Just another short chapter, I keep underestimating how long things will take, so it could be another couple of chapters before she actually gets to the manor. :) Sorry it's lots of big chunks of writing, there's no dialogue to break it up. Will write more soon, as ever please R&R.

El x


To say I'm not nervous would be lying. To say I'm not scared would be lying. In fact to say I'm not petrified would be lying, yet, I manage to keep my smile set and my hands steady. For any onlookers it would be a pretty bizarre sight, four people hanging around in a school car park on a Saturday morning, all of them looking slightly subdued, a taxi waits for one of them to get in. Mum had dropped me here earlier this morning. I was a little worried she might suss something when there was only Oscar, Rose and Carrie, plus our caretaker there waiting, but she'd accepted my mumbled groans of "Mum, you are not waiting, it's embarrassing", kissed me on the forehead and driven off. That was the only time I almost lost it, letting my mum drive off with no greater goodbye than a quick peck on the forehead, when I can't be certain I'll ever see her again. As I'd fought back the lump in my throat Oscar had walked over and taken my hand. That was all it had taken to banish my melodramatics.

Now, after fifteen final minutes of checking through every detail of the plan, it's time to go. I make to shake Frank's hand, but he pulls me into an awkward hug, whispering "We'll be right with you". Carrie's more hyperactive than usual, which I put down to nerves, but she squeezes me tight and says, "Good luck". Rose smiles as it's her turn for the motivational last words and a hug, squeezing me almost as tightly as Carrie, she simply says, "you don't need luck". Finally Oscar steps forward from where he's been lurking in the background, he embraces me and I lean my head on his chest, "I'll be right outside, literally, and this evening when it's all over, I'm taking you to the nicest restaurant in town and we are going on a date" he murmurs into my hair. He speaks low enough that no-one else can hear, so I don't feel embarrassed, just momentarily blissful as he finally voices his feelings and confirms what I've always hoped. He kisses the top of my head, which I decide not to count as a first kiss, and then opens the door of the taxi, in the most gentleman-like manner. I climb in and settle myself on the seat, busying myself in doing up my seatbelt as the lump in my throat threatens again. Oscar pushes the car door shut and I wave to them all as we pull away from the school.

Safely away from everyone I let the tears flow. I'm not really sure why I'm crying; maybe it's something to do with how final this all feels. At least if I get it all out now I'll be able to keep my emotions completely in check when I get to the manor. I've got to keep reminding myself that everything's going to be OK, I mean I've got to get through this, I've got a date with Oscar!

Outburst over, I pull a compact mirror out of Sofia's brown leather handbag, and begin to re-apply my mascara. The face that looks back at me is very different to my own, tanned with an olive undertone my new skin colour matches perfectly the chestnut brown of my hair and eyes. A whole crack team of agency beauticians – no joke, they actually exist, though prefer to be referred to as part of the disguise unit – have completely changed my look, all in the space of about an hour this morning, down in HQ. My bitten nails have been transformed into perfectly manicured talons; I've had my eyebrows plucked, legs waxed and a full pedicure. My increasing amounts of discomfort just made Carrie and Rose laugh, Frank and Oscar left the room out of courtesy. I'm still getting used to the colour change contacts, and have to stop myself blinking constantly. Now as I sit in my Ralph Lauren shirt, ultra short denim mini skirt and high wedged sandals I can't comprehend why anybody would put them self through all this hassle. Sure I like to look good, but spending that much time and effort on how I look, gah, it's just vain and sad.

"We're dead grateful, for what you're doing you know, it not just your Oscar that needs the agency, we all do." These soft words spoken with a slight Lancashire accent come from the driver's seat. If the man driving the taxi was really a taxi driver, the sentence would seem odd, but as he is actually another MI9 agent charged with the task of escorting me to the airport, the words are only comforting. The way he says 'your Oscar' sends warmth spreading through my veins, that quells the icy grip of fear. "Thank you." is all I reply before putting in my headphones and sitting back in my seat. Sofia's voice comes through the earphones and I focus myself on making sure my accent and knowledge are perfect.