Chapter Text
The Priory was chaos before nine in the morning.
Venturer were still riding the fumes of their half-victory over Corinium at the polo match, a triumph earned less through brilliance and more because Corinium had managed to implode spectacularly in public. Tony’s recorded confession had cleared Cameron of the ‘accident’, Sarah Stratton had vomited all over James Vereker’s suit in front of half the county, and the parachute stunt had ended with one of Corinium’s own staff suspended from a tree like a particularly expensive piece of bunting.
Venturer, meanwhile, had barely needed to lift a finger. Their rivals had climbed willingly into their own coffin and hammered the nails in from the inside.
After that, there’d been a collective decision to turn the Priory into a kind of operational headquarters. Declan had announced they needed proper administrative staff, which somehow meant Shelley Makepiece. Rupert immediately started talking about expansion like a man spending money he didn’t technically have yet, and within days the entire place had dissolved into a frenzy of new ideas, new schemes, fresh famous faces and increasingly elaborate ways to humiliate Corinium further.
Everyone had thrown themselves into it.
If Declan didn’t have the telephone practically welded to his ear, he was stalking through the corridors reciting Yeats under his breath, Scotch in one hand and a Dictaphone in the other, like a man trying desperately to outrun his own mind.
Charles was usually folded over the dining table beneath mountains of television schedules and paperwork, sleeves rolled up, glasses slipping down his nose as he filled an enormous black diary with figures and notes. Every so often he’d pause only long enough to refill his wine glass before diving back into the numbers again.
Taggie drifted quietly through the middle of it all whenever she wasn’t working elsewhere, tidying abandoned cups, rescuing ashtrays before they overflowed, appearing soundlessly with trays of tea, sandwiches, or still-warm buns before vanishing again before anyone properly thanked her.
Bas, meanwhile, consumed most of those offerings at alarming speed while sprawled across a sofa watching endless hours of Corinium programming on VHS and insisting it counted as research. Every now and then he’d offer a devastatingly accurate observation about ratings or presenters, insult at least three people in the process, then disappear off to Bar Sinister having somehow contributed both absolutely nothing and the only worthwhile insight of the afternoon.
And despite Cameron trying her damnedest to drag them back onto something resembling a coherent course, trying to make them focus on one fucking thing at a time, it was like screaming into the void.
Her discipline and laser-focused determination were proving a poor match for her English counterparts, who seemed capable of swinging from complete disarray to total complacency within the span of a single conversation. One minute they behaved as though the future of the franchise depended on every breath they took; the next they were drinking wine at eleven in the morning while arguing about polo ponies, poetry, or whether Bas had stolen the last sausage roll.
It made her head spin.
She’d have liked to think Rupert, at least, shared some of her frustration.
But if anything, he was the worst of the lot.
Lately he'd become entirely consumed by the idea of bringing in someone new and dazzling to head up sport.
Billy Lloyd Foxe had lodged himself firmly inside Rupert's brain and, ever since, there had been endless hushed phone calls, mysterious lunches and late-night disappearances. Most ended with Rupert stumbling back into Penscombe sometime after five in the morning with his tie wrapped around his head and the unmistakable air of a man who'd been drinking heavily while insisting it qualified as networking.
And today, it seemed no less disorganised.
When Rupert slammed the driver’s side door of the car and stepped out onto the gravel, he could already hear the commotion spilling from inside the Priory.
Erasure blared somewhere upstairs. Declan was yelling at Caitlin to turn the damn thing off. Freddie’s unmistakable cockney drifted through the open hallway alongside Charles’s high-pitched giggle, while somewhere deeper in the house Taggie was calling Gertrude back from wherever she’d wandered.
Rupert couldn't help chuckling. His gaze drifted warmly from the house to Cameron as she emerged from the passenger side wearing the expression of a woman very much preparing for battle.
They stepped inside to a flurry of movement that Rupert sank into on instinct. He caught a fleeing Gertrude neatly beneath one arm as he crossed the threshold, barely interrupting his stride while the chaos continued around him.
Patrick cut across the hall towards the kitchen carrying a few empty mugs. Declan came stomping down the staircase with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and an unplugged stereo swinging from one hand while Caitlin hurried after him protesting loudly.
