by Lynne Graham
‘Goodness,’ Guy said faintly; Goodness, Jenny thought, suddenly realising where this was going.
‘Now, if you were here, young man, in your Ferrari...’
‘Santa could use your Ferrari,’ Henry said, suddenly wide-eyed. ‘Cool. Course it’s not the real Santa,’ he explained, while Guy looked as if he was trying to figure how he could escape. ‘He’s a Santa’s helper. Mum told me that last year. I sat in the back of our car and the fire engine came right up and Santa gave me three lollies.’
‘That was before it was called away,’ Jenny said, trying not to get teary. Too late—she was teary. Dratted tears. She blinked them away, but not before Guy had seen. She knew he’d seen. He had hawk-like eyes that could see everything.
‘Mr Carver’s going home before Christmas,’ she told Henry, feeling desperate. ‘Aren’t you, Mr Carver?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Guy told her. ‘And the name is Guy.’
‘You’re not seriously thinking of doing the Anna/Barret party?’
‘I’d need help.’
‘A party?’ Lorna intercepted, bright-eyed. ‘What sort of party?’
‘Anna and Barret’s wedding.’
‘Anna and Barret...’ Lorna paused, confused, and then confusion gave way to awe. ‘You don’t mean Anna and Barret?’
‘I mean Anna and Barret.’
‘They’re getting married? Here?’
‘If we can cater. If your daughter-in-law will come back as a member of my staff.’
‘Jenny,’ Lorna said, eyes shining. ‘How wonderful.’
‘It’s not,’ Jenny said. ‘He won’t do Kylie’s wedding.’
‘We can do Kylie’s wedding,’ Guy said.
She eyed him with disbelief. ‘As a Carver Wedding?’
‘I don’t think—’
‘Ha!’
‘She wouldn’t like my style of wedding.’
‘Anna wants pink tulle. Surely you give the clients what they want?’
‘If it fits into my—’
‘That is such an arrogant—’
‘Will you two stop it?’ Lorna said, stuttering in an attempt to get this sorted. ‘Jenny, you need to help him.’
‘I don’t.’
‘As a matter of interest,’ Guy said calmly, ‘could you help me if you wanted to?’
‘Do what?’ she said, trying to disguise a child-like glower. But he saw it and his lips twitched. No wonder the glossies described him in glowing terms, Jenny thought. Until now she’d wondered how the head of what was essentially a catering company had become someone that the gossip columnists described as hot property. Now she knew. Guy would just have to look at you with those eyes, that held laughter...
The man was seriously sexy.
‘Do you have the resources to run a wedding for three hundred on Christmas Day?’ he asked, and she had to make a sharp attempt to haul her hormones into line. ‘Are we arguing about something that’s an impossibility?’
‘It’s not impossible,’ she said, and then thought maybe she shouldn’t have admitted it.
‘Why is it not impossible?’
‘Anna says she wants pink tulle?’
‘So?’ The laughter was gone now, and she could see why he was also described as one of the world’s best businessmen. She could see the intelligence...the focus.
‘So we could give her a country wedding. Kylie-style. It would be so unexpected that she’d love it.’
‘We could put on a country dance,’ Jack contributed. ‘It’s great weather this time of year. Haul some hay bales out into the paddock for seats, some more for a bar, and shove a keg on the back of the truck.’
‘Keg?’ Guy asked faintly.
‘Fosters,’ Jack told him. ‘Gotta be Fosters.’
‘He means beer,’ Jenny told him, putting him out of his misery. ‘I don’t think this crowd would be happy with only beer.’
‘Drink’s the least of my problems.’
‘So what’s your problem?’
‘Finding clothes for the wedding party in ten days. Sourcing food. Finding staff to wait on tables and clear up afterwards.’
‘Piece of cake,’ Jenny said, and then thought that was stupid. What was she letting herself in for?
‘How is it a piece of cake?’
‘Make Kylie’s wedding the first Australian Carver Wedding and I’ll tell you.’
‘Kylie doesn’t want a Carver Wedding.’
‘You’re making huge assumptions here,’ she flashed, and Henry stirred and looked up at his mother in surprise. Lorna shifted her wheelchair sideways so she could take his weight, and he moved his allegiance to his grandmother. As if he wasn’t quite sure who his mother was any more. ‘What’s the difference between Anna and Kylie?’ she demanded. ‘Career choice and money. Nothing more. Kylie’s got herself pregnant, but Anna ended up in drug rehab. Two kids getting married. Kylie does want a Carver Wedding, and she asked first.’
‘You’d seriously make me—’
‘No one’s making you do anything,’ she told him. ‘Including staying at our dinner table.’
‘You’re telling me to leave?’
