From Italy With Love

by Jules Wake

  ‘Perhaps I’ll leave that one to you then,’ said Laurie. She tapped the white A4 envelope on her knee. ‘Uncle Miles liked to shake things up … he sent me postcards all the time. I think he wanted me to see some of the places he talked about.

  ‘Honfleur always sounded so pretty. Just the name sounds lovely … don’t you …’ her voice trailed off.

  He felt a pang for her sudden self-consciousness.

  ‘Onfleeeuuur,’ he said emphasizing the French pronunciation. ‘You’re right, it does have quite a ring about it.’

  She shot him a suspicious look as if he were taking the piss.

  ‘Funny, isn’t it,’ he kept his gaze straight ahead, ‘most place names are suitable … they fit the place. Or do you think it’s just because we associate those places with the name?’

  ‘I prefer the former. Honfleur sounds pretty. I suppose it’s because I know fleur is French for flower. It sounds as if the name is something flower and I know from the postcards Miles sent, it is a pretty place. Have you been before?’

  ‘A couple of times.’

  ‘Sorry I should have asked before. What exactly do you do? We kind of got foisted on each other but I never really understood … did you work for my uncle?’

  ‘We were business partners …’ he winced, ‘sorry, that sounds a bit dodgy.’

  She gave him a sympathetic look. ‘I don’t think Miles would associate with a crook.’

  ‘Thanks … I think. I worked with Miles. Originally, we were rivals, seeking out cars on commission. With the internet, a lot of the research could be done online but as he got older, even though he didn’t want to, he realised had to relinquish the driving to someone else.’

  Hadn’t stopped him dishing out plenty of instructions though, thought Cam with a rueful grin.

  ‘He approached me … and the rest is history. I regularly drive … drove … across Europe to evaluate cars, persuade owners to sell … that sort of thing …’

  ‘What about his cars, the ones back at the house … this one? Did he buy them to sell originally?’

  Cam laughed, thinking of Miles. In some ways he’d been a brilliant business man, understanding the desire people held to obtain the cars of their dreams, in others he’d been a hopeless romantic, unable to part with his favourites. And wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? He was no better when it came to the Ferrari. He clutched the steering wheel beneath his palms. Only a couple more weeks and it would be his, as long as Laurie completed Miles’ challenge. No difficult conversations with Nick or the bank.

  Managing her was going to be a bit trickier than he’d first thought. From the dowdy clothes and Ron’s description of a homebody, he’d assumed she’d be a bit of a pushover and follow his instructions. In fact she was damn prickly, easy to offend and quick to assume the worst, especially of him. What would she think if he showed her the letter Miles had written which was currently tucked in his bag? A couple of times he’d caught a flash of steel in the cool blue eyes and she certainly wasn’t as buttoned-up and reserved beneath the surface as he’d first assumed.

  ‘Miles was a whizz at matching cars with potential owners’ bank balances and in many instances, their overdrafts, but quite often he couldn’t bear to part with them. Luckily sometimes he was able to persuade punters to buy a completely different car to the one we’d been asked to track down.’

  ‘Handy,’ she observed.

  ‘There are two types of car buyers, enthusiasts and aficionados. The latter can be persuaded …’ he shook his head, ‘the aficionados … never.’

  ‘Let me guess, you and Miles fall into the “never” category.’

  ‘That’s right … which is why Miles ended up with a stable full of cars.’

  ‘How about you? How many do you have then?’

  He stilled; dangerous ground. ‘I don’t … yet.’ He waited, expecting more questions.

  With a complete lack of curiosity, she simply nodded her head. ‘Fair enough. So how long do you think it will take us to get there?’

  ‘Not long at all. Fifteen, twenty minutes. Although Honfleur is not great for this baby. Too many cobbled streets. Plays havoc with the suspension.’

  As the car ate up the road heading south to Honfleur, they chatted, if not like old friends, an awful lot like new friends treading carefully towards a friendship.

  ‘So do you know what he had in store for us?’ Cam motioned towards the envelope clutched to her chest like a shield.

