But … the truth is, I need help.

Apart from anything else, if I keep on going like today I’ll be bankrupt in two weeks.

I turn back to Nathaniel.

“That would be great,” I say. “I really appreciate it. Thanks.”

Twelve

I wake up the next morning, heart pounding, leaping to my feet, my mind racing with everything I have to do …

And then it stops, like a car screeching to a halt. For a moment I can’t move. Then, hesitantly, I sink back into bed, overcome by the most extraordinary feeling.

It’s Saturday. I have nothing to do.

No contracts to go over, no e-mails to reply to, no emergency meetings at the office. Nothing.

I try to remember the last time I had nothing to do. But I’m not sure I can. It seems like I’ve never had nothing to do, ever since I was about seven. I get out of bed, walk to the window, and stare out at the early morning translucent blue sky, trying to get my head around my situation. It’s my day off. No one has any hold over me. No one can call me up and demand my presence. This is my own time. My own time.

As I stand there at the window, contemplating this fact, I start to feel an odd feeling inside. Light and giddy, like a helium balloon. I’m free. A smile of exhilaration spreads across my face. For the first time ever, I can do whatever I like.

I check the time—and it’s only 7:15 a.m. The whole day stretches before me like a fresh sheet of paper. What shall I do? Where do I start?

I’m already sketching out a timetable for the day in my head. Forget six-minute segments. Forget hurrying. I’m going to start measuring time in hours. An hour for wallowing in the bath and getting dressed. An hour for lingering over breakfast. An hour for reading the paper, cover to cover. I’m going to have the laziest, most indolent, most enjoyable morning I’ve ever had in my adult life.

As I head into the bathroom, I can feel muscles twinging with pain all over my body. They really should market housecleaning as a workout. I run a deep warm bath and slosh in some of Trish’s bath oil, then step into the scented water and lie back happily.

Delicious. I’m just going to stay here for hours and hours and hours.

I close my eyes, letting the water lap my shoulders, and time wafts past in great swathes. I think I even fall asleep for a while. I have never spent so long in a bath in my entire life.

At last I open my eyes, reach for a towel, and get out. As I’m starting to dry myself off I reach for my watch, just out of curiosity.

7:30 a.m.

What?

I was only fifteen minutes?

How can I have only taken fifteen minutes? I stand, dripping, in indecision for a moment, wondering if I should get back in and do it all again, more slowly.

But no. That would be too weird. It doesn’t matter. So I had my bath too quickly. I’ll just make sure I take my time properly over breakfast.

At least I have some clothes to put on. Trish took me out last night to a shopping center a few miles away so I could stock up on underwear and shorts and summer dresses. She told me she’d leave me to it—then ended up bossing me about and picking everything out for me … and somehow I ended up with not a single item in black.

I cautiously put on a pink slip dress and a pair of sandals and look at myself. I’ve never worn pink before in my life. My entire closet at home is filled with black suits for work—and I’ve got into the habit of wearing black at the weekends too. It just makes life easy. But to my amazement I don’t look too bad! Apart from the huge streak of bleach in my hair.

As I make my way along the corridor, there’s no sound from the Geigers’ bedroom. I move silently past the door, feeling suddenly awkward. It’ll be a bit strange, spending all weekend in their house, with nothing to do. I’d better go out later. Get out of their way.

The kitchen is as silent and gleamy as ever, but it’s starting to feel slightly less intimidating. I know my way around the kettle and the toaster, if nothing else. I’ll have toast for breakfast, with orange and ginger marmalade, and a nice cup of coffee. And I’ll read the paper from cover to cover. That’ll take me to about eleven o’clock and then I can think about what else to do.…

I wonder how the Fallons deal is progressing.

The thought pops into my mind with no warning. I can’t help picturing my last scribbled amendments on the draft agreement—all my work, left half done. And Ketterman’s due diligence report. I never finished that.

My grip on the kettle tightens as I remember all the projects I’ve left behind. I wonder who’s taken over all my unfinished deals. Edward Faulkner, maybe? He’s a year or two younger than me, but pretty sharp. With a wince I imagine him taking the files off my desk, flipping through all my work, introducing himself to the Fallons people. The team could be there right now, finishing up an all-nighter—sitting around the table, Edward Faulkner in my place …