to them and God only knew what her face looked like. “Thank you. Sorry I disturbed you.”
His frown deepened. “Our GP runs a Saturday service until one in the afternoon. Maybe you should pop in.”
“I’m just here for the weekend,” she excused. Telling him she was a GP herself would only make things worse. “Thank you for waking me.”
She turned and hurried back to the estate, zipping past some guests who were already awake and alert for a divine smelling breakfast and ran straight to her room. Ophelia perched on her bed, her iPad on her knees, an imperious look on her face. “Where were you?”
“I went for an early morning walk,” Helena lied.
Ophelia’s eyebrow raised. “In what you wore last night?”
“I didn’t want to waste the clothes I’ve brought with me for just a walk.”
“Did you roll down a hill as well?”
“Fee, leave it out. I’m not a child. Go away, let me have a shower and I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast, all right?”
Fee closed the cover on her iPad. “Obviously that walk didn’t do anything to improve your mood. If you come downstairs, you better behave. I’ve only got you to talk to, so it’s best we don’t piss each other off.”
Helena clutched her head. She was going backwards again. Why was she dreaming about lions and going sleep walking? Fucking, sodding Kent.
Chapter Five
Ophelia was putting the fear of God into everyone. The fact that she was a dark-haired, pale skinned white girl with Sarpong as her surname inevitably confused people. When she introduced Helena as her sister, after looking at all six feet of Helena and taking in her nut-brown skin, the automatic response was, “Oh, your adopted sister?”
“I said sister,” Ophelia would blast. “What the fuck does adopted have to do with it?”
Helena gleaned from her own late breakfast that no one else had brought backup except Ophelia. And while the firm’s employees had to endure things such as “trust building exercises,” Helena took full advantage of the gym and the spa. And the restaurant. Then back to the gym. The interest in Helena came from the assumption that Helena was Ophelia’s chocolate, lesbian lover. Ophelia was more than happy to put them straight, trust building exercises or not.
What everyone was looking forward to was the night’s entertainment. The ballroom had been decked out with balloons, streamers, a vodka luge and lots of positive reinforcement statements on the tables. Helena had endured a strained dinner with Ophelia, picking out everything she disliked about her colleagues.
Avoiding any horrified looks, Helena went on the hunt for a drink. She didn’t care that it’d be a false sleep but she wanted to just get through the night, no questions asked. No lions. No waking up on the side of the road like a tramp.
Ophelia saw the lined up glasses of champagne next to her sister’s plate and moved four away. “What’s the matter with you? You don’t drink! Not since you saw that lecture on what it does to your liver.”
“It’s socially acceptable,” Helena replied without apology.
Ophelia’s eyebrows rose delicately. “Are you back chatting again?”
“Cameron!” Helena beamed at the dark haired man with eyes the colour of a summer night sky. “Why doesn’t my sister like you?”
“Because judges prefer my opinion to hers.” He sent Ophelia a grin so smooth children could have slid along it into a pool of water. “Hard to bill a client for thousands when you haven’t won.”
“I would win, you pompous prick, if you stopped talking about how you all tugged each other’s dicks at Eton,” Ophelia snapped.
Not waiting to see the outcome of that little display, Helena took her glass of champagne to the makeshift bar. I really would like to sleep. Just for once. She told herself off for such pathetic self-pity and waited for the night’s entertainment.
The singer finally got to the stage. Every woman in the room suddenly