Josh's first impression of Emery Hall was of blandness in tailored clothes. It wasn't that Hall was ugly, but he wasn't handsome either — if it hadn't been for his elegantly tailored suit he'd have faded inconspicuously into any background. Dark brown closely-cropped hair with a hint of waves, brown eyes, plain features, and a slight frame. Once Hall rose to shake his hand Josh could see he wasn't particularly tall — average through and through.

His eyes did have an intelligent sheen to them that told him no one underestimated the man without regretting that decision; they'd been discussing for half an hour and already the man's obstinate tendency to get what he wanted shone through.

"You understand I'm not a nurse, right? Nor am I any other kind of medical professional?" It wasn't something that had ever bothered Josh before in this line of work, but then it wasn't as if his would-be employers tended to be millionaires either. He supposed he could be forgiven for feeling some trepidation about this impromptu job interview.

"Yes, Mr. Winters, I understood you quite clearly," the man across the desk replied, a flash of annoyance crossing his features. "All three times you've underlined the issue. I was under the impression you did this for a living?"

"I did— I do. None of the people who hire me usually have your means, Mr. Hall; I assumed you'd want to employ a certified nurse."

"There are several certified nurses under my employ, as are a host of medical professionals, including but not limited to geneticists, cardiologists, psychologists, nutritionists, speech therapists, occupational therapists, physical therapists, and, well, I could go on but there'd be nothing to be gained from it.

"They all seem to be unanimous on the subject: my sister is dying. They only differ in their estimate of how long. Some say three months, others give her six. One bold doctor said it could be up to a year with enough luck. Considering my sister was diagnosed with a life-altering condition at the age of twelve, that it confined her to a wheelchair before she was thirty, and that they're not optimistic on whether her heart will allow her to reach her forty-sixth birthday, I'm sure you'll agree the only kind of luck she has had so far is bad luck."

Did the man not need to breathe? That was some diatribe.

"I don't need you to have encyclopaedic knowledge of Friedreich's ataxia, I need..." He looked momentarily vulnerable in his tailored suit, incongruously both younger and older than his four decades. Not so detached and efficient that he'd be an automaton in the face of his impending grief, then.

Hall took a breath to compose himself and continued. "I need you to make her smile again. She has always been acerbic — infuriatingly strong-willed to the point of stubbornness — but she's always been happy. Even the diagnosis didn't get in the way of that for the better part of the last thirty years. Lately, though, it's as if... As if she can't spare any energy towards being happy if she's going to be strong about it. And I'm not having any success reaching her.

"Mr. Davies, our former gardener, said you worked wonders with his wife in her final months. Judging from his description you're akin to a lady-in-waiting for the dying. That's what I need you to do for my sister. I need her to smile again."

Ah. Josh had been wondering how Emery Hall had even heard of his existence, let alone known how to contact him, and—

"I'm sorry, did you just call me a lady-in-waiting?"

Hall had the grace to look embarrassed. "My apologies. I didn't mean to say that out loud. How would you prefer I describe your occupation?"

Josh allowed himself a good-natured snort. An embarrassed Hall was a far less intimidating one than the man he had envisioned when the phone call came at half-past five in the morning. "Palliative carer usually goes down better than lady-in-waiting, trust me."

Hall laughed back. Exhibit two for proof of humanity within Emery Hall, he decided. Or exhibit three, come to think of it. He'd often wondered how Mrs. Davies had had access to top of the line medical care on her salary as a cook and her husband's salary as a gardener.

"Palliative carer it is, Mr. Winters."

"And this would be a live-in position?"

"Yes. This is the monthly salary I had in mind." Hall scribbled an obscene number on a post-it — more money than Josh had ever earned in a year. "When can you move in?"

"I haven't accepted the position yet."

Hall's brown eyes hardened, all traces of good humor vanished. "A vulture. I see. My mistake. What would your price be?"

Josh raised his hands in what he hoped was an appeasing gesture, although annoyance was quickly overpowering his own good mood. He had to fight with himself to keep his tone neutral. "The money isn't the issue, Mr. Hall."

"What's the issue, then?"

"You just said it yourself: your sister's dying. I'm supposed to be making her last months better, not worse. I can't make a decision before meeting her, and you shouldn't want me to. You could offer me ten times that and it still wouldn't help if she and I don't connect with each other. And I'd appreciate not being called a vulture."

"I... Forgive me. Of course, you're correct." Hall blanched, glancing at his wristwatch and depriving Josh from looking for signs of regret in his eyes. "She won't be available for another three hours at least — she's sleeping at the moment, and she'll have a physical therapy session just after breakfast at which point, if I know my sister, she'll want to shower again. Could I impose upon you to wait that long? I can supply food, TV, and the Wi-Fi password while you wait."

Josh had never imagined meeting anyone who spoke as if they'd walked out of a Jane Austen novel, and, despite the 'reclusive millionaire' angle, wouldn't have pegged a finance guy for it, but it seemed to come naturally to Hall. He wondered if the sister was the same.

Hall got up from his chair and Josh took his cue from him, following him out of the home office. "Not a problem. After meeting her I'm sure both she and I'll be able to tell you whether or not it makes sense for me to take the job. There's one thing you should be aware of from the get-go, though."

"Oh?"

"If I take this job it won't matter that you're the one paying me; whatever activities I decide are between me and your sister — nothing her doctors would object to, of course, but your personal opinion won't matter. If you can't live with that, feel free to hire some other lady-in-waiting."

He felt more than saw Hall rolling his eyes before hearing a muttered, "How refreshing. I'm certain the two of you will get along wonderfully."