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‘I’m pretty sure that Miles had it all worked out,’ her voice dropped as she remembered how ill he’d been the last time she’d seen him. ‘In fact …’ she stopped struggling to find the right words, ‘he … organised … er … a mechanic to … go along too.’
‘And this mechanic would just do it for … what? Love? Fresh air?’ Robert shook his head at her naivety.
He had a point. ‘I’m not sure … I think he’s being paid for it. I know it all sounds strange but Uncle Miles had lots of time to think it all through and Ron, Mr Leversedge, the solicitor helped him draft the will. I don’t think it can be contested.’
Robert lapsed into thought, his mouth twisting this way and that as if ruminating every angle.
After several minutes, he huffed out a sigh. ‘Hmph, I’m not very happy about it, but you’re probably right. He’s got us over a barrel but for that money it’s worth doing, I guess. You’ll have to do it on your own. At least if you’ve got this mechanic chappie along, if you break down or anything you won’t get ripped off.
‘There’s no point me giving up my job. It’s not like yours brings in much, so if we have to sacrifice that in the short term for the bigger gain, it’s a gamble worth taking … they might always take you back on or you could get an office job somewhere round here.’
‘But …’ She loved her job and he hated his. What about what she wanted?
‘And you’d be happy me going on my own in a car worth thousands?’ asked Laurie, wanting him to say it was out of the question and he would have to give up his job to come with her.
‘Don’t take that tone. Of course I’m not happy. The pension at the library is a good one. And with the cuts you might have got a payoff. I wonder if there’s any chance they might give you a sabbatical or offer you voluntary redundancy.’
She closed her eyes. The library was the only job she’d ever known; the thought of giving it up made her feel quite panicky. Leaving Leighton Buzzard made her feel sick. Once she was old enough to stop the obligatory trips to France to see her mother, she hadn’t been out of England for the last twelve years.
She thought of the envelope Ron had given her. And that wasn’t even the half of the problem.
Chapter 5 (#u6e051303-e114-5427-9c09-6e53a87537cf)
Cam gritted his teeth and gave the wheel nut another half turn. His shoulder ached like a bitch and he was cooking but he’d keep his T shirt on. He’d kept his promise and sorted Kerry’s car out today. He’d feel easier about her making the trip to Birmingham to see her Mum. Bald tyres were an accident waiting to happen. And it was him that pointed it out to her. Damn fool thing to do, as he then ended up offering to buy the new tyre and fit it for her. Last thing he needed was to encourage her.
That should do it. Rolling his aching shoulder he hauled himself to his feet and wiped his grimy hands down his jeans. Despite breaking his shoulder over five years ago, it still hurt like a bitch every now and then.
From inside the house that butted up next to his, he could hear Josh, Kerry’s three-year-old revving up with an unhappy, I need food and sleep cry. No wonder she looked so tired all the time. It had to be hard work raising Josh alone.
But there was a difference between being neighbourly and playing Daddy, and despite the signals she’d been sending his way, he had no intention of signing up for that gig. Thank God for Josh’s return from playgroup; the cleavage on display was most definitely for his benefit. He liked Kerry well enough, but a guy like him wasn’t the answer. He wasn’t the settling down type … well not anymore. He’d tried it once and look what a disaster that had been. He’d made himself and Sylvie, his ex-wife, miserable. Kerry needed someone who would stick around.
He shoved the spanner into the tool box and gently pumped the jack to bring the aging Nissan back to earth. At least he could help her out with a spot of mechanical engineering from time to time. And didn’t that just sound like one heck of a euphemism?
And it wasn’t lack of sex that made him feel irritable and scratchy, although it had been a while. Maybe scratching that itch might help. There were any number of women he could hook up with, a lot more sophisticated and less needy than young Kerry. Maybe he should make a few calls, anything to put off the one call he was going to have to make. Damn Miles. What the hell had he been playing at?
