After what I'd just told Will, dinner should have been an awkward affair, but when traffic started moving again, he turned on the radio, fiddled with the buttons until he found a station playing rock, and didn't press me with further questions. But he did leave one hand resting on my leg. I'd never studied his hands before, but as we passed under the street lights, I took in his long, nimble fingers and soft, unblemished skin. Elegant hands. A surgeon's hands, not unlike my father's. I curled my fingers around Will's and glanced across at his face. He was smiling.

By the time we got home, my heart had stopped trying to escape from my ribcage, and as we walked through my front door, the delicious aroma of Shannon's lasagne brought my appetite back. She swore it was her grandma's special recipe, but as her grandma came from County Kildare the same as she did and not Italy, I suspected it might have come from a cookbook.

And while we ate, I somehow managed to have a reasonably normal conversation about the merits of cats versus dogs followed by a debate on the usage of solar power. Wonderful in principle, but England needed some sun before it would be a viable option.

How could Will act so normal?

Inside, I was a goofy mess.

And when Shannon headed off to her room, leaving me alone with Will and a whole lot of nervous anticipation, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around my waist. Not with his body pressed against me or anything, but just...nice.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "After earlier, I mean."

"Yes. No. I think so. Most of that stuff, I've never told to anyone."

"And I'm honoured that you trusted me with it." He leaned forward so his forehead rested against mine. "And though I'd love to stay here with you all night, I meant what I said. I'm in this long-term, and I'm not going to push you."

Those words only made me want to push myself. But not tonight. Tonight, I needed to think.

Will shifted, running his thumbs up my back in a barely there caress before pressing his lips to my cheek. Not a quick peck like he gave Shannon, but a lingering touch that set my skin aflame. I nearly, so nearly, turned to offer him my own lips, but I couldn't. Not yet.

"I'm not sure I'll be back at a sensible time tomorrow, but RJ's going to pick you up," he said. "And I'll message you, so you'd better get thinking up some answers."

"I'll see you on Wednesday?"

"Nothing could keep me away. Dinner again?"

"Yes. I'd like that."

"I don't know where Shannon gets all her energy from—working early, looking after a kid, then cooking in the evening."

"She usually grinds to a halt by the weekend and sleeps for most of it. I get Aisling duty." Last weekend had been the exception.

"You don't mind?"

I shook my head. "When I first came here, Shannon was the one person who treated me like a human being rather than a parasite. The government gave me a little bit of money, but not enough to live on, and she helped me with food and clothing. So not only do I adore Aisling, I'll do anything for Shannon."

Will smiled, chuckling softly. "You sound fierce when you believe in something, did you know that?"

My cheeks heated. "No."

He brushed his fingers across the pinkness. "I like it. One day, I hope you'll get fierce about me."

If Will kept chipping away at the bricks around my heart, then yes, I'd say that was quite likely.

***

Even though I knew Will wouldn't be around on Tuesday, that didn't stop me from missing him. But his messages helped.

They started the moment I got up, the screen already flashing on my phone when Shannon called out that she was leaving for work.

Will: Morning, beautiful. I'm going to make this easy for you, so we'll start with a simple question. Pancakes or Full English?

What was he talking about? We always ate toast because Shannon got the bread for free. And Will couldn't take me out for breakfast because he wasn't here. Was it a trick question?

I left it too long to reply because a follow-up message arrived.

Will: I just want to get to know you. And maybe one day, I want to take you out for breakfast too.

Oh. Okay, it was like the cats-or-dogs discussion. I could do this.

Rania: Pancakes.

Half an hour later, my phone lit up again.

Will: Good choice. Summer or winter?

Rania: Summer. Always summer.

Despite what I'd said to Will about Aisling being adorable, at the moment she was going through the tantrum stage and determined to prove me wrong, as evidenced by the wail from the living room. I dashed in from the kitchen just as she burst into tears.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

She pointed at Taffy. "Bad cat!"

"What did he do?"

"Take dolly."

Oh dear. I peered over the sofa and saw Aisling's Disney Princess doll with a ripped dress and teeth marks in her face. This called for diversionary tactics.

"Why don't we do drawing?"

Quick, where were the crayons? They might have been messy, but no messier than Aisling bawling her eyes out.

"No drawing. Park."

Oh, the little monster already knew how to bargain.

"We can go to the park after lunch."

"Now."

I was still wearing my pyjamas. "Drawing first, then park after lunch."

I should have known better than to argue with a two-and-a-half-year-old. She snatched Princess and hurled her on the floor, then ran into her bedroom and tried to throw herself on Shannon's bed. I say 'tried' because she had to scramble up there first, and it didn't have quite the same dramatic effect. It took ten minutes of coaxing to get her sitting at the table with paper and crayons, and another twenty minutes before I managed to retrieve my phone.