Taggie rounded the corner only seconds later in pursuit of the dog, nearly colliding with Freddie as he paced the corridor barking into his mobile phone.
Her footsteps slowed the instant she spotted Rupert.
The change in her was instant and impossible not to notice. Some of the tension slipped from her shoulders. Her expression softened. Her eyes flicked briefly towards the others before she swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, succeeding only in smearing a streak of flour across one cheek.
Somewhere at the edge of his vision Rupert vaguely registered the sharp scarlet blur of Cameron’s blazer disappearing deeper into the house.
Honestly, he barely noticed anything else once Taggie was standing in front of him.
“Thanks,” she said with a tired smile, stepping forward to take Gertrude gently from his arms. “She’s in trouble today.”
The statement was immediately contradicted by the way Taggie buried her face into the puppy’s fur the second she had her back.
Over Gertrude’s head, her blue eyes lifted towards Rupert’s again.
His own gaze dropped back to the dog instead, a soft, slightly awkward laugh escaping him as he reached out to idly scratch behind Gertrude’s ears. “Surely not.”
He glanced back up just as Taggie lifted her head again, one hand still buried in the puppy’s fur. “Pup seems to think I enjoy having dead mice dropped at my feet.”
The corner of her mouth curved into a small, reluctant smile, and Rupert felt himself smiling back before he even realised he was doing it.
Something in him relaxed automatically around her. It always did. Like his body released a great big exhale that seemed tied entirely to this house. To her. Especially when she smiled at him like that.
“Rupert.”
His head snapped up.
The others were staring at him.
Declan, in particular, was regarding him over the end of the cigarette dangling from his mouth with an expression that very clearly translated to what the fuck are you doing?
Rupert cleared his throat at once and took a step backwards.
Taggie seemed not to notice. Or pretended not to. She simply crossed the room and dropped onto the battered sofa they still hadn’t moved out of their newly declared ‘office’, Gertrude scrambling up beside her a second later.
“What?” Rupert asked, far too quickly.
“You summoned us all, dear,” Charles reminded him mildly from the corner of the room.
He was draped elegantly across an armchair, delicately balancing a teacup and saucer beneath his chin that Rupert was almost certain contained cabernet rather than tea.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten,” Charles said dryly before leaning slightly toward Cameron, who stood beside him with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Lowering his voice just enough to imply discretion while ensuring everyone could still hear him perfectly, he added, “That’s how Mother started, you know.”
Rupert sighed, relieved they weren't all wondering why he'd been standing there staring at Declan's eldest daughter as though he'd forgotten his own name.
“Of course not,” he muttered.
“Well then, can we please fecking start?” Declan said wearily, dropping onto the sofa beside Taggie.
Freddie came in then, slamming the aerial of his mobile phone down with the heel of his hand "We all present and correct?" he asked, chewing loudly on a piece of gum as he scanned the room. "Where's Bas?"
Declan blew out a stream of smoke. “Late.”
He said it with the resignation of a man who had long since accepted Bas Baddingham as a force of nature rather than a colleague.
“Shocking,” Rupert said flatly.
He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto a side table, knocking over an empty wine bottle in the process and pointedly ignoring the weary look Taggie gave him.
“He was at the Dog and Trumpet last night,” she offered out of nowhere.
Rupert suddenly found himself concentrating very hard on re-tucking a shirt that did not, in fact, need re-tucking.
How the bloody hell did Taggie know where Bas had been?
“Well, there we are then,” Freddie chuckled, settling himself on the edge of a desk. “He’ll be hanging out of his arse.”
Declan's eyes narrowed as they settled on Taggie beside him. “How do you know he was at the pub?”
Thank God someone had asked.
Rupert could have kissed him.
If it weren't for the moustache.
“He asked if I wanted to go,” Taggie said, fussing over Gertrude in her lap as though the statement were entirely unremarkable.
Declan's eyes widened. "He did what?"
“Oh, don’t start.” She sighed, “I said no.”
Her eyes flicked briefly towards Rupert. “I was here all evening.”
Something in him loosened immediately.
Excellent.
With that particular crisis averted, Rupert clapped his hands together once and stepped towards the front of the room. “Right—”
“Can we please just start without him?” Cameron cut across him so sharply he nearly lost the rest of the sentence. She didn't even bother looking up as she snapped the folder in front of her shut and tucked it beneath her arm. "Every time he's here he eats everything in sight and contributes absolutely nothing."
