The library was a vast expanse of old books, leather, and mahogany. The scent of aged paper and damp wood hit me like a hardback book.
Seated in a large leather armchair by the fireplace was a woman who radiated authority – she appeared to be in her mid-fifties or early sixties, her hair perfectly coiffed. Her outfit was a meticulously matched pink skirt suit, and she smelled of jasmine and bergamot - the epitome of old money.
"Hello, dear," she said, rising with a grace that made me feel clumsy in comparison.
"Hello. A pleasure to meet you." I smiled, extending my hand.
"I’m sorry to say, dear, this certainly is not going to be pleasurable. Trevor, she’s going to need a significant amount of work to reach the standard you require. It may not even be possible..."
Her words stung like
