‘What fun is that?’ Jack demanded. ‘You haven’t had a drive in his Ferrari. I’ve got a better idea. You drive him home in his Ferrari and then bring it back here. Then pick him up on the way to work tomorrow morning.’
‘I can’t drive a Ferrari,’ Jenny said, astonished.
‘Course you can,’ Jack said roundly. ‘If you can make your ancient bucket of bolts work, you can make anything work. Her wagon’s held together with string,’ he told Guy. ‘She ought to buy another, but she’s putting every cent she owns into a fund for Henry’s schooling.’ His face clouded a little. ‘There’s been a few costs over the last couple of years we hadn’t counted on.’
Of course, Guy thought, his eyes moving to Henry’s face. The little boy’s face was perfect on one side, but on the other were scars-lots of scars.
‘I can’t drive a Ferrari,’ Jenny said again, and he forced himself to think logically. Which was hard when his emotions were stirring in all sorts of directions.
‘Yes, you can,’ he said, and managed a smile that he hoped was casual.
‘There you go, then,’ Lorna said, triumphant. ‘Jack and me will put Henry to bed. Henry, your mother is going to have a drive in the lovely car. Isn’t that great?’
‘Ace,’ said Henry.
CHAPTER THREE
IT FELT weird, Jenny thought as they walked across the yard towards his car. It was almost dark. She should be reading her son his bedtime story.
She shouldn’t be climbing into a Ferrari.
‘You drive,’ Guy said, and tossed her the keys.
‘This is a bad idea,’ she muttered. ‘This is a borrowed car. Surely your friend wouldn’t agree to me using it?’
‘If you crash it I’ll buy him another.’
The idea made her stop in her tracks. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Why would I kid?’
‘I don’t want to go with you,’ she said, and it was his turn to pause and stare.
‘You have ethical objections to money?’
‘No, I…’
‘You should be charging Kylie. There’s no need for you to be broke.’
‘Isn’t there?’ she snapped, and glared.
‘Giving your services for free is noble, but…’
‘You have no idea, do you? This community…we’re here for each other. We do what has to be done, and asking for payment-’
‘Your career is a bridal planner. Selling yourself short is stupid.’
‘When Ben was killed, Henry was injured, and he had to spend months in a burns unit in the city,’ she snapped. ‘Jack has macular degeneration-his eyesight’s not what it should be-and Lorna hasn’t driven since her stroke. Shirley Grubb was one of a team who took it in turns to drive Jack and Lorna down to see us. Twice a week for nearly six months. Every other day they drove Lorna into the bridal salon and someone stayed with her all the time. The business stayed open. There were casseroles-you can’t believe how many casseroles. And you know what? Not a single person charged us. Did they sell themselves short, Mr Carver?’
‘Guy,’ he said automatically, and opened the driver’s door of the Ferrari. ‘Get in.’
‘I’m not driving.’
‘You are driving. You need to bring it home yourself, so you can try it out now.’
‘We can take my wagon.’
‘Your wagon backfires. Backfiring offends me. And I have no intention of being lost in these mountains for want of a little resolution on your part. Get in and drive.’
It was such a different driving experience that she felt…unreal.
The road up to Braeside was lovely. It followed the cliffs for a mile out of town, and the big car swept around the curves with a whine of delight. By the time the road veered inland, following the river, she had its measure, and was glorying in being in control of the most magnificent piece of machinery she’d ever seen.
‘Nice, huh?’ Guy said, five minutes into the drive, and she flashed him a guilty look. She’d been so absorbed in her driving that she’d almost forgotten he was there. Almost.
‘It’s fantastic.’
‘You get this wedding working for me and you can keep it.’
She almost crashed. She took a deep breath, straightened the wheel, and tried to remember where she was.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not being ridiculous. I’ll merely pay my friend out. It’s not like it’s a new car.’
‘It’s not like it’s a new car,’ she said, mocking. ‘No, thank you, Mr Carver. My salary is stipulated in the contract. I’ll take that, but that’s all. I’d be obliged to you for ever, and I’ve had obligations up to my neck. So leave it.’
He left it. There were another few moments of silence while Jenny negotiated a few more curves. It was so wonderful that she could almost block Guy out-and his preposterous offer.
‘Feels great, doesn’t it?’ he said, and she was forced to smile.
‘It’s magic.’
‘Yet you don’t want it?’
‘I couldn’t afford the trip to Sydney to get this serviced,’ she told him. ‘Much less the service itself. Leave it alone.’
‘I’m not used to having my gifts knocked back.’
‘Get used to it.’
‘Jenny…’
‘I’m not for sale, Guy,’ she said roughly. ‘And don’t interfere with my life. I intend to do these two weddings and then get out of your business for ever. You’ll go back to Manhattan and live your glamorous life, a thousand miles from mine-’
‘What do you know about my life?’ he said, startled, and she screwed up her nose in rueful mockery.
‘I’ve spent the last two years in doctors’ waiting rooms.’
‘So?’
‘So I reckon I’ve read every issue of Celebrity magazine that’s ever been printed. With you being rich and influential, and associated with every celebrity bash worthy of the name, your life is fair game. I know how rich you are. I know you don’t like oysters and you never wear navy suits. I also know you were in a car crash with your childhood sweetheart about fifteen years ago. Her father and your father were partners. She’d been at your parents’ company Christmas dinner alone, and then she’d collected you from some celebrity bash you’d been organising. She was killed outright. Your parents disowned you then. They said she’d been drinking because she was angry. They said if you’d stayed in the family law firm like you were supposed to it would never have happened. And you…The glossies say you’re still grieving for your lost love. Are you?’
‘No,’ he said, stunned.
‘I hope you’re not.’ She took a deep breath, deciding whether to be personal or not. What the heck? ‘It’s hard,’ she confided. ‘Ben’s only been dead for two years, but you know, my photographs of Ben are starting to be clearer than the image I hold in my head. I hate that. Are you better at it than me? Can you remember…what was her name? Or do you only remember photographs?’
‘It was Christa,’ he said, in a goaded voice. ‘I can’t imagine why you’d be interested enough to read about us.’
‘I wasn’t very,’ she admitted. ‘It was just something to read in the waiting room-something to take my mind off what was happening to Henry. But I remember thinking it was crazy, wearing the willow for someone for fifteen years.’
‘So how long do you intend to wear the willow for Ben?’
