Free Lady: Impossible by B.D. Fraser

and cringe – more from his words than the noise. ‘Please tell me you are joking.’
    ‘I’m not. Is something wrong?’
    Instinct tells me to pick up the butter knife. I might not be able to defeat her by spreading jam on toast, but there’s something to be said about the power of the imagination. You say, jam on a butter knife. I say, blood on a dagger.
    Rage causes my own blood to rush to my head, so I steady myself by taking a series of deep breaths. ‘There’s no such person. It’s her way of being funny. The appointment is at Tilton & Bree. The elite matchmaking service.’
    ‘Oh.’ Even he looks bewildered. ‘Elite?’
    ‘Matchmakers for millionaires and highly successful people.’ The more I think about it, the more vexed I become. I raise the knife. ‘I’ll kill her.’
    ‘With jam and butter?’
    ‘This is humiliating.’ I slap the tray table with my free hand.  
    Blair slowly reaches for the knife. ‘Let me take that for you.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘I will butter your toast for you before it gets too cold.’
    ‘Fine.’
    I relinquish the knife. When Blair takes it from me, his hand shakes noticeably for a second.  
    ‘Are you quite sure you’re all right?’ I ask, this time more firmly. ‘You’re worrying me.’
    Again, he’s dismissive. ‘I’m fine.’
    I don’t believe him, but he’s not going to budge. ‘What else do you know about the appointment?’
    ‘Uh, I’m supposed to make sure you go.’
    ‘Brilliant. How are you going to do that?’
    ‘By asking you nicely?’  
    I react to his gentle tone. ‘All right, I’ll go along with it.’
    Blair proceeds to butter my toast for me, which makes me feel like the laziest person in the world. ‘Would you like marmalade or strawberry jam?’ he asks.
    ‘Marmalade.’ I eye the knife. ‘I’ll need that to cut up the sausages.’
    ‘I’ll cut them up for you.’
    Now I’m annoyed for both of us. ‘I’m not a child, Blair.’
    ‘No. You’re an angry lady who shouldn’t be near sharp objects right now, let alone be holding one.’
    ‘It doesn’t even have a serrated edge! It’s useless to me!’
    My outburst is so ridiculous that the two of us burst out laughing. I daresay the moment is amazing. I even consider watching my words more carefully in order to see those blue-grey eyes sparkle with mirth more often.
    I hold out my hand. ‘Give me my knife.’
    ‘Are you sure, m’lady?’  
    Formal again. Part of me wants to get on my knees and beg him for a fresh start, but he’ll only think I’m positioning us to do something more salacious.
    ‘Yes, thank you, I’m fine. Are you? Should I apologise for my words again?’
    ‘I’m fine.’
    He’s well trained in hiding his unease, but I can tell he’s been rattled by something, or even by a combination of things.  
    I take the knife from him. ‘I’ll take it from here then. If I need you, I’ll ring the bell. Or text you.’
    ‘Yes, m’lady.’
    He backs away slowly at first, giving me a few more precious seconds in which to surreptitiously admire him in his suit. He then hurries out with his head down, leaving me to eat my breakfast in peace.  
    Peace. I can see the benefit in keeping the peace with Blair, but it’s going to be awfully difficult to reach an armistice with my mother.  
    Tilton & Bree. An appointment made for me, but not by me.  
    Although I risk sounding like a spoilt brat now, my father will hear about this.

Chapter 5:

    In the end, I don’t call my father until Thursday night, when I retire to the mural room after dinner. It’s a room that relaxes me and, having just been scolded by my mother for wearing casual clothes to the dinner table, I’m in need of a soothing atmosphere. The way she had carried on, you’d have thought I was wearing the Postman Pat t-shirt, but I’d merely opted for something comfortable – a light-grey t-shirt and white cotton shorts – an outfit I changed into as soon as my luggage arrived. The truth is