скачать книгу бесплатно
As she finished the washing-up and returned the crockery to its rightful place, she knew what he had been about to suggest and why he had pulled back from pursuing it when he’d seen the fear in her eyes.
Even now, two years on, it was the one place she could never go, the place she had to avoid at all costs in order to keep her sanity intact – and she certainly had no intention of going there the morning after she had arrived.
In fact, she could see the pitch of the summerhouse roof beneath the cherry tree from where she stood, elbow-deep in suds, so she studiously averted her eyes to focus on the garden, and the grass that was so overgrown she wouldn’t have been surprised to find Doctor Livingstone lurking about in there. After she had mowed the lawn, she would take a stroll to the village shop to see Martha and ask for her suggestions for a healthy supper.
She slotted her feet into an old pair of flower-bedecked wellies and spent the next few hours communing with nature, taking care to keep her back firmly towards the summerhouse. When her neck and shoulders began to object to the unfamiliar physical exertion, she made a plate of salad sandwiches, but when she checked her watch she realised her father would have left for town already. She fingered the phone in her pocket, battling the urge to call Jean-Pierre or Fleurette for an update on life at House of Gasnier, but she knew that whatever they said would upset her, so she tossed it on the kitchen table and sauntered into the garage.
That morning there were three vehicles in the workshop, two jacked up for easy access to the chassis and the third, the lipstick-red E-Type Jag Max had been working on the previous day, parked in the far corner. On closer inspection, the iconic car might have seen better days as far as the paintwork was concerned, but the leather seats had been replaced and the chrome metalwork shone under the overhead lights.
A radio tinkled a cheerful tune in the background, providing the cadence for the day, and Gabbie inhaled a lungful of that special scent that caused her senses to sparkle. If she had confessed her love of Castrol GTX to her colleagues back in Grasse they would have looked at her askance. But that’s what some aromas did to people – sent their memories zooming back to happier times, whether it was freshly mown grass, warm buttered toast, newly laundered sheets, or the waft of wax furniture polish.
‘Don’t just stand there! Pass me the wrench! And this time, don’t drop it on my hand!’
Gabbie bristled. While she had no objection to being a mechanic’s mate, and would welcome the diversion if she were honest, she did object to being ordered around, even if Max had acquired the badge of her father’s new right-hand man.
‘Wil! Did you hear me?’
Max slid out from under the Jag, his face covered in random splatters of dirt and oil, the top of his overalls rolled down to reveal his taut abs and impressive biceps beneath a tight black T-shirt. Despite her irritation, Gabbie couldn’t prevent a gasp of appreciation from escaping her lips. Wow! She felt like she was an extra in a remake of Grease!
‘Oh, sorry. I thought you were Wil. He promised he was going to get the first-aid box, but it looks like he’s decided to disappear instead. I really don’t know how your dad managed to run this place with Wil in tow. He’s a complete liability!’
Max pushed himself up to standing and inspected his arm where a two-inch-long gash oozed blood. He lowered his lips and sucked the blood away, a gesture that caused an uncomfortable feeling in Gabbie’s lower abdomen.
‘What happened?’
‘Wil thought he’d imitate his favourite cocktail waiter while he waited for his next set of instructions. Circus clown, more like. Anyway, the wrench slipped out of his hand and I have this trophy to show for it.’
‘Whose is the Jag?’
Max raised his eyebrows and those tiny dimples appeared again. ‘Like it?’
‘I love it.’
‘Really? I thought you’d prefer some little French number, like a Citroen 2CV or maybe an Alpha Romeo for driving at speed along the Corniche.’
‘Well, that just shows how little you know about me, doesn’t it?’ Gabbie retorted, for some reason annoyed by the continual unfavourable assumptions Max seemed to make about her. ‘Have you forgotten I’m the daughter of a car obsessive? I grew up listening to bedtime stories from car-maintenance manuals and hearing about the workings of the internal combustion engine. As with people, when it comes to cars, it’s not what’s on the outside that matters, but what’s underneath the bonnet.’
