‘Ah, you see, now that’s where we disagree,’ he said, coming to a stop about six inches into my personal space and peering down at me. ‘It’s not that you don’t want the job, merely you think you want this little one here more. It’s simply a matter of priorities. I believe today’s performance demonstrates you want something else most of all.’ He stopped and glanced around, noticing that Henry hadn’t moved. ‘Are we doing this here, then? Fair enough. It won’t take long.’

He nodded to his employee, Mannering, who took a folder out of his briefcase, opened it up, and handed me a slip of paper.

It was a cheque.

One with lots of zeros on it.

Enough zeros to complete all the repairs and help keep Charis House going for a fair while after that.

‘Mr Bigwood, are you bribing me to come and work for you?’ It was only Henry’s firm hand coming to rest on my back that enabled me to sound anywhere close to normal, compared to the gibbering wreck flailing about on the inside.

He smirked. ‘You’re an intelligent woman. You work it out.’

‘Do you know this man, Beatrice?’ Mum asked, appearing at my shoulder, Dad right behind her.

‘It’s Baxter Bigwood.’

‘And who might that be?’ she replied, no more impressed by a man landing his helicopter on her lawn than if he’d arrived on a rusty bicycle.

‘He owns the news corporation that offered me the job I turned down.’

‘So what’s he doing here?’

Baxter’s face flushed violet at my mother’s blatant disregard for the billionaire standing right in front of her.

‘I’m here to make her an offer she can’t – or won’t – refuse,’ he barked, without taking his eyes off me.

I showed Mum the cheque, my head spinning even as my heart plummeted. If I’d had any trace of lingering doubt about wanting to work for BWM Today, this brazen, arrogant attempt to force me into doing what he wanted had obliterated it.

But scanning the eager faces all around me, these faces who had been let down so many times, how could I be so selfish?

For most of the children who came here, Charis House was their one chance, their only hope. How could I refuse this incredible opportunity, the kind of chance it took years at this school to even dare to dream of, simply because I preferred to stay in my nice, comfortable, stress-free job?

I looked at my mother, on one of the highly rare occasions she actually appeared rattled, and then at my father, blinking furiously as he tried to contain the tidal wave of emotions that accompanied a cheque of that size.

‘We’ve hit thirty-five thousand,’ a warm, firm voice spoke right beside my ear.