Which meant problems for Anna.
The paparazzi spent their life reporting on Anna-and Barret. Barret was a loud-mouthed boor, but he was number one at the box office. In contrast, Anna was struggling a little. A few months ago she’d spent time in drug rehab. and the press had had a field-day. Her life seemed to be together now, but the media still wavered between idolatry and ridicule.
If they knew he’d knocked her back-International Events Organiser Guy Carver Refuses Anna/Barret Wedding- the world’s press would say it served her right. They’d say she’d got what she deserved and the balance might well tip on the side of ridicule.
Which she didn’t deserve.
Damn, he didn’t get emotionally involved. He didn’t.
He was. Right up to his neck.
He thumped the desk with his fist, and a fluffy stuffed dog, endowed for some reason with a disembodied head, started nodding in furious agreement. He stared down at the stupid creature and came close to throwing it through the pink-tinged windows.
Jenny was outside the window.
Over the road was the beach. A group of teenagers were clustered by the side of the road, leaning on their surfboards and chatting to Jenny. She was laughing at something one of them said.
She looked…free.
‘Of course she looks free. You’ve just sacked her.’
Except he hadn’t. She’d walked out on him. The thought was astonishing.
Focus on this wedding. How long did he have? Ten days?
The idea was ridiculous. He went through his top people in his head, trying to figure who could come.
No one could come. Everyone held parties at Christmas. And every event he had in his mental diary was major. There’d be repercussions if he pulled anyone out.
For a wedding like this, at this short notice, he needed local people. He needed…Jenny.
She was climbing into an ancient Ford, a wagon that looked more battered than the decrepit vehicles the surfers were using. While he watched, she backed out of the parking spot, then headed right. Her wagon passed the teenagers and did a backfire that made everyone jump.
‘She’d be hopeless,’ he told no one in particular, and no one in particular was interested.
‘I can’t ask her.’
No one was interested in that, either.
He stared at the fax again and swore. ‘Do I care if the wonderful Anna’s career goes down the toilet?’
He did, he thought. Damn, he did. Two months ago he’d catered for a sensational Hollywood ball. Anyone who was anyone had been present. He recalled a very drunken producer hitting on Anna. When she’d knocked him back he’d lifted her soda water, sniffed it, and thrown it away in disgust.
‘Once a tart, always a tart, love,’ he’d drawled at her. ‘You’re not such a good little actress that you can pretend to be something you’re not for ever.’
Guy had intervened then, handing Anna another soda water, giving her a slight push away and deflecting the creep who’d insulted her by showing signs of investing in his latest project. But he’d seen Anna’s white face, pretence stripped, and he’d also seen how she’d stared into the soda water, taken a deep breath, and then deliberately started to drink it. To change your life took guts-who should know that better than him?
If Anna wanted him to cater for her wedding then he would.
‘Even if it does mean I have to go on bended knee to the Widow Westmere.’
Jenny pulled into the front yard of her parents-in-laws’ farm, switched off the ignition, took a few deep breaths-how to explain all this to Lorna and Jack?-and a car pulled in behind her.
A Ferrari.
Ferrari engines were unmistakable. What are the chances of someone else with a Ferrari pulling into my yard? she thought, and decided she ought to head inside fast, close the door and not even look out to see whether Mr Guy Hotshot Carver was on her property.
‘Mrs Westmere,’ he called, and the moment was lost. She sighed, leant back on her battered wagon with careful insouciance-and folded her arms.
‘What?’
‘I’d like to talk to you about your contract.’
‘It’s clear,’ she said, trying to be brusque. ‘I have the right to work for you for a year, and I also have the right to walk away any time I like. Your business manager seemed to think I’d be jumping all over myself to stay, but the obligation is on your side; not mine.’
‘I’d like you to stay.’
‘Nah.’ She should be chewing gum, she decided. She didn’t have the insouciance quite right. ‘You’re pleased to be shot of me.’ Then she broke a bit-she couldn’t quite suppress the mischief. ‘Or you were until I landed you with the wedding of the century. You’re going to have to cancel on the biggest wedding we’ve seen in this place. What a shame.’
‘I can’t cancel.’
‘Come on. You can afford to lose one wedding. All that hurts is your pride. And pride doesn’t matter to you. Just look what you did to Kylie.’
‘I-’
‘Is that you, Jenny?’ Jack’s voice interrupted, and Jenny hauled herself away from the wagon and abandoned the insouciance. ‘I need to go inside. You need to go…wherever rich entrepreneurs go when they’re not messing with this town. See you later.’
‘Do you have someone out there?’ Jack called.
‘Jenny, I need to talk to you.’
‘Mrs Westmere,’ she flashed. ‘It’s Mrs Westmere, unless I can call you Guy.’
‘Of course you can call me Guy.’
‘Bring your visitor in, Jenny.’
‘Go away,’ she said.
‘I need you.’
‘You don’t need anyone. You come waltzing into town in your flash car…’
‘It’s borrowed from a friend.’
‘You borrowed a Ferrari?’ she demanded incredulously. ‘Someone just tossed you the keys of a Ferrari and said, “Have it for a few days.” Like he has one Ferrari for normal use and another to lend to friends.’
‘His other car’s an Aston Martin,’ he said apologetically. ‘And his wife drives a Jag.’
‘I so much don’t need this conversation.’ She made to turn into the house, but he stepped forward and caught her shoulders. The action should have made her angry-and at one level it did-but then there was this other part of her…
He really was a ludicrously attractive male, she thought. She wasn’t the least bit afraid of him. Well, why should she be when she had Lorna and Jack just through the screen door? But there was more than that. His grip felt somehow…okay.
It wasn’t the least bit okay. This was those damned hormones working again, she thought. She’d been a widow for too long.
But she had protection-against hormones as well as against marauding males. She hadn’t answered Jack, and Jack and Lorna had grown worried. Now the front screen slammed back and Jack was on the veranda. Jack was a wiry little man in his late seventies, tough as nails and belligerent to go with it. He was crippled with arthritis, but he didn’t let that stop him.
‘Who’s this?’ he growled, before Jenny could say a word. He stalked stiffly down the veranda, trying to disguise the limp from his gammy hip, trying to act as if he was going to lift over six feet of Guy Carver and hurl him off the property.
Guy dropped his hands from Jenny’s shoulders. He didn’t step away, though. He stood a foot away from her, his eyes filled with quizzical laughter.
‘You have a security system?’
‘I surely do,’ she answered, taking a grip of her wandering hormones and turning to face her in-laws. ‘Jack,