  ‘I know the route,’ she worried her lip with her teeth, ‘and the places we have to visit.’ The protective hunch of her shoulders over the envelope made him wonder what demons she was expecting to face along the way.

  Looked like it could be an interesting journey.

  Chapter 8

  Driving with Cam turned out to be surprisingly relaxing and she couldn’t help comparing him to Robert. Their whole approach differed. Robert crouched over the steering wheel like a turtle peering out of its shell, clutching the steering wheel in a death grip, making any passenger tense up in accord.

  With his hand resting negligently on the gear stick, the other lazily controlling the steering wheel, Cam exhibited a nonchalance that immediately calmed her although it hinted at a level of sophistication that unnerved her.

  Her thoughts went back to the funeral, Cam jewel-bright among the women, whose smart clothes and immaculate grooming reminded her of her mother. He fitted in that world. No doubt her mother would approve of him. And today she wasn’t going to think about her mother. Comfort had been sacrificed for performance, no doubt about that, but the roar of the engine vibrating through her pulsed along with her heartbeat. Low to the ground, every bump and jolt in the road translated straight to her bottom but for some reason she rather liked it. It made her feel in tune with the car.

  With a sudden smile, she sat back and gave into the feeling of excitement that tripped, as fast as the car, along her veins and when they stopped for lunch in the pretty town of Honfleur, she felt pumped and charged as well as slightly romantic and foolish but in the brilliant sunshine of the picture-perfect street, she allowed herself to give in to the fantasy. She was on holiday, away from the everyday routine, with a man whom she’d probably never see again after this week.

  It was a relief to stretch and stand tall and despite the stiffness in her joints, the envious glances as she and Cam peeled themselves out of what she thought of as a tiny cockpit, gave her a buzz. It disconcerted her. Earlier today those glances had made her feel horribly awkward. Was it because they were in France now?

  ‘Coffee?’ asked Cam, pushing his shoulders back and rolling them. Tall and broad, it must have been uncomfortable for him, driving in the cramped space but then as his shirt lifted revealing a smooth abdomen and an arrow of air pointing downwards beneath his jeans, all thoughts of his discomfort vanished. Her mouth went dry. Totally inappropriate and uncharacteristic curiosity consumed her. What would it feel like to touch that sexy stomach? Hastily she looked away as a blush fired up her whole body, racing its way along her pulse points. It had to be the heat of the day making her feel hot and bothered. She didn’t do sexy or lust after people. That happened in books, not real life. Even so the brief flash of skin reminded her of some of the racier front covers in the library. Cam could easily have modelled for any of them.

  Hoping he hadn’t read any of her thoughts, she grabbed her bag. ‘I’m gasping for a Coke.’

  He lifted one eyebrow in a way that instantly made her feel he could see right through her. ‘Plenty of places to choose from,’ he inclined his head indicating the cobbled street ahead, brimming with parasols and outside tables.

  Lovely as they were, all of the cafés seemed to exhibit hugely overpriced and expensive menus outside. She winced. Thank goodness Ron had given her a bit of a float for the journey. She hadn’t counted how many Euros were in the envelope but there was enough for quite a few drinks.

  Now, looking at the price of Coca Cola, an overblown amount o
f Euros which translated into nearly a fiver in English money, she hoped it would be enough.

  Despite pressing Ron for details on how much Cam was being paid, the wily solicitor had said it was Cam’s business and up to him to share with her if he chose. Fair enough except, what she really needed to know was whether he was being paid enough to share the expenses or whether she should pay them. Her last month’s salary from the library would only go so far. According to the itinerary drawn up by Miles, Ron would make the reservations in advance to the necessary hotels en route. She hadn’t thought to ask him if they were budget hotels. But she had his phone number to text if their dates changed.

  She glanced at Cam as they sat outside under a large canvas parasol watching the world go by. Although he dressed with casual ease, in faded jeans and crisp cotton shirt, with a sweater flung over his shoulders, the watch he wore was clearly an expensive one. Even she’d heard of Breitling. The leather travel bag in the boot was well-worn but again of high quality, the sort you saw in Sunday supplements and wondered who could afford to spend that much on a bag.

