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straying hand under the voluminous wrap. “I’m afraid she overdid the sleeping pills on the flight.”
    “Oh, dear. Well, we’ll get her straight to the hotel and into bed. I’m sure she’ll be as right as rain in the morning.”
    “I do hope so.”
    I go to turn to lead the way to the limo but Pamela halts me.
    “There’s one more thing. I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to forewarn you . . .”
    “Forewarn?” This doesn’t sound good.
    “I didn’t have a minute at Heathrow, we were running so late . . .”
    “Yes?” I mentally put myself in the brace position.
    “There’s going to be four of us on the trip.”
    “Okay.”
    “My daughter will be joining us.”
    “Babycakes?” I can’t help but gasp. Oh this is quite a coup!
    “Well, she doesn’t really like to be called that anymore.”
    “No, no of course, I’m sorry.”
    “Her name is Ravenna.”
    “Yes. Lovely. When will she be arriving?” I reach for my notepad.
    Pamela looks behind her. “Any minute.”
    “She was on your flight?”
    She nods. “I think she nipped into one of the shops.”
    I join her in scanning the flow of pedestrian traffic, looking for a blonde halo, expecting a pair of blue eyes to flash out to me like sapphires. The Babycakes of my mind would by now have grown into an Amanda Seyfried-like beauty. She’d be carrying a candy-pink vanity case and probably the phone number of the pilot, eager to take her on a date.
    “So, Laurie . . .”
    “Mmm?” I turn back to Pamela.
    “Would you be able to arrange an extra room for Ravenna?”
    “I’ll certainly try. I know a few of the places were fully booked.”
    “Oh.” Pamela’s face falls. “Well. Perhaps a camp bed in with us?”
    “Oh, don’t be silly, she can have my room. I can always stay elsewhere.”
    “Or perhaps you wouldn’t mind sharing? Only where necessary of course.”
    I’m torn. From my past experience I need every moment of privacy I can muster on these escorted trips. On the other hand, the story-potential of having Babycakes as a roomie . . . Already my mind races ahead—what if we were to bond so seamlessly she became like a baby sister to me? Her rosy smiles the perfect antidote to Jessica’s druggy glaze. Perhaps my own mother has engineered this whole thing from her office in the clouds! I’m about to wink heavenward when the girl in question comes into view.
    It’s only the scowl of derision at her mother that gives her away.
    Ravenna Lambert-Leigh, the face that launched a thousand vanilla sponge puffs, is wearing a dingy off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, drooping so low on one side that it’s hanging off her elbow. The vest beneath is flatteningly unflattering. Her skin-tight jeans are indecently low-cut, revealing jutting hipbones, her boots thuggishly tough and straggling neon laces. What is going on with this family? She’s not even properly blonde anymore.
    I turn to Pamela, looking for some kind of explanation.
    “I know,” she shakes her head. “It shocks me every day too.”
    I look back at Traveler Number Four. Much as I wish I could put her on the next flight to Los Angeles and get Rachel Zoe to give her a makeover to fit with my ideal, I have to face the horrible reality.
    Deep breath!
    “Welcome to New York, Ravenna! I’m Laurie.” I step forward, searching her face for some kind of proof that it’s actually her in there, under the cat-flick eyeliner and Amy Winehouse bouffant.
    Her look conveys one word, “So?”
    “I’ll be making sure everything on this trip runs smoothly, so if you have any special requests, just let me know.”
    Her eyebrow twitches in a way that makes me want to add, “No drugs.”
    I look back at Pamela. “Is that everyone?”
    She concedes a smile. “I think that’s enough, don’t you?”
    •   •   •
    On the way to the limo, I snap a sneaky picture of Ravenna and send it to Krista with the message, “Can you imagine this face on a pack of