Page 34 of The Work Husband

It was Jamie’s turn to remember to say thank you.

We sat together on a yellow brocade sofa, sipping our complimentary champagne and gazing around in total awe. In spite of the warm welcome we’d received, I couldn’t help feeling a bit daunted, almost intimidated, by the grandeur of it all. It was the sort of place that made you worry you’d use your cutlery in the wrong order at dinner, or get lost and somehow stumble into the wrong room by mistake and interrupt a posh couple having sex, or fart in the middle of your relaxing spa massage.

‘Here’s the thing,’ Jamie said after we’d spent a moment taking it all in, ‘our job sucks a lot of the time. And then⁠—’

‘Something like this turns up, and you think⁠—’

‘You know what, I’ll take all the shit Cormac Kennedy can throw at me.’

‘Exactly.’

‘It reminds me a bit of my mate Tuppers’s gaff,’ he went on. ‘Only that’s up north, not in the Cotswolds, and it would need a few million spent on it to look like this, which old man Montague doesn’t have.’

Jamie had dropped hints about his wealthy, well-connected friends in the past, but I’d never really asked for details, and I wasn’t going to now – I didn’t need reminding that he felt considerably more comfortable in environments like this than I did.

‘Well, if Tuppers ever wants to open a hotel, you can pass on some tips,’ I suggested.

We exchanged grins again.

‘We’re going to have to remember that we’re working, though,’ I went on.

‘Yeah, whatevs.’ Jamie shrugged. ‘They invited us here for a jolly, right? They want us to recommend this place to our clients, so they need to give us the full treatment, right?’

‘I mean, I guess so.’ I sipped my champagne doubtfully. ‘But you never know. I wouldn’t want to take the piss.’

‘I fully intend to take all the piss.’

‘Yes, but we don’t know what the rules are. They didn’t say. For all we know, the stay’s included but nothing else is, and when we leave on Sunday, they’ll hand us a bill for squillions.’

Jamie looked down at his champagne as if it might be poisoned – or, worse, chargeable. ‘You think they’d do that?’

‘They might.’

‘Maybe we should ask.’

‘Maybe you should ask.’

We caught each other’s eyes again and giggled, united in the shared awkwardness we knew each other well enough not to have to try and conceal.

‘Maybe we should offer to take one room instead of two, as a cost-cutting exercise,’ he suggested. ‘Then they could comp us more food and booze.’

‘Then I’d have to listen to you snoring all night,’ I teased.

‘I don’t snore,’ he said huffily. ‘As you’d know full well if you⁠—’

‘If I what?’

‘Slept w— shared a room with me.’ He winked.

‘Jamie!’ We hadn’t been talking loudly, but now I dropped my voice to a whisper. ‘Don’t do that, okay?’

‘Do what?’ His blue eyes were wide and innocent.

‘Flirt with me. There’s no point – Sam’s not even here.’

‘Sorry.’ But his grin was unrepentant. ‘Couldn’t help myself.’

‘Well, you⁠—’