Fifteen
As Ari pulled up to the grand Scottish manor, the tyres screeched against the gravel driveway, a sound that echoed off the stone walls and sent a shiver down Nancy’s spine. The manor stood like a regal sentinel, its turrets and spires reaching towards the sky. Though Nancy had driven for the rich, this was old money. It was its own world.
‘You could have eased into the driveway, you know,’ Nancy told Ari, her voice tight as she unbuckled herself.
Ari flashed her a grin, unfazed by Nancy’s anxiety. ‘But where’s the fun in that?’ She swung the door open, stepping out with an effortless swagger, her confidence radiating as she smoothed her dress down.
Nancy took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she followed Ari out of the car. A valet took Ari’s keys and drove the car quickly out of sight.
They both looked up at the grandeur of the manor. ‘Sweet Jesus. These people are loaded,’ Nancy muttered to herself.
The heavy oak doors swung open before they could even knock, revealing a tall, impeccably dressed butler standing in the grand entryway. He was older, with silver hair that had been combed back with precision. His tailcoat was pressed to perfection, his white gloves pristine. Nancy, having never seen a butler outside of a murder mystery, was floored by him.
‘Ms Stark,’ he said, dipping his head in greeting. His voice was smooth and refined, carrying just enough weight to make it clear he was the gatekeeper to this world, if not a participant. His gaze flickered briefly to Nancy. ‘And guest.’
Nancy barely resisted the urge to straighten her posture. Ari, on the other hand, flashed the butler a winning smile, utterly unbothered by the formality of it all. ‘You remembered me, Laurence. I’m touched.’
‘You didn’t make the reception last night,’ Laurence replied, neither confirming nor denying Ari’s statement. ‘Were you detained?’
Ari shrugged. ‘Flat tyre. Sorry.’
‘Of course.’ He stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. ‘Please, allow me to take you through to the garden. The guests are gathering for drinks.’
Without another word, he turned on his heel and led them down a polished hallway lined with ancestral portraits, past an ornate staircase that spiralled towards the upper floors.
Nancy kept her steps measured, resisting the urge to rubberneck at the sheer opulence surrounding her. She was not staff today. She was a date. Ari, however, walked like she owned the place, her stride lazy and confident.
Laurence pushed open a set of French doors, and they were met with the sight of a sprawling garden. The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass, and clusters of guests, who might as well have come dressed in outfits made of fifty-pound notes, were already mingling around tables set with crystal glasses and carafes of chilled white wine.
Laurence stepped aside with a small bow of his head. ‘If you require anything, do not hesitate to ask.’
Ari gave him an affectionate tap on the shoulder. ‘I never do, Laurence. Super high maintenance, as you’ll recall.’ He nearly smiled as he left them.
‘There she is,’ Ari muttered from between gritted teeth.
Nancy spotted them across the lawn, surrounded by a gaggle of well-wishers. The bride, Paris—a vision in what Nancy, thanks to Ari, had learned was probably Valentino—with her hair perfectly styled and a bright smile plastered across her face, seemed to embody the very essence of joy. But only if you didn’t look too hard.
Nancy squinted slightly, trying to pinpoint what it was that unsettled her about Paris. She was objectively stunning with symmetrical features, luminous skin, and the kind of effortless poise that came from a lifetime of being admired. But there was something about her perfection that felt utterly manufactured, like a face airbrushed just a little too much. Even her laughter, bright and melodic, had the careful precision of someone who knew how to be watched.
Nancy folded her arms. ‘Well, she looks… euphoric.’
Ari let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a sigh. ‘Doesn’t she just.’
Next to Paris stood the groom, cutting a square figure, muscles packed into more couture, looking equally radiant as he laughed at something one of the guests had said.
‘What’s his name?’ Nancy asked.
Ari looked blank. ‘Hold on.’ She took out her phone. ‘Oh, it’s Callum. Classic Scottish hunk name,’ she said with a little derision. She took a deep breath. ‘Ready to dive into the madness?’