Cam gave a rueful grimace, tempted to pull out the white envelope which was still folded in four and rammed it in the back pocket of his jeans. The contents had offered some relief but he wasn’t home and dry by a long shot. He’d debated all week whether to phone Nick and forewarn him that the deal might not be a definite but he was loath to do that just yet. Miles had tied things up neatly. Cam had to ensure that Laurie completed the journey across Europe to the Ferrari factory in Maranello. If he did that, he got first dibs on buying the car at the price they’d agreed. All well and good as long as she made it all the way to Maranello. Piece of cake … provided she sold. Although that was pretty much a foregone conclusion but he needed to make damn sure. Closing the tool box, he gave the new tyre a quick kick. He hoped Kerry would gracefully accept the tyre and not want to pay him.
A slow grin crossed his face. And that was what he needed to do with Laurie. Make her overcome with gratitude and totally reliant on him to get her across Europe. So much so, that she would see how impractical it was to even consider keeping a car that kept breaking down, needed so much maintenance, was cold and draughty, and horribly expensive. There’d be no harm in charming her along the way, just to make sure she couldn’t say no to him at the end of the trip. The relationship with the boyfriend looked a pretty joyless affair. He was a bit of a knob − some male attention would probably be quite welcome. Cam was sure that despite the shaky meeting at the solicitors, he could turn things around − after all they’d had that shared moment of empathy in the church. She obviously had a bit of a sense of humour.
So maybe his intentions were less than honourable but what had Miles intended the outcome to be, if not for Cam to have the car in the end?
Tucking the jack away in the boot, he slammed down the door and pressed the automatic lock. On cue at the sound of the beep, Kerry appeared in the doorway, a tear-stained Josh at her hip.
‘You’ve finished,’ she beamed at him. ‘Can I feed you as a thank you? I’ve got a lasagne on the go and there’s plenty there.’
The right thing would have been to say no but a suitable excuse evaded him. Besides, this might be a good opportunity to talk to her and make it clear that he wasn’t in the market for any sort of relationship. Or he could show her what a real bastard he was and decline. Looking at her hopeful expression, he opened his arms to the boy.
‘Hand him over and I’ll keep him occupied while you do what you need to.’ He might be a bastard but he wasn’t cruel with it and the poor kid looked like she could do with a second pair of hands. There were still a couple of hours before his appointment to meet Miles’ niece.
With a grateful smile, she complied and led the way into the house.
Josh shoved a sticky hand into Cam’s hair, as he took him. ‘Come on fella, let’s give your ma a break.’ He went into the lounge to find the big box of toy cars. Within minutes he had the little boy in fits of giggles as he showed him how to race the cars, taking them on two wheels, running them up his arms, crashing them, complete with sound effects.
Hell, life was so much easier at this level. Could Miles have made his will more damn convoluted? Cagey devil.
‘Lunch’s ready. Sorry I haven’t got any beer or anything.’ Kerry shrugged apologetically. For a moment he thought about nipping next door to grab one from his own fridge. A cold lager would slip down a treat, but then it might change the tone of the meal.
‘I can’t stay too long. I’ve got an appointment and then I’m going to be going away for a couple of weeks, so I need to start sorting things out.’
‘Is it a job?’
‘Yeah, sort of.’ Cam pulled a face.
‘Doesn’t sound like you’re too keen?’
Frankly, he’d rather get married again. ‘It’s one of those jobs where there’s no pay off until you get to the end of the trip. Kind of puts all sorts of obligations on you. I prefer jobs where I agree the fee up front, do the job, get paid and everyone’s happy.’
‘Can’t you say no? I mean …’ She coloured up. ‘Well, you’re organising this big festival, I heard you’d got all the sponsorship in place. Do you need the money?’
He grinned, unembarrassed. ‘No secrets living in this village.’
Except she didn’t know that all the sponsorship was based on the Ferrari being the centre piece of the show. That it was the car that would elevate the event into a serious contender and attract the enthusiasts. If only he hadn’t got his brother involved. If he lost everything there was only him. He could make ends meet. If Nick lost his home … it would be all his fault.