Rupert opened his mouth to point out that he had, in fact, been about to do exactly that. But unfortunately, as Rupert was discovering after spending what felt like every waking hour with her, brilliant as Cameron was, she never really considered conversation a two-person activity.
Before he could get a word in, another voice drifted across the room.
“Oh, I don't know.” Rupert looked up in mild surprise to find Charles, of all people, smiling dreamily into the middle distance. “I find him absolutely charming.”
A beat of silence followed.
Cameron stared at him. “You're right. Invaluable.” She turned her attention back to Rupert and fixed him with a look. “Can we?”
Rupert ignored her. Experience had taught him that responding to Cameron's complaints only encouraged them. As for whatever thoughts Charles was currently having about Bas while gazing dreamily into his cup, Rupert had absolutely no intention of exploring those either.
“So,” he said loudly, reclaiming the room, “as you all know, I've been courting Billy recently-”
Cameron barked out a laugh. “Is that what we're calling disappearing into Bar Sinister for forty-eight hours?”
Rupert grinned. “Completely necessary with a man like Billy.”
Necessary and bloody exhausting.
Billy Lloyd Foxe possessed the attention span of a particularly attractive golden retriever. Keeping him focused on business for more than ten minutes required persistence, flattery, alcohol and, occasionally, outright bribery.
Caitlin immediately abandoned whatever she'd been doing and dropped into the seat beside Taggie. “Who's Billy?”
“He's an ex-showjumper,” Declan supplied.
Caitlin's eyes widened. “Wait. Billy Lloyd Foxe? From the BBC?”
“Yeah.” Declan nodded before looking across at Rupert with a raised eyebrow. “Though maybe not for much longer?”
Rupert winced, baring his teeth as he glanced around the room before dropping the proverbial bomb. "Still is, I'm afraid."
The reaction was immediate.
A collective groan swept around the room as frustrated expletives erupted from every direction.
“Oh, for fuck's sake-”
“-Talk about anti-fecking-climatic-”
Rupert used the uproar to light the cigarette behind his ear he'd been saving for this very moment, taking a drag as he listened to overlapping complaints until the room settled into a murmur.
Freddie looked personally offended. “He turned us down?”
Rupert resisted the urge to rub his temples.
Honestly, you'd have thought he'd announced Billy had died.
Rupert held up a hand, cigarette clenched between his lips as he spoke. "Temporarily."
Cameron scrunched up her nose. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means,” Rupert said patiently, “Billy likes the idea of us enormously-”
“He said no.” Declan cut in.
“He said not yet.” Rupert corrected.
Declan folded his arms. “Which, in England, is generally a polite way of saying no.”
Rupert dismissed that with a flick of his cigarette and a long suffering sigh. “Billy's not quite the gambler he used to be. He's reluctant to throw away a cushy BBC job for a company that technically doesn't exist yet.”
Freddie still looked deeply offended, lifting the two fingers holding his cigarette to wag them in Rupert's direction. “I genuinely thought you had 'im.”
“So did I,” Rupert admitted.
Cameron pinched the bridge of her nose. “Wonderful. So after two days of drinking and vomiting on the bedroom carpet, we've achieved absolutely nothing.”
Rupert glanced at Taggie, expecting her usual discomfort whenever Cameron started discussing their private life.
Instead she only frowned.
Probably because this particular detail about him was frankly disgusting.
“But why's it such a problem all of a sudden?" she asked. "A week ago nobody was even talking about a Head of Sport. Aren't we basically just back where we started?”
Rupert opened his mouth, but Declan got there first.
“Because Corinium's sports coverage is utter shite,” he said bluntly. “If Billy jumped ship, half the country would've followed him over out of curiosity alone.”
Charles looked between them. “Can't Rupert do it?”
The room turned as one to look at him, and he gave a clueless little shrug. “Eligible bachelor. Minister for Sport. He's rather perfect for television, isn't he?”
The self-satisfied smirk that had appeared on Rupert's face vanished immediately when Freddie barked a laugh.
“For women, maybe.” He gestured vaguely at Rupert. “Can't see blokes rushin' home to watch cricket because some handsome posh MP's introducing it.”