Nancy smiled. Or rather, she bared her teeth. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ she replied.
As Nancy and Ari approached the bride and groom, the air buzzed with excitement. Paris turned her attention to Ari, her eyes sparkling with delight. ‘Ari! You made it!’ she exclaimed, her arms opening wide for an embrace.
Ari stepped forward and hugged Paris. ‘Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’ she declared. Even Nancy nearly believed it.
Nancy stood slightly apart, feeling like an intruder in a moment. Paris’s eyes shifted to her, curiosity flickering beneath the surface. ‘And who’s your friend?’
Ari turned, gesturing towards Nancy. ‘Oh, this is Nancy. She’s…’ Her voice trailed off, and Nancy could see the wheels turning in Ari’s mind as she searched for the right words to introduce her. ‘My date.’
‘Nice to meet you, Nancy,’ Paris said, her tone friendly but with an edge of suspicion. She looked Nancy up and down, assessing every last square inch of her. ‘How do you know Ari?’
Nancy kept her smile plastered on her face. ‘Um, we met through… mutual friends,’ she stammered, scrambling to keep her answer vague.
‘Right,’ Paris replied, her expression remaining neutral, but Nancy could sense the lingering doubt. She looked at Ari. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were bringing anyone along.’
‘I ticked plus one,’ Ari reminded her.
Paris gave her a condescending smile. ‘Of course.’ She turned to Nancy. ‘Well, it’s lovely to have you here. What do you do?’
Nancy realised that she had no backstory worked out. Was she rich? She should probably be rich. ‘I work in the city.’
‘Oh, finance? You don’t look like a stockbroker. They’re usually so… pressed.’ Paris’s gaze skimmed over Nancy.
Nancy swallowed. ‘Well, I drink a lot. That helps.’
Paris laughed a little too loud.
Ari, sensing the tension, chimed in with a grin. ‘She’s drunk now.’
Paris’s smile didn’t falter, but her gaze softened with a hint of politeness. ‘How hilarious. Well, enjoy the day.’
With that, Paris turned away, leaving Nancy feeling both relieved and a little unsettled by the encounter.
Ari’s gaze flickered back to Nancy, her smile returning. ‘That was good.’
‘You sure? I didn’t know what the hell to say.’
‘You acted like you didn’t give a shit what she thought of you. That’s the only way to play Paris. You try to please her, she will gut you.’
‘Jesus,’ Nancy said. ‘And she was your girlfriend?’
‘Don’t judge me. I was young and stupid. Well, younger.’ Sadness flicked over her face. ‘Anyway. Let’s get a drink. I think we’re going to need it.’
‘Sounds good,’ Nancy agreed. ‘I can’t method as a drunk stockbroker without a drink in my hand.’
Once at the bar, Nancy ordered a glass of champagne, the bubbles fizzing as she took a sip, hoping to calm her nerves. ‘Here’s to, er, stocks,’ she said, clinking her glass against Ari’s, trying to muster some enthusiasm.
Ari smiled. ‘You don’t need to be nervous. You’re doing great.’
Nancy gave a small nod, but she was grateful for the approval.
As they turned back to the festivities, she watched the partygoers for a moment, trying to get a read on how rich people acted. She’d seen it plenty, of course. But she’d never taken note.
She could have done with Richard Attenborough to narrate this party. He’d have laid it out for her. ‘And here, amidst the glittering crowd, we observe the rarefied ritual of the ultra-wealthy. Notice the subtle exchange of glances, the measured laughter, everything choreographed, a delicate dance of status. No one dares to break the unspoken rules. To do so would disrupt the balance of their world.’
She almost laughed at the thought. But then, her breath caught in her throat.
‘Oh no,’ she whispered, panic rising within her.
Ari followed her gaze, her expression shifting to one of concern. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s my old boss,’ Nancy admitted, her heart racing.