  He exuded an air of being well-travelled and from seeing him in action at the funeral, he was plenty experienced with women, hardly surprising with his good looks. He’d probably had women flocking round him since the day he hit manhood.

  Everything about him shouted sophistication, so she was surprised to find what restful company he was. He seemed happy to sip his coffee and keep conversation to the minimum. Although there was a chance that that was because he found her boring.

  Her mother would have been looking round constantly, her eyes roving for something more interesting, newer, shinier, brighter. Commenting on the clothes, the looks of other women, comparing the quality of the coffee to some other top notch café; name and place dropping.

  Holding the tiny demitasse cup, white china brilliant against his tawny, dark skin and the movie-star, startling green eyes, he looked like an A- list celebrity.

  She traced the voluptuous lines of the Coke bottle … reluctant to break the silence.

  In fact he’d been so accommodating, she felt she owed it to him to discuss the route.

  ‘I take it you do know where we’re going.’

  The tentative question drew a slow smile from Cam.

  ‘I know as much in as I know the proposed route but that’s pretty much it.’ He ticked points off on his fingers. ‘There are certain places we have to send cards from. Miles arranged with Ron to book or arrange appropriate accommodation along the way which is fairly crucial to ensure the demands of the insurance policy are fulfilled,’ he paused. ‘Unfortunately with a baby that rare you can’t just leave it overnight on the street. So we need to stick to schedule … but the precise details are in your hands.’ He nodded at the envelope she’d placed on the table.

  How could he be so uncurious about the route? He made it all sound so simple.

  ‘Don’t you worry about it?’

  ‘Worry?’ Cam looked horribly amused as he slipped on his sunglasses. ‘What about?’

  She stared at him. Where did she start? The anxiety in her head was like an overstuffed teddy bear threatening to burst its seams, the kapok already threading its way out between the stitches.

  ‘I trust Miles … he wouldn’t have made any leg of the journey too long.’

  She sighed. If only it were that simple. They had hotels to stay in, meals to negotiate. What happened when they arrived at a hotel? What if it were too expensive? Would their rooms be near each other? Would they have dinner together or would he want to go off and do his own thing? Would he feel obliged to eat with her? Keep her company? And what about breakfast?

  ‘Erm … you know when we get to the hotel this evening?’

  Cam turned towards her, giving her full attention but behind the sunglasses it was impossible to discern his expression. It added to her anxiety. ‘Well it was just … I … don’t expect you to … you know …’ She sipped her drink to calm her nerves.

  Over the dark aviators, she saw his brows lift and his mouth quirk.

  ‘Are you offering to sleep with me?’ he asked, a smile playing around his lips. ‘Or just share a room?’

  The Coke sputtered past her lips, spraying the tablecloth. ‘Neither. I’ve got a boyf … fiancé remember.’

  ‘Oh,’ he tipped his head on one side, studying her with consideration. ‘So that’s the only thing stopping you?’

  Her face flamed. When he put it like that? If she didn’t have Robert, would she? Clothed, he was a pretty fine specimen. Imagining him naked made her feel decidedly warm.

  Pretending that her face wasn’t beet red, she thrust her chin up. ‘What I meant was that I don’t expect you to feel obliged to spend your free time with me. So if we’re staying in a hotel, I don’t expect you have to dinner with me … or breakfast. We don’t even have to have coffee together when we stop.’

  ‘You do remember you’re not my boss?’ Cam leaned further back in his chair, his face inscrutable apart from the dimple appearing just left of his mouth.

  She flushed again, hating the thought that she’d come over sounding as if she was. Even at work being the boss didn’t sit comfortably.

  She focused on the dimple. It was entirely too cute and didn’t suit him at all. Dimples said nice, warm and friendly. Cam had danger written all over him. The kind of danger that made women shiver. Especially women that had read far too many romantic novels.

