Overwhelmed by gratitude for her new life, Martha had joined Kathleen on the balcony.

“Shall I order something to eat from room service, Kathleen? You’d probably like an early night.” Her grandmother had always had a nap in the afternoon. She knew Mrs. Hartley did too because she yelled at anyone who knocked on her door between three and four.

Kathleen, however, was buzzing. “Early night? It’s five in the afternoon.”

Her skin was pale and her eyes looked tired but they gleamed with an excitement that spiked Martha’s excitement too.

It wasn’t her job to argue with her new employer. She was a driver and companion, not a minder. And if you didn’t know what you wanted by the time you were eighty, then what hope was there?

Liza’s concerned frown slid into her mind. Martha had enough experience of disapproval to know that Kathleen’s daughter had disapproved of her. She was a little daunted by Liza, and not only because she envied anyone with well-behaved hair. Liza’s was as smooth and pale as buttermilk. And then there was her air of competence. Martha hadn’t needed to be told she was a teacher. She doubted there had ever been an issue Liza couldn’t solve, or a class she couldn’t control.

But she wasn’t employed by the daughter, was she? She was employed by the mother.

Still, there was no harm in checking. “It’s ten o’clock back home. No, wait—it’s a six-hour difference. So it’s eleven at home.” Her mother would be cleaning her teeth and yelling at her dad to check that he’d locked the doors. Martha was grateful she wasn’t there.

“You’re on Chicago time now. We have a couple of hours to shower and freshen up, and then we’re going for dinner and cocktails.”

“Cocktails?” Her grandmother had always drunk hot cocoa before bed. Martha had made it for her, using exactly the right amount of milk and sugar. Sometimes she’d eaten a nice digestive biscuit.

Kathleen gazed out over the skyline. “Last time I was here, I drank cocktails. I want to do it again.”

“You’ve been here before? When?”

“I was thirty. It was my first trip to Chicago.”

“I can’t wait to hear all your stories. You can tell me over drinks.” It sounded so adult and sophisticated. She, Martha, was going to drink cocktails and talk about exotic travel. Her conversation was normally restricted to the mundane, but tonight she was going to travel through Kathleen’s experiences. Or maybe she was being too presumptuous. “I don’t have to join you of course. If you’d rather be by yourself—”

“Why would I want to be my myself? You’re part of this adventure.” Kathleen beamed. “You’re a jet-setter now, Martha.”