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