  ‘You’ve got a tendency to worry, haven’t you,’ he drawled, hooking one arm over the back of the chair as if he had the whole afternoon to while away in the shady corner spot. ‘Its early days … why don’t you just kick back, go with the flow. See what happens.’

  The nonchalant shrug of his shoulders made her feel gauche and stupid and especially vulnerable sitting there in the brilliant sunshine with nothing to hide behind.

  She itched to rip his bloody sunglasses off him and find out whether he was laughing at her or not. Go with the flow did not come into the equation. She had a route, a set number of days and a mission to achieve.

  ‘I’ve no idea what might happen, that’s why I’m trying to set some ground rules now.’ She tried to tilt her chin like some worldly sophisticate. Probably looked like an escaped giraffe.

  ‘Ground rules?’ Again his mouth tilted in amusement.

  Battling irritation that she was providing such excellent sport for him, she ploughed on. ‘Yes, so that we both know exactly where we are.’ Even to her ears it sounded prissy and horribly earnest.

  ‘Honey, we’re in Honfleur, Northern France with a journey of 1300 kilometres miles to go. I’d have said that we have a pretty good idea of where we are. We also know we’re going to Maranello, so that gives us an equally good idea of where we’re going. What happens in between can be considered an adventure.

  ‘If you stress about what will be, what might happen before we even get there, you won’t leave yourself any time to enjoy the moment and make the most of the opportunity. You’re won’t ever get the chance to drive one of these little ladies again.’

  ‘I’m not stressing—’

  ‘—You’re doing a very good impersonation of it then.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she gritted her teeth, feeling the tell-tale flush of embarrassment which always arrived when she lied badly. ‘OK, I am. This is all … a bit overwhelming. I don’t stay in hotels, never go abroad for holidays and don’t normally dr—’ she stopped herself just in time, ‘dr … dress … dress up in the evenings.’

  ‘No one’s asking you to do that.’ The quirky smile was back. ‘Lauren, it’s a road trip. Take each day as it comes. We’re in no hurry, why don’t you enjoy yourself? Enjoy the sunshine, the countryside, and the car. I’ll even let you drive if you want to.’ He raised his sunglasses and gave her a playful wink.

  ‘Yeah right,’ she quipped back, unable to resist his charm. One thing she’d sussed about him already was that he was as besotted by the car as Uncle Miles had been.

  J
ust as well he didn’t know that she shouldn’t drive the car, hopefully she’d get away with it for the whole journey.

  She watched a couple stroll past the café; the man looked a little like Cam and the woman with him was stunning. ‘Are you married?’ she asked as the couple kissed and sauntered over to study the menu at the next café.

  His mouth quirked at one side in pretended amusement and he tracked her gaze.

  ‘No … not anymore.’

  Loathe to pry, she didn’t ask any more but unprompted he carried on. ‘I was married. To Sylvie. We got married far too young. And I didn’t get along with her mother.’

  He didn’t seem old now. ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Twenty-two. Young and stupid. We were divorced by the time I was twenty-six.’

  ‘Ouch’ said Laurie sympathetically.

  ‘It wasn’t great. I could have handled it better … When Sylvie met me, I was working for the Jordan race team. Lots of money, lots of travel. She liked the trappings … more than she liked me as it turned out.

  ‘I went solo, set up my own freelance business. She hated it, the insecurity of it, never knowing where the next pay check was coming from.’

  ‘I can relate to that,’ said Laurie. She and Robert budgeted to the penny each month knowing exactly what they had to spend. ‘Although, didn’t she work?’ Laurie couldn’t imagine not working, or not having your own financial security.

  ‘Not once she met me. To be fair she gave up work to travel with me, otherwise I’d have barely seen her. That was the first mistake.’

  ‘And the second?’ asked Laurie intrigued.

  ‘Second, third, fourth, fifth etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.’ He shook his head. ‘We might have made a go of it … if her mother hadn’t got involved. Every time we had a row and Sylvie didn’t get what she wanted, she’d be straight on the phone to her mother, who instead of telling her to grow up, be a wife and get on with it, would sympathise and agree with her what a bastard I was.’