Will: Looks like I'd better start saving up for our trip to Tahiti. Day or night?

Rania: Night.

I liked the shadows because I could hide in them. That and the people who went out at night didn't usually want to hang around making idle conversation. Fifteen minutes passed before Will sent another question, and by then I'd googled Tahiti on my phone, first to find out where it actually was and second to drool over all the pictures of the tropical paradise.

Will: Bananas or strawberries?

Hmm... I quite liked both, but—

"Rarrrrrrni!" Aisling still couldn't say my whole name. Or scream it.

"What? What's happened?"

"Thirsty."

My phone rang an hour later, and I cursed under my breath in case the noise woke Aisling. She'd fallen asleep on the sofa as I was hunting for her mittens, so I'd breathed a sigh of relief and left her there.

"Hey," I whispered, slipping into my bedroom and pushing the door closed.

"Just checking you haven't quit on me."

"I spent the last fifteen minutes scrubbing crayon off the table."

His chuckle hit me in my chest, a pleasant tingle that spread through my limbs and warmed every part of me.

"Aisling?"

"I didn't get the urge to emulate Jackson Pollock myself."

"You know who Jackson Pollock is?"

"I did get educated in Syria."

"Shit, I'm sorry. That came out rude. I just know so little about you, and I want to know everything."

"My mother was an artist."

Well, sort of. She'd certainly been creative, but she'd only painted for a hobby. One of my biggest regrets was that I didn't have a single one of her paintings left. All that talent had been lost along with her life.

"You keep surprising me."

I took a deep breath. "Picasso or Van Gogh?"

"Picasso. There's a peculiar beauty in imperfection. Tell you what, it's your turn with the questions this afternoon. I'm just about to go in and talk to Celia, so wish me luck."

"Good luck."

"I'll call you when I'm done."

He did call, an hour later, right after Shannon had arrived back and tiptoed past her sleeping daughter. I was off duty for the day.

"Well, that was a waste of time. Celia couldn't tell me much about Weston Corp, other than to suggest I wear a flak jacket when I visit Claire."

"Same as Arthur."

"Yeah. Claire left a month before Celia retired, and apparently the entire office had a party. Lloyd Weston even bought cakes for everyone."

"A momentous occasion. I'm pretty sure he hasn't done that since I've been there." Because I'd have noticed when I had to clear up all the dirty plates and crumbs.

"Well, if she twists my balls off, I might need a shoulder to lean on tomorrow. Wish me luck."

"Good luck."

I wasn't sure what made me more nervous—the thought of Will getting emasculated by the dragon lady or worrying about his friend picking me up. Talking to one stranger per month was my limit—any more pushed me out of my comfort zone—and I'd already had Chris Turner and his sidekick to deal with as well as Will. My quota was full.

Later that evening, I heard rather than saw the Porsche pull up outside Daylesford Hall again, and I hurried out the door before RJ had the chance to turn off the engine. He grinned at me as I slipped into the passenger side.

"Yeah, I can see why Will's lost his mind over you."

"Sorry?" The British were always sorry, and I'd adopted the expression too.

RJ pulled away smoothly, faster than Will drove. "Since he met you, he's bailed on pizza more times than I can count, knocked back a very nice blonde, and at the weekend, he was checking his phone like a girl."

"Not this girl. He gets annoyed at me because I don't always reply."

"Not annoyed. More...worried."

"I didn't mean to worry him. I guess I'm just nervous." About being with Will, and also about not being with him.

"Don't be. He likes you, and he's a good guy. Trust me. I've known him since we were twelve."

"He said you went to school together."

"Schools, plural. We got expelled from one and his father shit a brick."

"Yours didn't?"

"My father was pretty hands-off. I told him which new school I'd be attending, and he wrote a cheque. But listen to me, going on about the past when I haven't even introduced myself." He held out his right hand, crossing it over his left, which he kept on the steering wheel. "RJ Shields."

I reached out to shake. "Rania Algafari."

"A pretty name for a pretty girl." He quickly shook his head. "Good thing Will didn't hear me say that. He'd probably turn prehistoric and start beating his chest."

Which shouldn't have made me smile, but it did. Since my parents died, I hadn't had anyone to look out for me apart from Shannon, and damn if it didn't feel good to have another person in my corner.

"Satnav says go right here," RJ said. "Is that the best way? I've never trusted it since it sent me the scenic route through Wales. I got to this gate, which seemed odd, but hey, we were in the country, so I opened it and drove through. Then I got to another gate. And another one. And another one. Eighteen fucking gates. It was dark by the time I got to the last one, and I trod in cow shit."