“Thank you, Freddie.” Rupert said flatly
"Any time, Rupe."
Rupert sighed. “If you'd all allow me to get a bloody word in, you'd know that, as always, I had an ace up my sleeve.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And frankly, it's worked out infinitely better for us that Billy said no.”
That got their attention.
Declan leaned forward slightly. “Go on, then.”
Rupert took his time drawing on his cigarette, leisurely blowing out the smoke towards the ceiling. He was perfectly aware the entire room was waiting for him now.
Across the room Cameron rolled her eyes so hard he was surprised she didn't injure herself.
“I,” Rupert announced grandly, “have landed us someone men and women alike will want to watch. Charming. Charismatic. Completely fearless. Quite possibly the naughtiest wit in all Rutshire.”
“Any qualifications beyond telling dirty jokes?” Cameron asked sweetly.
Rupert ignored the tone. “Horse racing originally. Catastrophic record. Won absolutely nothing.”
Cameron drew breath to interrupt.
Rupert immediately held up a finger.
“But,” he continued smugly, “switched to show-jumping and proceeded to win Olympic gold, amongst various other things.”
That landed rather better.
Caitlin's eyes widened.
“Who is it?”
Rupert took another deliberately infuriating drag of his cigarette before answering. “George Ashbourne.”
Silence.
“George Ashbourne.” Freddie repeated with a frown, concentrating on a point somewhere in the middle distance. He tried the name out under his breath as though it might become familiar if he said it enough times. "Never 'eard of 'im."
“Nor have I,” Charles admitted from the other side of the room. “Though I rarely watch men play sport unless they're in shorts.”
Freddie snorted into his coffee.
“I haven't either” Declan said. “And I'm Irish. We practically come out of the womb talking about horses.” He squinted thoughtfully. “George Ashbourne sounds like he manages pensions.”
Rupert laughed. “I did tell you George achieved fuck all in racing.”
Cameron finally cut back in, visibly reaching the end of her patience. “Fine. Whatever.” She held up her palms in surrender. “I'm perfectly happy to meet him if it means we can finally move on to the Yeats documentary." She looked pointedly around the room. “You remember. The thing we're actually supposed to be working on.”
Declan looked at Taggie, who shrugged, still absent-mindedly stroking Gertrude while Caitlin rested her head on her shoulder, completely unbothered by the conversation now Billy was out of the mix.
“Worth a punt, I suppose.” He said eventually, then glanced back at Freddie. "Freddie?"
Freddie narrowed his eyes as he blew out the smoke from his cigarette. “I want it formally noted that I'm severely underwhelmed.” He paused, then sighed. “But fine. Let's see what the chap's got.”
Declan nodded while Rupert hissed a jubilant 'yes' into the room, flicking his now dead tab-end into the ashtray.
“When can he get here?” Declan asked then.
“Well...” Rupert glanced down at his watch again and failed entirely to suppress the grin spreading across his face. “In about five minutes, actually.”
The room erupted instantly.
Rupert could barely stifle a laugh as he watched every single one of them spring into action.
“-Oh, for fuck's sake-”
“-You couldn't have warned us-?”
“-Rupert!”
Declan was already trying to organise the mountain of rubbish covering the table. “Christ alive, have you seen the state of this place?”
“Some notice would've been fantastic.” Cameron shook her head as she crossed to a shelf spilling over with folders.
Taggie was already halfway to the kitchen, Gertrude trotting behind. “I'll make some tea.”
At that exact moment the front door swung open and Bas sauntered in, cigarette pinched lazily between his fingers, tie half-undone and looking offensively fresh for someone who’d apparently spent the previous night getting steaming drunk.
“Sorry I’m late, chaps.”
Nobody answered.
Bas took a drag of his cigarette and surveyed the room
Freddie was clearing bottles off the table. Declan was shifting through papers, muttering something under his breath that Bas couldn't quite catch apart from the occasional Christ and feck.
Charles shuffled past with a fresh red wine stain on his shirt and, remarkably, didn't even stop to eye him up.
Something was clearly wrong.
Cameron, who usually ignored him anyway, was tearing through a stack of folders with a look that could cast a man to stone.
Bas blinked once.
He normally got a much better reception when he entered a room.
His eyes settled on Rupert then. He was leaning against the wall, watching everyone much as Bas was, except with a distinctly amused grin on his face.
