Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

W as this a stupid idea, Amelia kept wondering? She’d been two beers deep and still buzzing on the adrenaline of her triumphant final fight of the season when she’d made this decision, and Carmen had brought the idea of striking while the iron was hot to a whole new level. Right there in the bar, using spotty wifi from the bar, they’d booked the whole damn trip. In another life, Carmen would have made an amazing travel agent. Amelia had only had the faintest idea of what she wanted to do, but within an hour they had a fully fleshed-out itinerary — a three week international trip to Scotland, to investigate her own ancestry.

Not that she knew the first damned thing about her ancestry that was. She’d spent precious little time with her grandmother before she’d passed away, and though she had a distant memory of her pleasant Scottish accent that was just about the only information she had to go on. But Carmen had been undaunted. She’d scoured the web for just about everything a tourist could get up to in Scotland, firing question after question at Amelia until she was beginning to worry that this vacation was going to take a year, not a few weeks.

Sensing her panic, Carmen had agreed to keep it simple. The point of the trip wasn’t to do a whirlwind tour of every single city and town in the entire country of Scotland — she’d had more than enough of that kind of travel. They narrowed down a list of interesting potential accommodation, ranging from the absurdly luxurious to the intriguingly rustic — and in the end, booked her in for a three-week stay at a historic hotel in the countryside. It had once been the home of an English lord, before falling into disrepair over the centuries. Then it had been restored — some effort by a descendant of the original lord, from what the website said — and turned into a hotel that allowed its guests to experience a glimpse of history without forgoing all the modern conveniences. The staff even dressed up in period-appropriate costuming, something that made Carmen roll her eyes, but that Amelia privately found rather charming.

There were plenty of other options on the long lists that Carmen kept showing her, but there was something about the Weatherby Manor that she kept coming back to. And so they’d booked it — a three week stay in the most luxurious room on offer, a suite that had originally been Lord Weatherby’s most impressive guest quarters. The cost was exorbitant — but that was nothing compared to Carmen’s next pitch.

“A private jet?” Amelia had demanded, half convinced her friend was messing with her. “Are you kidding?”

“You hate airports, Amelia. Remember that guy at Kennedy who stared at you for our whole stopover? This is supposed to be a break from all that. I’m not letting you start and end the trip with airport sandwiches and the — the teeming masses. And don’t start on me about the cost,” she warned her. “You know I’ve always admired how thrifty you are, but there’s a time to save and a time to treat yourself, and the time to treat yourself is right the hell now.”

She’d blamed the decision on the alcohol, in the end… but she had to admit, as embarrassed as she felt to be climbing aboard her own private jet, there was an intense sense of relief that she wouldn’t be worrying about being sat next to a fan who’d pepper her with questions for the entire flight. The staff were pleasant and friendly, and if they found her complete lack of familiarity with private jet protocol amusing, they didn’t let on. Soon she was sipping champagne in a comfortable armchair, looking out over the last American sunset she’d see for a month.

Something kept telling her not to get used to it, that was the trouble — some kneejerk reaction that still hadn’t faded since her childhood. You learned to think a certain way, when you grew up as poor as she had, and that kind of thinking didn’t go away overnight. Amelia could still hardly believe the numbers she saw whenever she checked her bank account. Some part of her wanted to march into a bank and withdraw every last cent and bury it in the woods somewhere, so paranoid was she that the money would all disappear overnight. Money never stayed, that was the lesson of her childhood. It got eaten away one way or another… whether on bills or rent or yet more repairs on their busted old car, or on the cheap whiskey her father drank every day of his life until the last one.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she put that thought firmly out of her mind. She was on holiday for the first time in years, and she was damn well going to enjoy it.

It felt almost wrong, getting an actually decent sleep on a plane, and when the steward came in to tell her that they’d arrived in Scotland, she was almost sad to be leaving the jet. She was escorted by yet more smiling staff from the jet to a car waiting on the tarmac, which had already been loaded up with her bags. After a moment of hesitation, she sat in the front seat beside the driver, who flashed her a warm smile before starting the car. Should she talk to him, she wondered? Or was that not the done thing?

But any awkwardness she might have felt was quickly eclipsed by the view through the windows. With the airport left behind, they were quickly surrounded by rolling green hills, the kind of thing that she’d only ever seen in cartoons. Feeling like a kid, she all but pressed her nose against the window — the driver rolled it down for her and she couldn’t help but laugh a little as the cool breeze tousled her hair. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Carmen, confirming firstly that she’d arrived safely, and secondly that as always, her manager had been right about everything. Private plane, private car… this beat the hell out of a crowded economy flight and a shuttle bus full of gawking strangers.

The drive felt like it flew by, and soon they were rolling up the driveway of a picturesque manor. Amelia gazed up at the familiar facade, catching her breath a little — somehow, the photos on the website hadn’t quite done it justice. There had been before and after shots on the website, pictures of what the run-down old ruin had looked like before the restoration team had worked their magic, and she made a note to learn as much as she could about that process. It was such flawless work that she could hardly believe the building had ever been in such disrepair. Again, she thought of her father, who’d been a handyman and a decorator when he’d managed to hold a job down — and again, she firmly dismissed the thought. This trip was about having fun in a brand new place, not dredging up old trauma.

The driver helped her inside with her bags, and though he tried to protest that the gratuity had already been taken care of, she forced a tip into his hand regardless. She might be stepping into a lavish new lifestyle, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to become the kind of person who didn’t tip.

Taking a deep breath, Amelia stepped through the front doors of Weatherby Manor, looking forward to being transported back in time.