She’d made a start, deliberately getting rid of her corporate gear, making a statement that this weekend wasn’t entirely an extension of their work relationship.

He could lock himself in his room for the duration, she thought. She’d sent a flurry of texts to Letty on the subject of which room they’d put him in. The attic was best. There was a good bed and a desk and a comfy chair. It had its own small bathroom. The man was a serious workaholic. Maybe he’d even take his meals in his room.

‘He’s not singing,’ the elderly woman beside her said. Meg had struck up an intermittent conversation with her, so she knew the connection. ‘Your boss. Is he not happy?’

‘He’s stuck in Australia because of the airline strike,’ Meg said. ‘I suspect he’s homesick.’

Homesick. She’d spoken loudly because of the singing, but there was a sudden lull between verses and somehow her words hit silence. Suddenly everyone was looking at William.

‘Homesick,’ the woman beside Meg breathed, loud enough for everyone to hear; loud enough to catch William’s attention. ‘Oh, that’s awful. Do you have a wife and kiddies back home?’

‘I…no,’ William said, clearly astonished that a stranger could be so familiar.

‘So it’ll just be your parents missing you,’ the woman said. ‘Oh, I couldn’t bear it. Where’s home?’

‘New York.’ The two syllables were said with bluntness bordering on rudeness, but the woman wasn’t to be deflected.

‘New York City?’ she breathed. ‘Oh, where? Near Central Park?’

‘My apartment overlooks Central Park,’ he conceded, and there was an awed hush.

‘Will it be snowing there?’ someone asked, and Meg looked at her boss’s grim face and answered for him. She’d checked the forecast. It was part of her job.

‘The forecast is for snow.’