George thought you’d be tired when you got back from the hospital. How is your husband?’
‘As bad-tempered as any man who’s being told to change the habits of a lifetime and give up everything he loves…’
Before she could say any more, Xandra burst through the door and flung her arms around her grandmother.
‘Gran! How’s Granddad?’
‘He’ll be fine. He just needs to take more care of himself. But what about you, young lady? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?’ Then, clearly knowing her granddaughter better than most, ‘I suppose it’s got something to do with your mother?’
‘I don’t care about my mother. I just wanted to be here so that I can help Granddad with the garage.’
‘Oh, Xandra!’ Then, with a sigh, ‘What have you done?’
‘You didn’t know she was here?’ George asked, following his daughter into the kitchen and this time he’d been getting his hands dirty-presumably in an effort to get the job done as quickly as possible so that he could get rid of her and close down the garage.
‘I would have mentioned it.’
‘You’ve a lot on your plate.’ He crossed to the sink and, squishing soap on his hands, began to wash them thoroughly. ‘How are things at the hospital?’
‘It would help if he wasn’t fretting so much. The garage is his life.’
‘He’s going to have to widen his horizons.’ He picked up a towel. ‘If it’s any help, tell him I’ll take care of the Bentley myself,’ he said, drying his hands. ‘But I’ll have to get in touch with the owner of the restoration job in the end bay. The baby Austin. He’ll need to start looking for another garage-’
‘It’s mine,’ Xandra cut in with a touch of defiance as she anticipated disapproval.
George frowned. ‘Yours?’
‘Granddad bought it for my birthday,’ she said, swiftly bending to make a fuss of the cat, as if she knew she’d just thrown a hand grenade into the room. ‘It’s a restoration project. We’ve been doing it together.’
No one else was looking at George and only she saw the effect that had on him. As if he’d been hit, winded, all the air driven from his body. A big man destroyed by a few words from a slip of a girl.
Love, she thought. Only love could hurt you like that and she ached to go to him, hold him.
‘I’ll go and give Mike Jackson a call about the Bentley,’ his mother said, oblivious to the tension-or perhaps choosing to ignore it. ‘He’s got a wedding next week and I know how worried he’s been.’
‘I’ll do it,’ George said, clearly needing to get out of the room for a moment. ‘I need to talk to him.’ Then his eyes met hers and in an instant the barriers were back up. Nothing showing on the surface. ‘Sorry, Mum, I should have introduced Annie.’
‘We’ve met.’ Mrs Saxon turned to her with a smile. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t thank you for getting on with dinner.’ She patted her arm distractedly. ‘We’ll talk later but right now I really must go and call my sister-in-law, let her know how her brother is. Xandra, come and say hello to Great-Aunt Sarah.’
Annie wanted to say something, talk about Xandra, ask him what had gone wrong, but this didn’t come under polite conversation and she had no idea where to begin.
As if sensing the danger, George crossed to the stove, hooked his finger through the mash and tasted it.
‘Not bad for a first effort,’ he said.
‘Not bad? I’ll have you know I’ve eaten in some of the finest restaurants in London and that stands comparison with the best.’
‘Which restaurants?’
Annie had reeled off the names of half a dozen of the most expensive restaurants in the capital in her absolute determination to impress him before she realised that she was giving away rather more than she’d ever intended.
He lifted a quizzical brow. ‘What was that you were saying about modesty?’
She pulled a face. ‘No point in being coy. Of course you’d only get a tiny spoonful.’
‘The more you pay, the less you get,’ he agreed, taking a second dip in the potato. ‘Maybe that’s why you’re so thin. You’d have been better occupied doing a little home cooking and saving your money for a more roadworthy car for your getaway.’
She rapped his knuckles sharply with a spoon and having scooped the potato into a serving bowl, bent to put it in the warming oven.
George regarded her thoughtfully for a moment before he shrugged and said, ‘How long has your friend had that sorry heap?’ he asked.
‘Are you referring to Lydia’s pride and joy? Only a week or two,’ she said, concentrating on straining the carrots and peas. Then, realising that it wasn’t an idle question, ‘You’ve found something else?’
‘I don’t suppose there’s the faintest chance that she bought it from a garage that offered her some kind of warranty?’ he asked.
‘No. She bought it from a woman who was going to use the money to take her grandchildren on holiday for Christmas.’
Lydia had been eager to tell her all about the one careful lady owner when she’d offered to lend it to her. Pride of ownership coming through loud and clear as she’d explained that, although her car wasn’t new, it had been well cared for.
‘She didn’t happen to be a vicar’s wife too, by any chance?’
‘Excuse me?’
He sighed. ‘Did she see any documents? Service record, receipt? Did this kindly grandmother invite her into her house for tea and biscuits while they did the deal or did your friend buy it off the side of the road?’
‘I don’t know about the documents, but I do know that the woman lived on the other side of London so she offered to bring the car to Lydia to save her the journey.’
‘How kind of her.’ His intonation suggested she had been anything but kind and he underlined it by saying, ‘She must have thought it was her birthday and Christmas all rolled into one.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Your friend was sold a cut’n’shut, Annie. A car welded together out of two wrecks. The front half of one car and the back half of another.’
She shook her head. ‘That can’t be right. She’d bought it new-’
‘The classic “one careful lady owner”.’ He shook his head. ‘Your sweet little old lady sold your friend a deathtrap, Annie. If that abomination had come apart while you were driving at any speed…’
He left the outcome to her imagination.
Her imagination, in full working order, duly obliged with a rerun of the carefree way she’d driven down the motorway, relishing her freedom as she’d buzzed along in the fast lane, overtaking slower moving traffic.
All it would have taken at that speed would have been a small piece of debris, a bit of a bump and she could have ended up in the path of one of the lorries thundering west…
And if it hadn’t been her, it would, sooner or later, have been Lydia.
‘Xandra hadn’t seen one before but, when she spotted the welding, she asked me to take a look.’
So that was how he’d got his hands dirty.
‘You do understand what this means? It’ll have to be crushed. I can’t be responsible for letting it back on the road.’
‘Crushed?’ Right now, she would be glad never to see it again but-
‘And any documentation that came with it will be fake,’ he added pointedly. ‘This would be a good time to come clean if you’ve been economical with the truth about the car’s provenance, since I will have to inform the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency.’ His look was long and intense, demanding an answer.
‘I’ve got the picture, George.’
‘I can leave it a day or two if it’s going to be a problem?’ he pressed.
It wasn’t necessary, but her heart did a little loop the loop that he was prepared to cover for her. Give her getaway time.
‘Thanks, but I won’t strain your probity, George. The car is properly registered in the name of Lydia Young. She’s the only victim here.’ Then she groaned. ‘Lydia! She’s spent all that money on something that’s absolutely worthless.’ She looked up at him. ‘I imagine the question of insurance no longer arises?’