Max looked at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners and a smirk playing around his mouth. Once again, she was shocked at the strength of her body’s reaction to his proximity. Okay, Max was attractive, there was no denying that. She’d even go as far as to say he could give Danny Zuko a run for his money! But she was no stranger to handsome men. She had dated several in France – Rafael, for instance, with his Spanish heritage, was no slouch in the charisma stakes. So what was it? Could it be the slight tang of clean engine oil – not every girl’s cup of tea – that enhanced his allure?
‘Well, in that case, if you appreciate quality engineering, you’ll be impressed by this little beauty.’ Gabbie watched Max’s eyes light up with excitement as he released the catch on the bonnet and displayed his handiwork. ‘There’s just the final paint job and it’ll be ready to go.’
‘So who is the lucky owner?’ Gabbie asked, smoothing her hand over the chrome wing mirror and along the graceful curve of the vehicle’s side panels.
‘None other than Yours Truly.’
‘What? This car belongs to you?’
‘It does.’
‘But…’
‘I know what you’re thinking – how do my meagre wages stretch to something like this?’
‘No, I…’
Again, Gabbie felt a surge of heat invade her face because Max was right.
‘I was left this car by my uncle when he passed away a couple of years ago and I’ve been restoring it ever since, bit by bit, when I can afford it. I’ve always loved classic cars, but for me the E-Type is the epitome of elegance and style. And you don’t have to take my word for that – Enzo Ferrari said it was the most beautiful car ever made, or words to that effect.’
Max’s eyes caressed the vehicle in front of him like an art critic would the Mona Lisa. When he saw Gabbie was watching him, his cheeks reddened.
‘Sorry, I can get quite evangelical when I talk about cars.’
‘You don’t have to apologise – I love them too! In fact, this workshop and the garage forecourt were my playground from the time I could lift a spanner! Dad and I would spend hours dismantling, cleaning, oiling and reassembling engine parts like other parents do jigsaws with their children. I loved it!’
‘I know exactly what you mean. My uncle also had an Austin Healey Sprite and an old clapped-out Rover P6 that he let me work on. My obsession with engines is what kept me out of trouble all through my teenage years. And I’m still learning something new every day from your dad – he’s an amazing mechanic, not just on the technical side, but he seems to have this affinity with an engine, an instinctive ability to understand what’s wrong and how to fix it.’
‘Yes, that’s my dad!’ Gabbie smiled with affection for her father.
‘You know, it’s my dream to own my own garage one day, too. But I want to specialise in restoring classic and iconic cars. What better way to spend the day than bringing these magnificent vehicles back to their former glory so they can grace our roads for years to come?’
Max ran his hand over the bonnet of the Jag as a Casanova would his lover. It was abundantly clear to Gabbie that her father had selected his deputy wisely, for she recognised some of his personality quirks in Max. She was beginning to understand what had drawn her so powerfully to Max Fitzgerald, and if there was one thing she could appreciate it was how important it was to have passion as the driving force behind your ambitions.
‘I know exactly how you feel. I feel the same about creating perfumes.’
Gabbie saw Max scrunch up his nose and laughed. It was a typical reaction from people who knew nothing about her industry. Perfumers didn’t just produce the liquid itself; they created a dream, a style, a statement, a mood. But she wasn’t sure it was the perfect moment to regale Max with her sales pitch.
‘I guess I won’t be bending your ear about my obsession, then?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…’
‘It’s okay,’ she laughed. ‘So when do you think you’ll have your project finished?’
‘Depends how much spare time I get. I only work on her during my lunch hour, or if I come in early in the morning. Your dad’s been great – he’s even opened up the garage on the occasional Sunday so I can get stuck in. I need to have everything done by the end of October, though, because I promised my aunt I’d take her to my cousin’s wedding in it. Can’t let her down, can I?’
Max extracted a dirty cloth from his pocket and polished away an invisible speck of dust from the headlamp, pride in his achievement glowing on his handsome face. Gabbie recognised that expression as one she wore more frequently than she would care to admit; the fervent desire to spend every spare second with the non-human objects of her affection.