The call of racing had long ceased for him but he had an affinity with cars. Eric liked to say that Cam could make engines sing and while he wasn’t sure about the romantic sentiment, he knew he was damn good with a rock solid rep which counted. Money was money. He only lived in the poky one up, one down because he hadn’t done anything about finding a proper place to live since the divorce.
‘So,’ she persisted, taking a moment to redirect Josh’s spoon of mashed potato which was being waved in the air. ‘Why don’t you say no?’
Because he couldn’t. He needed that car and he’d made a promise to Miles. He said he’d look after Laurie. End of story.
The house looked exactly the same as it had on the day of the funeral. For some reason he’d expected it to look faded and dusty, as if it had been mothballed. He lifted the heavy knocker and to his surprise Eric opened the door.
‘Ah Cam, good to see you.’ Eric ushered him in, just like old times, and the smell of roasting chicken drifted up the hall.
Cam shook the older man’s hand.
‘Still here? I thought you’d been pensioned off with the cottage.’
‘So did we, so did we. Turns out Miles had other ideas. Will asked us to stay on and run the big house for a couple of months. Cottage is ours to do with what we like but he wanted the house kept up.’
And it had been. Norah’s diligence meant it looked exactly as if Miles might stroll in any second.
Cam shook his head in wonderment. Typical Miles, no doubt leaving the place ticking over just in case anyone called by not realising he’d passed on. The house had always been open to all. You never knew who’d be visiting. Miles had an eclectic set of friends and acquaintances including wine merchants, wine growers, sommeliers from renowned restaurants, the racing set. Even his extended family of ex-wives and their new husbands, offspring and other relatives were equally welcome.
‘Norah has set tea up in the drawing room. Miss Laurie should be here soon. Taking her for a test drive, Ron says. And you’re going to go with her across Europe. You take care of her.’
Cam wasn’t sure whether Eric referred to the car or Laurie.
‘I’ve got the keys for the garage block for you; you know the codes.’ Eric handed over the slim set of keys. ‘You know where all the keys are kept in the cupboard. Which car are you taking out?’
Cam felt the car keys weighing heavily in his pocket. So much for presumption. That night he’d been so sure the Ferrari was his. He clenched the garage keys in his hand for a moment. Some people would kill for these. What was going to happen to the rest of the car collection? The Ferrari had been accounted for, but what about the others? Nothing had been said about them or the house. He’d always thought that despite Miles’ oft-aired view that cars had been designed to be driven, he might one day turn the place into a museum like Beaulieu.
Christ, if he was happy to put the best car of the lot into the hands of a complete amateur, he hadn’t changed his philosophy much.
Hopefully she wouldn’t wreck the engine. At least if he agreed to going along he could teach her to drive the damn thing properly … or, a slow smile slid across his face. Of course he could put her off driving it for good today. Frighten her a little. That would save the engine and ensure she sold the car. Miles’ will and its conditions had been prescriptive to say the least but as far as he could see, and he’d read it carefully to check, there was nothing in it that said specifically she had to drive the car. Maybe it was the legal jargon but the phrase relating to the car said Laurie had to take the car across Europe.
All he had to do was show her what a difficult car it was to drive. And how much damage you could do if you didn’t do it right.
It wasn’t as if it was all that underhand − after all, if he wanted to be a real bastard, he could play any number of dirty tricks. Get lost along the route … miss out a place or two. Ensure she missed a couple of postcards. Make the journey twice as long as it needed to be. Get her to give up en-route.
He couldn’t do that. He’d made a promise to Miles but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make Laurie face up to the huge impracticalities of owning and driving a high performance sports car. He suspected that she would be surprised by just how fast it could go. She’d probably never been in anything with an engine bigger than one point four litres. He smiled again. Today he’d take her out in the Ferrari, scare the shit out of her … and then, his mouth twisted wryly, he’d do the right thing. Sometimes he just hated that nagging conscience. He’d offer to drive it across Italy for her and show her along the way the realities and difficulties involved with owning and driving a classic car. She had to sell the car to him. There was no alternative.