Bas wandered over and threw an arm loosely around his shoulder.
"I..." He started, immensely proud, "...got lucky with the most sublime blonde last night." Rupert barely looked away from the commotion, so he opted to show off a bit more. "And twice again this morning."
Rupert tilted his head. “Name?”
“Sadie…” Bas gestured vaguely with the cigarette. “C… Ca…”
Jesus, what was her name?
He frowned in concentration. He was a cad, certainly, but forgetting a woman's name still felt poor form. “Sadie...something. Christ, though-could do criminal things with her mouth.”
A slow grin spread across Rupert’s face. “Sadie Carmichael.”
Bas looked at his side profile and recognised the smile that told him the answer before he even asked the question. “You know her?”
Rupert nodded once. “Party trick. Can tie a cherry stalk in a knot with her tongue.”
Bas' expression fell by a fraction. After a beat, he sighed wistfully. “And here I was thinking we had something special.”
Charles happened to glance out the window then as he walked past rubbing a dish cloth over the red stain now ringed by a huge damp patch. “Ah,” he said mildly. “Our pensions manager, presumably.”
He looked between Rupert and Bas before turning back towards the room. “Action stations, everyone. It appears we’re out of time.”
Rupert turned casually to the window, already grinning as he took another cigarette from the case in his pocket.
Bas' arm slipped from Rupert's shoulder as he followed his line of sight through the window. He could see a black sports car in the distance tearing its way down the lane that led directly to the gates of the priory.
He frowned. “Pensions manager?”
Declan came up beside him and craned his neck to look outside. “Christ, he’s right. He’s here.”
Bas looked between them. “Who’s here?”
No one answered him.
Declan was back across the room in a flash. Cameron had finally found the folder she was looking for. Charles was still rubbing at that bloody stain. Caitlin whizzed by with a stack of empty mugs, Patrick close behind carrying two plates littered with crumbs and half a croissant, which Bas managed to swipe and stuff in his mouth as he passed.
All the while, Bas felt like his head was about to spin clean off its axis.
Then sweet, darling Taggie appeared balancing a tray of tea just as Freddie nearly knocked it clean from her hands with a very quick 'sorry tag' before he rushed past.
Bas automatically stepped forward to take it from her, entirely missing the appreciative smile she sent him as he scanned the room.
Then he nearly dropped the pissing thing when Cameron clapped her hands once sharply. “Okay, everybody calm the fuck down.” She inhaled deeply, looking around at the disaster surrounding them. “This place is a tip. We should take him to Penscombe.”
Bas finally got the tray down safely and collapsed onto the couch, reaching for the cigarettes in his inside pocket.
Whatever was going on, he was past fucking caring.
Rupert let out an amused huff. “There really isn’t any need-”
“You’ve got mould growing in a coffee mug,” Cameron shot back.
Taggie glanced around while straightening cushions around him on the sofa. “You could just meet him outside?” she suggested lightly. “Caitlin, Patrick and I can keep sorting things in here.”
Cameron looked helplessly around the room. “We’d need to keep him out there for an hour.”
Caitlin skipped over to Taggie's side, offering Bas a small wave as she did.
Bas returned it with considerably more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary, largely because she seemed to be the only person besides Rupert who'd acknowledged his existence all morning.
“Honestly," She grinned. "Give Taggie five minutes and she’ll have the place looking perfect.”
Rupert, meanwhile, didn’t so much as blink. One hand settled easily beneath George’s thigh to steady her while the other stayed firm at her waist as though this was an entirely normal greeting between two old friends.
Which, with Rupert, it was. With the women who didn't hate every fibre of his being, anyway.
He leaned back just enough to look up at her properly, eyes sweeping down her figure with immediate amusement. “Still at riding weight,” he smirked. “Impressive.”
Bas wished to God he could see Cameron's expression instead of the back of her head.
Georgie grinned wickedly down at him. “A curse and a blessing of being 5"3” she said brightly. “If I put on an ounce I look like an egg on legs."
Freddie chuckled loudly at that as Rupert planted a quick peck on her cheek before finally lowering her back to the gravel. Georgie dropped lightly in those absurd heels with a burst of laughter, entirely unsteady and completely in control of it anyway.
