hall doorway.

‘Morning,’ he’d said, his voice gravelly. ‘You’re addicted to that view.’

‘Morning.’ She’d grinned. ‘You’re right, I am. I could sit here all day.’

‘No chance of that, I’m afraid,’ he told her. ‘Brendan just texted to say he’ll be here at nine to take you to meet his wife.’

‘What?’ She’d jumped up then, spilling a few drops of tea onto the laminate floor. ‘I’d better get ready.’

She’d bent down and wiped up the drops with a tissue, a feeling of sick panic rising in her throat. It was both exciting and terrifying that she’d be meeting Brendan’s wife… Geraldine, he’d said her name was.

She’d been painfully aware that her future lay in Geraldine’s hands. What if she decided she didn’t like Holly? The job opportunity could dry up in a matter of minutes, and then where would she be?

‘You look like you’re about to burst into tears,’ Markus had said drily, rubbing his eyes. ‘I’m making some toast. Want some?’

‘No thanks.’ She felt certain she’d choke if she ate anything on top of the nerves. ‘I just… I’m nervous about meeting his wife. I want her to like me.’

‘Chill, doll. Don’t you know you’re adorable?’

She’d grinned at his silly fake American accent and headed for the bathroom.

The shower had been good. She’d stood under the scalding needles of water, her face turned upwards with her eyes squeezed shut. The stinging pain had felt invigorating, as if she were purging herself of the doubt and dithering.

She’d wrapped a fluffy towel around herself and returned to the bedroom, cursing the meagre choice of outfits she had to choose from. Everything looked old and worn. There was nothing smart that would remotely impress anyone of Geraldine’s calibre.

She’d dried her hair – someone had thoughtfully placed a hair dryer on the dressing table – and pinned it back from her face. Then she applied a bit of make-up and felt gratified that she looked passable – mostly thanks to the glow the shower had afforded her.

She’d dressed in her less frayed pair of black jeans, paired with a neat blue wool sweater.

By 8.55 she was sitting waiting for Brendan’s arrival. Markus had seemed a little distant and had already gone back to bed with his tea and toast.