“Um…yeah.” Jules sat back and looked at her phone. She’d flown out of New York at 10:30 p.m. on Christmas Eve and had staggered into Heathrow at 10:30 a.m. on Christmas Day, local time. Jet lag was going to suck, and worse, she’d be the only one suffering through it. Vivian would have adjusted to the time change and would be as fresh as a daisy.

Coffee would help. Jules leaned toward the pod-style coffeemaker nestled between the front seats and picked up a pod. Sumatra blend, nice.

“Looking forward to the luncheon?” he asked.

She looked up with a frown. “The what?”

“The luncheon. Didn’t you know?” He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “When I told Ms. Carlisle what time you were getting in, she told me to make sure you got there in time to attend.”

Fantastic. Jules dropped the coffee pod back into its holder with a moan. “No, I didn’t know. Where is it? What’s this luncheon for?”

Hold it. She knew this. Vivian’s itinerary was already etched into her brain and had been for weeks. Today was Christmas, which meant, oh God, it was—

“The Christmas Day luncheon at the Ritz,” he said. “In the Music Room. Loads of publishing supremos. Very posh.”

Jules looked down with horror at her wrinkled pants and shirt. “We’re going straight there?”

“Yes,” Jimmy said patiently.

No. No way could she show up like this. “We have to make a quick stop somewhere. It won’t take me more than a few minutes to change. Please!”

He quickly held up a placating hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll set it right. Let’s see… My friends John and Nora have a flat not too far out of the way. I’ll ring them, see if they’re home.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Jules was practically sobbing with gratitude in front of a bemused-looking British woman. Christmas music played merrily in the background.

“Well, Jimmy’s told us stories about Vivian Carlisle,” Nora said, looking over at him with wide eyes. She had a sprig of holly pinned to her sweater. “I suppose they must be true. Here, you can change in our bedroom, love. Down the hall.”

Jules hauled her suitcase to the bedroom and threw it open. There must be something that would work. “Very posh,” Jimmy had said, but how posh was posh? It was lunch, so no evening gowns, which was good because Jules hadn’t thought to pack one, though obviously she should have. Shit! Well maybe this gray skirt would do. And this green blouse. And these black heels.

Dammit, she looked like a secretary. Well, she kind of was a secretary, but still… She rummaged around her jewelry and found a pair of pearl drop earrings to lend the ensemble a little more elegance. She could fix her makeup and hair in the car.