Rupert kept hold of her as he guided her back toward the group, one arm slung loosely around her shoulders like she belonged there already.
“Everyone,” Rupert announced cheerfully, “this is Georgina Ashbourne.” He paused with deliberate theatrical timing. “Formerly Fairfax.”
Bas smiled when her eyes landed on him almost immediately, that bloody smirk threatening before she glanced over the others and grinned instead.
Bas wasn't entirely sure why nobody had expected Georgie, but he watched the tension leak from almost every shoulder at once, save Cameron's.
Freddie let out a long, drawn-out "Oh." Like the whole thing had finally clicked.
“Ah,” Declan said slowly. “Grand National, seventy-four?”
Georgie pointed at him immediately. “That’s right.”
“You hit the first hurdle and broke your arm.”
Bas snorted smoke straight into his cigarette.
"Me-ow" she said playfully, "You really do go for the jugular, don't you?"
Declan smirked in return and stuck his hand out "Declan O'Hara."
"Trust me, I know. I witnessed your spectacular alcoholic breakdown along with the rest of the county." She smiled when his expression faltered. "I go for the jugular too."
Bas caught the tightening of Declan's jaw as Rupert moved her on. That usually wasn't a terrific sign.
"This is Freddie Jones." Rupert gestured over, "Tech extraordinaire and head of creative production."
"Freddie." George smiled brightly as she held out her hand.
Freddie took it warmly between both of his, gold rings flashing briefly as he shook it. "Nice ter meet you, girl." he said easily in that unmistakable cockney drawl.
George immediately lit up. "You too, amazing accent."
Freddie barked a laugh.
"And this." Rupert continued "Is Cameron Cooke"
The atmosphere shifted almost instantly.
Bas still couldn't see Cameron's expression from where he was standing, but he didn't particularly need to. Rupert's hand was resting comfortably on Georgie's waist and Cameron had gone very, very quiet.
Georgie, meanwhile, looked entirely unfazed by the scrutiny. The only sign she wasn't came when she bit her lower lip.
Bas only noticed because she'd always done that when she was nervous.
She held out her hand with an easy smile, regardless. “Heard loads about you.”
Cameron paused. Even from where he was standing, Bas could tell she was forcing the smile that followed as she shook her hand. "Wish I could say the same."
Georgie then did a double take, seemingly following Cameron's gaze to Rupert then shook her head with a soft laugh. "Oh, don't worry about me and Rupe," She said breezily. "We got all that out of our system at the Olympics-"
"-Bas Baddingham." Rupert cut in loudly, steering her to the back before Cameron could react, physically nudging her a step towards him.
"Well obviously I know Bas." Georgie smiled at him and immediately opened her arms for a hug. Bas welcomed her in as she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, her face pressed sideways against his chest, the hand holding his cigarette coming down to rest at the small of her back before tightening his arm once to squeeze her around the waist.
Certainly was strange, hugging her again. Particularly since it suddenly felt as though she'd never left.
"Christ." He murmured as she pulled back to look up at him with a smile. "We let anything in these days."
"Now, now." She teased with a smirk, poking him on the nose once with her finger. "You can't still be cross with me."
Bas cleared his throat, eyes flicking over the others. "Not now, Georgie."
Rupert seemed to let that sit for a beat, and Bas caught the vaguest look of amusement before he waved a hand towards Charles. "Last but not least, Charles Fairburn. Financial planner."
"Ah, the man with the money." she grinned as she stepped away from Bas and looked Charles up and down exaggeratedly, "Naturally, top of my list of people to seduce."
Charles looked delighted rather than remotely threatened. “Oh dear,” he murmured. “And I’m terribly easy to charm.”
"Good." Georgie nodded with a laugh. "I'm far too lazy for a challenge."
Georgie glanced back at the others before turning to Charles again. "Why don't you show me to the champagne and explain the budget before I start spending it irresponsibly?"
He saw Declan shoot Rupert an irritated look. Rupert merely smiled and gave a small shake of his head, as if to say she was only joking. Even Bas wasn't entirely sure she was.
Not that Charles minded. He looked positively enchanted, despite Georgie lacking several attributes Charles generally regarded as non-negotiable.
He gave her a small conspiratorial smile and looked positively thrilled as he linked his arm through hers.
"Oh, absolutely."