‘I don’t like what money does to people.’
‘The man hasn’t finished his dinner yet,’ Jack protested. ‘Have a heart.’
‘It’s a bit rude to invite him to eat and put him out,’ Lorna added, looking curiously at Jenny.
‘Jenny’s just itching for a fight,’ Jack told Lorna, speaking across the table as if no one else was there. ‘Dunno what’s got into her, really.’
‘It’s hormones,’ Lorna decided. ‘You have a nice cup of tea, Jen.’
‘Lorna...’
‘She could do the wedding if she wanted to,’ Lorna said, turning to Guy. ‘She’s the cleverest lass. I used to run the salon, making dresses for locals and organising caterers for out-of-towners. Only then the out-of-towners grew to so many that I had to employ Jenny. It was the best thing I ever did. Her mum didn’t have any money, and her dad lit out early, so there wasn’t enough to send Jenny to anywhere like university. She took on an apprenticeship with me. She’s transformed the business. She’s just...’
‘Lorna!’ Jenny said, almost yelling. ‘Will you cut it out? Mr Carver doesn’t want to know about me.’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said mildly. ‘I need to persuade you to use some of your skills on my behalf. Where could you get caterers on Christmas Day?’
‘I don’t—’
‘You tell him, lass,’ Jack said. ‘Don’t hide your light under a bushel.’
She stared wildly round, but they were all watching her expectantly. Even Henry.
‘This town is full of retirees,’ she said at last, trying desperately to get her voice under control. ‘Most of them have a very quiet Christmas. If we had all the food planned the day before—if we settled on country fare that all the women round here can cook—if Anna settled for a late wedding and if we told the locals that they could come to the dance afterwards—there’d be queues to work for us.’
‘Locals come to the ceremony?’ he said, incredulous.
‘Not the ceremony. The idea would be that there’d be a huge party afterwards, with workers welcome. Think of the publicity for Anna and Barret. If you got onto that nice PR person I talked to this afternoon...’
Guy stared at her, poleaxed. ‘It might...’
‘It might well work,’ she said. ‘She’s not squeaky clean, our Anna, and this would be great publicity.’
‘You know about Anna’s past?’
‘The world knows about Anna’s past. This wedding will be great for her.’
‘It would,’ he agreed, and suddenly Jenny’s eyes narrowed.
‘That’s why you’re thinking of doing it,’
she said softly, on a note of discovery, thinking it through as she spoke. ‘I couldn’t understand...’ But suddenly she did, seeing clearly where her impetuous nature had landed Guy. ‘The Carver empire doesn’t need this wedding, but Anna needs the Carver emporium.’ She bit her lip. ‘I should have thought about that when I was contacted. Oh, heck. I was angry with you, and I didn’t think.’
To say Guy was bewildered was an understatement. That Jenny was sensitive enough to see connotations that he’d only figured because he moved in those circles....
His estimation of the woman in front of him was changing by the minute. Gorgeous, smart, funny...
He didn’t do gorgeous, smart and funny. He didn’t do complications.
He rose, so sharply that he had to make a grab to catch his chair before it toppled. ‘I need to go.’
‘You haven’t had coffee,’ Lorna said mildly, but he didn’t hear. He was watching Jenny.
‘You agree to staying on my payroll until Christmas?’
‘Can Kylie have a Carver Wedding?’
‘Yes,’ he said, against the ropes and knowing it.
She hesitated, but then gave a rueful smile. ‘Okay, then. I’ve never worked for a boss before.’
‘What about me?’ Lorna said, indignant, and Jenny grinned.
‘That’s different. I walked into your shop for the interview and Ben was there. I was family from that minute on.’
‘You were, too,’ Lorna said, and reached over and squeezed her hand.
Family.
Something knotted in Guy’s gut that he didn’t want to know about. He backed to the door.
‘Where are you staying, young man?’ Jack asked.
‘My secretary booked a place for me. Braeside?’
‘You been there yet?’
‘No. I—’
‘You’ll never find it,’ Jack said with grim satisfaction. ‘It’s up back of town, by the river. Tourists get lost there all the time.’ It seemed a source of satisfaction. Jack was looking at him with what seemed to be enjoyment.
‘I have directions.’
‘I’ve seen the directions they use. You’ll be driving through the mountains ’til dawn. Jenny’ll have to take you.’
Jenny stilled. Then she nodded, as if she agreed. ‘You will get lost. I’ll drive there, and you can follow me.’
‘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?’
‘I’m not.’
‘You’re living with his parents.’
‘That’s because they’ve become my parents,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I wonder whether I fell in love with Ben himself or if I fell in love with the whole concept of family. Like you tonight, looking round the dining table and looking...hungry.’