Max had taken several steps towards her, causing her heart to perform a flip-flop when she felt the whisper of his breath on her cheek. He might dismiss the perfume business, but he clearly enjoyed the benefits of its products. She inhaled slowly so as not to alert him to her scrutiny of his choice of cologne – a habit Jasmine constantly chastised her about.
Mmm, frangipani with monoi and a nip of galbanum. Delicious. She realised too late that she had closed her eyes briefly, her nostrils lifted in the air in an almost snooty fashion as she savoured the intoxicating aroma. She quickly averted her gaze and changed the subject to more mundane matters.
‘Dad says the garage has got plenty of work on. Is that true?’
‘Yes, in fact we’re too busy – winter services, MOTs, repairs after the long drives over summer. We’ve had to start turning customers away, which isn’t something Jeff likes to do.’
Gabbie wondered if her father had confided in Max about the problems he had mentioned the previous day but brushed off as issues of ‘turnover and whatnot’ when she had queried them. She didn’t want to breach any confidences in relation to the business so she didn’t ask the question that had formed on her lips – if they had so such work on, and an extra pair of hands since Max had arrived, why were there concerns? It didn’t make any sense.
She made a mental note to ask her father about it, and if he refused to discuss it with her, as he had yesterday, she would take a look at the accounts and work it out for herself. She had often helped her mother with the filing and entering the invoices and receipts in the old-fashioned ledgers, so she knew what to look out for. In fact, there was no time like the present.
‘Well, I can’t stand here chatting all day,’ announced Max, striding over to a VW Beetle that looked like it had just driven off the set of a Barbie film, its sugar-pink paintwork dotted with huge white daisies.
As Max leaned over the engine, Gabbie found her eyes drawn to the taut curve of his buttocks. However, she also recognised that her attraction to Max was caused by more than simple physical desire. For one thing, they had a great deal in common; she sensed, too, that beneath the brooding exterior something much more vulnerable lurked and she was keen to find out what.
As she made her way towards the office, another ripple of interest swept through her, and she was flustered by the strength of her reaction to someone she barely knew. Jasmine was right. It really was time she got back on the dating horse.
Chapter Five (#ulink_b91caecf-e335-5d1d-9503-02bbb73e3f34)
Gabbie wove her way through the labyrinth of cardboard boxes and toppling stacks of old car magazines to the office in the far corner of the garage. She reached for the grubby handle and paused. Anxiety gnawed at her abdomen as she wondered what she might discover behind that door.
Well, she wasn’t going to find out by just standing there, was she?
She inhaled a deep breath and went in. It was even worse than she had imagined. The gargantuan mahogany desk that had been in the Andrews family for years was almost unidentifiable – strewn with car manuals, crumpled correspondence, discarded envelopes, pots of pens, used coffee cups. Even the drawers had been wrenched open so that more paperwork could be balanced on top.
The shelves behind the desk were crammed with box files, all higgledy-piggledy and no longer in alphabetical order, and the gun-metal-grey filing cabinet was covered in blisters of rust and, incongruously, missing a drawer. But the thing Gabbie found most disconcerting was the odour of dirty dishcloths and mould. It had always been a standing joke that Andrews Autos was the only garage in the whole of Devon, and perhaps even England, that emitted a faint smell of roses, or lavender, or jasmine, depending on her mother’s mood that week. A mantle of sadness draped its weight over Gabbie’s shoulders at discovering yet another slip in standards since her mother had passed away and she had left Oakley to pursue her dreams in France.
She slumped down into the burgundy captain’s chair and sighed. Why did things have to change? Why couldn’t the garage at least have retained the familiarity she was expecting? After all, nothing had changed for the first twenty-one years she had been there – apart from the Pirelli calendar on the wall. As she ran her eyes over the newspapers scattered over the floor and the overflowing wastepaper basket, she felt as though she wasn’t in Andrews Autos at all, but some other garage belonging to a proprietor who didn’t care about his business, and that thought jerked her out of her melancholy and into action.
