“That skank Australian snuck into his hotel room and stole my boyfriend!” The words played over in Chloe’s mind like a 1940s newsreel, as she stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace. Skank-y, Chloe thought. It was supposed to be an adjective. “That skanky Australian …” Somehow, focusing on Madison’s poor grammar was easier than delving into the implications of the predicament.

George had said he’d written a press release, but what on earth would it say? She’d written press releases—dozens of them—but never once had she needed to refute the skankiness of one of her clients.

Archer Tate would like to say that Ms Madison Strumpet is gravely mistaken. Ms Chloe Sims is not a skank. She is, however, the love of Mr Tate’s life and, as well as enjoying a rigorous and highly satisfying physical relationship with Ms Sims, Mr Tate finds her to be delightful company, extremely funny and capable, and very, very pretty. She is also highly respected by Mr Tate’s rather formidable mother, who reportedly was impressed by Ms Sims’s efforts as a last-minute addition to the planning committee for the Penham Christmas Fair.

Chloe imagined George reading it out at a press conference with her and Archer behind him, both wearing enormous dark sunglasses and waiting to take questions. It was a ludicrous image and a giggle bubbled up and took hold. When Susan arrived with a tray of tea and biscuits—milk chocolate Hobnobs—she found Chloe giggling quietly to herself.

Susan eyed Chloe with a mix of concern and confusion. “Are you all right, Chloe love?” She placed the tray on the coffee table and poured Chloe a large mug of tea, adding a generous dollop of milk.

Chloe stopped laughing and took the proffered tea. “Thank you and I guess so. It’s just all so ridiculous, don’t you think?”

Susan’s eyebrows knitted together, and she pursed her lips. “Mmm.” She didn’t seem wholly convinced of the ridiculousness of the situation and busied herself with pouring tea for her and Max. Chloe, riding the pendulum of emotion back towards dismay, reached for a biscuit and nearly upset her tea. Susan’s eyes widened and flew to the crocheted blanket, but Chloe recovered without spilling. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

Susan shook her head, “No need, Chloe love. But I’ll just leave these here, shall I?” She placed the plate of biscuits on the end table next to Chloe. Max harrumphed—he probably wanted one—but Chloe could foresee comfort eating through the lot. She took a bite. Delicious.

Susan sat in her chair, closest to the fire, and retrieved a folded newspaper and pencil from the table next to her to resume her crossword. Like Max, she peered across at Chloe from time to time, but Chloe barely registered the curious looks. She just snuggled further under the blanket, systematically eating her Hobnob and sipping her tea, all while staring into the fire. She was just starting on her second biscuit when Susan piped up.

“So, Chloe love, what more can you tell us about what’s going on? You and Alan seem—”