Pleased with his plan, he swung down the corridor, keen to reach the stable block and reacquaint himself with the Ferrari.
Even if she hadn’t known where to go, the signature growl of the engine would have guided her. Like the roar of a dragon about to strike, the noise vibrated around the courtyard. Her skin reacted, goose bumps erupting, and she stood upright, the air reverberating around her.
The sound brought back memories with a punch so hard it almost felled her. Tears pricked her eyes.
Cam was reversing the silver Ferrari out into the courtyard. He scowled at her through the open window. ‘You’re early.’
She shrugged. She’d had second, third and fourth thoughts about coming at all. When she’d phoned Ron to accept the terms of the will, he’d immediately suggested she travel up to York and meet up with Cam to sort things out. A test drive had not been on her agenda. Although, she told herself sternly, what had she imagined? She could just rock up at the garage at Merryview, get the keys and set off down to the Channel Tunnel?
Even though it made perfect sense, it still pissed her off that Cam had taken the initiative.
‘Are you coming or not?’
‘Not,’ she scowled back.
He ignored her, leaned over and opened the passenger door.
Through the open door, she could see the red leather seat, the dash. Cam looked at her, challenge in his eyes.
If she stayed put she’d just look stupid.
The engine roared, as if impatient at being kept waiting and the sound howled around the courtyard, bouncing over the diamond pane windows and the honey brick walls. The car, a streak of silver, shimmered before her as her eyes blurred.
Belatedly remembering a promise to Robert, she took her phone from her bag and took a quick picture.
She stepped forward to get into the passenger seat which was on the right hand side. Of course the car was a left hand drive. It hadn’t occurred to her that it would be. Awkwardly she lowered herself into the car, one leg having to stretch right over into the footwell to get down into the low slung seat. Folding your legs in at the right angle took some doing. Like a dying swan she sank into the seat dragging the other leg behind her. There was no way of doing it elegantly. Not that it was anything she’d ever aspired to. No doubt Mother could get in and out of a car like this with perfect grace.
‘Nicely done,’ chuckled Cam. ‘Don’t worry, it just takes practice.’
She shot him a dark look.
‘I’ve been busy acquiring other skills.’
He raised one eyebrow.
She blushed furiously and looked down at her phone.
‘So exactly which Ferrari is this? I’ve forgotten.’
Cam raised a cynical disbelieving eyebrow.
She didn’t care what he thought. She had known once.
‘The GT250 California Spyder, probably Enzo’s finest design.’
At the reverence in his tone, she looked up from the text she was sending Robert. Uncle Miles had been like that about his cars. She pinged off the text to Robert, glad that she was now able to tell him the model of the car that she’d sort of inherited. It made it sound a little less pie in the sky and more real.
‘Seatbelt on?’ asked Cam.
She nodded and was surprised when he leant over to give a tug to double check. Did he not trust her to manage that much?
When he released the clutch, the car shot forward and she could feel the barely contained acceleration which matched the pace of her racing heart. She took in the interior. Basic and dated, it looked very little like the modern interiors of cars she was used to. It was noisy and she could feel the hum of the engine under her feet and the gentle vibrato of its song radiating through the body of the car. The well-worn leather of the seat seemed too smooth beneath her bottom and she kept slipping down and banging her knees on the dash.
There seemed to be more to the outside of the car than the inside, with very little room to stretch. Although the noisy rumble of the engine didn’t preclude conversation, it certainly didn’t encourage it, and she kept silent as they drove down the drive and out onto a country lane. Being so low enhanced the feeling of speed as the hedgerows sped past in a blur of brown and green, but even so, she was surprised by how fast Cam was going. He obviously knew the roads well.
Deciding she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking where they were going, she stared down at her knees, trying to ignore her speeding pulse. After a minute her stomach protested, nausea roiling and she had to give in and look out of the window.