That set me off giggling, and with the ice broken, I confirmed that turning right was indeed safe, and we chatted all the way back to the flat. And then I remembered what Will had said about living on pizza and thought I should make an effort to be sociable.

"Do you want to come in for dinner? My flatmate always cooks, and... Is that weird? Inviting you in?"

"Who knows? But I'll take you up on the offer because I'm sick of takeaways."

"You don't cook at all?"

"Last time I looked in my oven, the shelves still had the protective plastic on them."

"Oh. Okay."

For me, a takeaway was a treat to be afforded a couple of times a year, not a diet. But I led RJ up the stairs and into the flat, where Shannon's eyes widened.

"How do you manage it?" she hissed. "I've swiped left on the whole of Tinder and you walk in with two hotties in two weeks."

"Shannon, meet RJ. He's a friend of Will's."

"Not a replacement for Will?"

RJ laughed. "No, I'm not a replacement for Will. Not if I value my life."

But he still pulled the same moves, dipping to kiss Shannon on the cheek. She turned redder than her Christmas jumper, a knitted affair with reindeer marching across it. And with good reason. RJ may have had blond hair and blue eyes to Will's brown and brown, but he still looked every inch like a model on his afternoon off—handsome but a little scruffy around the edges.

"We've got enough dinner for three, haven't we? RJ doesn't know how to cook."

"I'm sure I can make it stretch."

From the gleam in Shannon's eye, she'd have run to the twenty-four-hour supermarket, bought fresh ingredients, and rustled up something from scratch otherwise. At least, until RJ dropped his Porsche keys on the table in our tiny hallway. She peered at them, eyes narrowed.

"What car do you drive?"

"A Porsche 911."

He sounded proud, and rightly so. From what Will said, RJ had worked hard to buy it. But Shannon tossed her hair over her shoulder and harrumphed.

"Oh. I see. Well, I'd better dish up dinner."

She spun around and stomped off to the kitchen, leaving RJ looking confused.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Not exactly."

"Then why is she banging pots together like my testicles are between them?"

"Her ex used to drive a Porsche. It didn't end well. And you perhaps want to avoid mentioning investments, your vacation homes, your net worth, and the number of celebrities you've met. Just a tip."

"Uh, okay. For the record, my family only has one vacation home, and I don't know any celebrities."

I gave him a smile I hoped was encouraging. "Then don't worry—she'll come around."

She didn't. Firstly, RJ got relegated to the fold-up stool. Then I had to make all the conversation while Shannon remained as frosty as the ice cream she slammed down in front of him for dessert. You can't imagine how grateful I was when his phone rang, and he looked as if he shared my sentiments.

"Excuse me a minute," he said, dashing out to the hallway, only to come back seconds later, holding out his mobile. "It's for you."

I pressed it to my ear.

"You're not answering your phone again," Will growled.

I closed my eyes. Oops. "I left it in my jacket pocket, and then I got distracted."

"By what?"

Shannon had retreated to the kitchen, out of earshot, but even so, I got up and headed into my bedroom. "Shannon's been mentally flaying RJ."

"What? Why?"

"She saw his Porsche keys. I forgot to warn him she really doesn't like wealthy guys."

"That's a refreshing change."

"Maybe, but it's kind of awkward being at the dinner table with them. I hoped she'd have mellowed a bit by now. I mean, it's been over three years since her Porsche-driving ex was on the scene."

"Aisling's father?"

"Yes."

"But she sees her daughter every day. That's a pretty strong reminder."

"I guess. How did your visit to Claire go? You survived?"

"Good and bad. I'm just about to start the trip back. Celia was right—Claire's an absolute bitch—but she also told me that Celia was too stupid to remember the internet banking logon and password, so she used to keep them written on a Post-it note in her desk drawer."

The implications of that sank in. "So anybody could have got hold of them and made those transactions?"

"Seems that way. She didn't even hide them, according to Claire. The details were all there, sitting on top of her tray of pens and paper clips."

So we were no further forward, and possibly even a few steps backwards. Suddenly, I wanted to crawl under the duvet and sleep for a week.

"Will we see each other tomorrow?" I asked, covering a yawn with my hand.

"Now I'm picturing you with your mouth open. Sorry. Inappropriate." Will paused. "Yes, I'll be there tomorrow. I need to speak to Davinder first, but I'll come in the afternoon."

I never knew how to end a conversation with a man. The whole "you hang up, no, you hang up" thing popped into my mind, and I snorted by accident.

"Er, yes, bye. Better go."

I hung up as Will was still laughing on the other end.