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Two days in Kathleen’s company had taught Martha that what Kathleen wanted Kathleen got.
She thought back over the whirlwind of the past forty-eight hours.
After they’d landed in Chicago, they’d checked in to a smart hotel, where Kathleen had reserved a suite with two bedrooms. Martha’s bathroom had been bigger than her bedroom back home.
Kathleen had flung open the doors to the balcony and breathed deeply, as if she was inhaling oxygen for the first time in years. She’d stood there, gazing at the view of Chicago and then said yes, in a voice that suggested she was more than satisfied.
The whole trip was getting a big yes from Martha too.
Apart from the driving part, she was living the dream. Luxury! A room big enough to dance in without the risk of smacking your limbs on the walls. No family pointing out all her faults. Best of all, no chance of Steven turning up on the doorstep.
The suite was incredible, but how on earth could Kathleen afford it? Had she robbed a bank in her youth? The wicked twinkle in her eye made Martha think that anything was possible.
And what exactly were the rules of this trip? Was she supposed to stay out of the way or join Kathleen?
This job hadn’t come with any instructions, apart from the fact that she was expected to drive. She was looking forward to spending a quiet evening with a large burger, and her tattered copy of The Grapes of Wrath to get herself in the mood, although she hoped there would be considerably less drama and hardship in her version of the journey across America.
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.”
Martha didn’t feel like a jet-setter and she was pretty sure she didn’t look like one either, but she was willing to do whatever it took to embrace that lifestyle.
“What should I wear?”
“Casual chic.”
What exactly was that?
In the end she wore the only dress she owned. She grabbed her denim jacket in case she was chilly and slid her feet into a pair of white running shoes.
Kathleen was wearing her customary floaty layers in jewel colors, with a narrow gold watch on one wrist and multiple bangles on the other. With her cropped white hair and her effortless elegance, she looked impossibly glamorous.