They were going faster now and she was having trouble keeping her balance in the seat as they roared around bends and twisted along the country road. A tractor loomed ahead of them, trundling along at snail speed. Gripping her seat, she tensed and held her breath.
Cam shot her a disdainful look, dropped back a gear and zoomed around it in a move that threw her back into the seat with the force of a rocket blasting off. She let out a startled squeak as the car pulled in front of the tractor but refused to give Cam the satisfaction of voicing her fear. Instead she turned her head and looked out of the passenger window. Anyone would have been unnerved. There was no need for him to look at her as if she was some dumb hick who’d never sat in a Ferrari before. Gritting her teeth she tried to hold back the stirring of temper. No matter how hard she tensed her jaw she could feel it simmering in her veins.
The car’s engine slowed and she heard the thrum as Cam changed down through the gears. She’d been so busy concentrating on keeping her emotion in check, she’d not noticed where they were. Now she looked up, she recognised it immediately.
The car faced a long straight track of tarmac, stretching out into the distance.
‘Your turn.’ Cam turned his head and gave her a smile which didn’t get anywhere near his eyes. It reminded her of a shark measuring up its prey.
‘Don’t worry, this is a private track. The perfect place for you to learn how to drive this beauty. It’s extremely difficult and you will find it very different to driving anything else. It needs a very light touch in some ways but firm handling in others.’ He gave her a stern look. ‘You need to be confident. Best to start here where there’s nothing to hit.’ His perfunctory smile and patronising driving instructor tone pricked her. ‘We can start slow here, have a couple of lessons and get you used to it. It’s not the sort of car for a novice I’m afraid … but let’s see how you get on.’
With a smooth grace that belied those long jean-clad legs he uncoiled himself from the driver’s seat, leaving the engine idling. Laurie scowled. He bloody would. Scrambling out of her own seat and slamming the door, she went round the back of the car to where he stood holding the driver’s door for her. He took her elbow to guide her in, calloused palms grazed her skin as his larger hand cradled her arm making her conscious of how tall and broad he was. The gesture, old fashioned and courteous, gave her a sudden pang. For all his brusqueness, he was a gentleman. Not something she was used to at all.
Mutinously she glared at him, even more cross that he’d managed to make her feel like a gauche teenager.
As soon as she sat down, she arranged her seat to suit her, checked the mirror on the dashboard and ignoring him, looked down the track.
One mile. A smooth circuit. Privately owned, once an airfield but abandoned long ago in favour of a newer, shinier one closer to the town.
Rubber burns scarred the surface, veering off left and right, the harsh punctuation marks of cars put through their paces. Her nose twitched as if she could still smell burning rubber and the memory of the pistol shot of a blown tyre hit her along with a punch of adrenaline. The wash of unexpected and lost memories surfacing so suddenly left her dazed.
Stuff Cameron bloody patronising Matthews. She pulled the car door closed and before he could get to the passenger side, she depressed the tiny clutch, and pushed the gear stick into first, forgetting how different the gearbox felt to modern cars. It distracted her for a moment and then her muscle memory rescued her and anticipating the kick, she flicked her foot off the clutch and pressed the accelerator.
The car leapt forward and the acceleration fired up through her. In the mirror she caught sight of Cam’s surprised face. She allowed a brief smile to cross her face and focused on driving. She knew that all her attention would be needed, like hanging onto a bucking bronco. The steering wheel seemed huge, its span larger than anything she’d driven … for a while. Now she was in the driving seat she knew exactly where the speedometer was.
It was just like riding a bike, well nearly. The speedo in front of her, the revs. Oil, water and fuel gauges lined along to right on the minimalist dashboard. She knew what she was doing. OK, not quite. It had been a long time, but the memory of things she didn’t know she’d forgotten rose up like flotsam on the surface. It all came back to her. Her skills were definitely ropey. Hanging onto the steering wheel, she focused, trying to remember all the things that Miles had told her, sitting exactly where Cam had been sitting.
‘Steer into the corners. Keep your speed up. Don’t brake.’ She could hear his voice, the commands clear and bright in her head.