She made a start on the in-tray, separating the coffee-stained invoices into those that had been paid and those that required attention before moving on to the filing. By the time she stopped for a break it was after six o’clock and her stomach growled with objection at the lack of attention, but she was on a roll and had no intention of stopping for such mundane necessities. She could now see the leather inlay on the top of the desk and had located the missing drawer from the filing cabinet in the gents’ toilet of all places!
‘Okay, I’m… Oh, my God! What’s going on?’ said Max, appearing at the door. ‘I can hardly recognise the place. I wondered why I hadn’t seen you around this afternoon. Wow, you’ve certainly been busy.’
‘Mum always kept this office so shipshape that it ran like one of your shiny engines. Orderliness is the engine oil of an efficient business, she used to say. Customers would tease her, saying they felt like they should put their cars through a carwash before bringing them for their annual service at Andrews Autos. She secretly loved the thought of that.’
Gabbie flashed a glance through the office window into the workshop, but her view was blocked by the mountain of cardboard. She knew exactly what her next task was going to be.
Max followed her line of sight. ‘The place was like this when I joined at the beginning of summer. I thought this was what it was always like so I just accepted it as normal. There was enough to do sorting out the vehicles without donning an apron and washing down the surfaces. Anyway, it didn’t take me long to discover where everything was and the system sort of works. If I can’t find something, Wil usually knows where to look. Right, I just popped in to tell you I’m finished for the day and if you fancy joining Wil and I for a pint in The Pear Tree later, you’d be very welcome.’
‘Oh, thanks, but I think I’ll finish up here. I could be a while.’ She laughed.
‘No problem. Another time. See you tomorrow.’
Gabbie watched Max snatch up his car keys and stride out of the garage without looking back. She enjoyed the view, the swing of his hips, the denim jacket slung casually over his shoulder, but she wasn’t sure how she would feel if the tables were turned and he’d been watching her retreating backside.
Half an hour later, she paused at the office door, finger on the light switch, surveying her handiwork. She was satisfied with the results and made a decision. She collected the three box files that held that year’s business accounts, locked the door and pocketed the key, determined to have a word with her father about letting the paperwork slide.
Unfortunately, she had forgotten he played archery on a Tuesday evening and the house felt strangely quiet, the joists overhead creaking like arthritic limbs. She dropped the boxes on the kitchen table and decided to make herself a tuna sandwich before settling down to wade through the muddle of documents that made up the financial affairs of Andrews Autos.
She flicked through the TV channels, but she hadn’t watched a British television programme in years. She selected an apple from the fruit bowl she had replenished in the hope of tempting her father with a healthy snack rather than a packet of crisps, and checked her watch. The archery shoot usually finished around eight when the light started to fade, and he would then retire with his fellow archer, Mike Sanderson, to The Pear Tree for a few pints and a discussion about their respective scores – that meant she had a couple of hours to kill.
Gabbie wondered briefly whether she should call Clara instead of spending her evening hunched over rows and rows of figures. The longer she put it off, the harder it would be to explain to her friend why she hadn’t told her she was home. She yearned to hear Clara’s soft West Country burr that had caused tears of homesickness to fall in the early days as she had struggled to settle into her tiny studio in Grasse. Over the two years she had been away, their phone calls had dwindled, yet every time they spoke, Gabbie felt as though she’d just seen her yesterday. A sharp spasm of guilt shot through her when she realised that, because of the recent frenzied work schedule at House of Gasnier, she hadn’t spoken to her childhood partner-in-crime for a couple of months.
She sauntered over to the kitchen sink. Through the window she inadvertently caught a glimpse of the summerhouse and sadness seeped into her veins. She knew that unless she kept herself busy she would be overcome by an avalanche of painful memories. If she didn’t yet have the courage to ring Clara and spill out every detail of what had happened over the last few weeks, she would need to find something else to occupy her thoughts.
