Elise dried the platter and placed it on the worktop. “It’s a good thing I’m only here for the weekend, or I’d get fat from your cooking. It’s been a long time since I had such an excellent breakfast.”

Gillian beamed. “Thanks. I love to cook but rarely have time to put on a big spread like this. My and Catherine’s interior-design company keeps me hopping.”

Elise had no idea how Gillian juggled so many balls, but her family didn’t appear to suffer from her busy schedule. She suspected it had something to do with the dry-erase calendar on the wall. Each day listed color-coded events by person and time. Even Gillian’s pantry had a list inside the door of things they needed to replace. No wonder Jack’s household ran so smoothly; he had married an organizational whiz.

Elise’s mobile vibrated. Pulling out the device, she glanced at the screen. Harry? “Excuse me, Gillian. I need to take this.” Elise stepped into the lounge and faced the window, well out of earshot from the kitchen’s occupants.

“Benson, is something wrong?” Of course something was wrong. Harry didn’t make a habit of calling her on his off time.

“Hiya,” Harry greeted, then paused before he said, “I need a huge favor.”

“I’d be happy to help—if I can.” Harry never asked for anything.

“I need a childminder as soon as possible. Would your family know of any near your parents’ estate?”

“Why do you need a childminder?” Elise asked. Harry’s parents tended his son when he was on assignment.

“My dad underwent open-heart surgery last night. He’s critical. Mum needs to stay with him.”

His worry reached through the line and wrapped its tentacles around her. Harry didn’t complain; he was a good soldier, but she could read the tea leaves fairly accurately in this instance.

“I’m so sorry. I assume Nigel couldn’t give you emergency leave?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“Negative.” Harry clipped the word.

She sighed faintly. Nigel didn’t have a secondary plan for Harry’s mission. She had seen this a time or two when an agent fit an undercover op too perfectly. Poor Harry. He played the situation low-key, but his asking told its own story. He was desperate.

Elise furrowed her brow and twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “I have another six weeks of medical leave. If there’s room on your flight, I’ll accompany you to Scotland. My parents have been nagging me to visit them for ages. I’m sure you can leave Sammy at the castle until you get a nanny sorted. There’s plenty of staff to look after him.”

Och. Her stomach filled with dread at the thought of returning to Torwoodlee, but only she could wangle a deal with her father’s staff.