She returned to the garage workshop, so calm and peaceful in the evening. A perfect image of that room had been imprinted on the inside of her eyelids, an image she could call up whenever she craved a slice of home. But the picture was now totally distorted by the jumble of random objects scattered everywhere, not least the huge pyramid of cardboard blocking the office window. She reached up to remove the box balanced precariously on the top and was surprised to find it was empty.
That was the start of it. By the time she saw the headlights of her father’s ancient Volvo swing onto the driveway in front of the house, the garage looked exactly like it always had; clean, uncluttered and, more to the point, smelling amazing, even if the chosen bouquet did include a top note of disinfectant.
Gabbie decided the makeover would have greater impact if she revealed it in all its glory the next morning, so she hustled out of the garage, locked the connecting door and slid into a kitchen chair, feigning nonchalance as the front door opened.
‘Hi, Dad! How was Mike?’
‘Fine, fine. He sends his love.’
‘And how was the meeting at the bank this afternoon?’
‘Oh, that was fine too,’ Jeff said far too breezily as he hung his coat on the peg, his back to Gabbie for just a second longer than necessary.
Gabbie knew immediately he was avoiding the subject.
‘Dad…’
‘Not now, sweetheart. I’m shattered, what with the trip to town, the shoot tonight and our favourite seats in the Pear being commandeered by a bunch of inebriated tourists down from London for a week of team building! I think I’ll grab an early night, if you don’t mind? New day tomorrow, though, so how about I take you with me to see an MG one of Mike’s friends is looking to offload? It’s a V8. You’ll love it.’
Gabbie was about to press him on the outcome of the bank visit but his haggard expression and the weary slump of his shoulders forced her to agree that getting some rest was a priority.
‘Sounds great. I’d love to come with you. Night, Dad. I love you.’
She hugged him a little tighter than she usually did, enjoying the affectionate squeeze he gave her in return, before stomping up the stairs behind him and surrendering to the safe hands of sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Chapter Six (#ulink_2ac16e50-6092-5046-baf5-dacfaa385a71)
‘For God’s sake! Where is she?’
Gabbie heard the angry exclamation clearly from the workshop, followed by a sharp rap on the connecting door as she was busy spooning instant coffee into a mug.
‘Come in. Do you want a…’
‘What the hell’s the matter with you? What were you thinking? Okay, sort out the office – I get that. But the garage? Where are all my tools? My own personal belongings that I saved up to buy with my hard-earned cash? I told you yesterday, the place might be a little disorganised, messy even, but I know where everything is. Wil and I have a system. You might not recognise it, or approve of it, but it is our system and it works for us. I’ve come in extra early this morning to work on the Jag and I can’t find anything. It’s all hidden away…’
‘Max…’
‘And what on earth is that smell?’
Gabbie abandoned the coffee and followed Max onto the forecourt, unsure how to deal with the onslaught of indignation. She had assumed he would be grateful for her intervention in the car chaos.
‘It’s elderflower and passionfruit.’
‘Passionfruit? Passionfruit?’ Max ran his fingers through the quiff at his forehead, his eyes skimming every corner of the garage. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, Andrews Autos is a car-maintenance garage, not a French tart’s boudoir. What on earth possessed you? What made you think you could march in and organise our lives in accordance with your own vision? You might be the proprietor’s fragrantly doused daughter, but you don’t work here – Wil and I do, and we can’t do our jobs when all our tools are filed away in alphabetical order! Every day would be like embarking on a treasure hunt. I thought you understood how busy we were?’
‘Hey, wind back a bit. You might not know this but Andrews Autos has been in business for three generations and throughout that time we have prided ourselves on efficient repairs at a fair price, timely MOTs and services, but also on providing a spotless, and safe, working environment…’
‘Arggh!’
Gabbie swung her eyes over her shoulder towards a silver Peugeot behind which the sharp grunt of agony had come, followed by a clattering of metal tools falling to the floor and spinning in all directions.
‘What was that?’
‘Not sure.’
