Billionaire Bosses Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

look pretty crazy, she thought wryly. His generation probably thinks you should never smile in a graveyard. But why not, if you’re fond of the people you come to see? And I’m very fond of Sylvia, even though we never met. So there!

      Her mood of cheerful defiance lasted until she reached her car, parked just outside the gate. Then it faded into exasperation.

      ‘Oh, no, not again!’ she breathed as the engine made futile noises. ‘I’ll take you to the garage tomorrow, but start just this once, please!’

      But, deaf to entreaties, it merely whirred again.

      ‘Grr!’

      Getting out to look under the bonnet was a formality as she had only the vaguest idea what she was hoping to find. Whatever it was, she didn’t find it.

      ‘Grr!’

      ‘Are you in trouble?’

      It was him, the man who’d interrupted her pleasant reverie in the graveyard and practically driven her out by his grim disapproval. At least, in her present growling exasperation that was how it seemed to her.

      Not that he was looking grim now, merely detached and efficient as he headed towards her and surveyed the car.

      ‘Won’t it start?’

      ‘No. But this has happened before, and it usually starts after a while if I’m firm with it.’

      His lips quirked slightly. ‘How do you get firm with a car? Kick it?’

      ‘Certainly not,’ she said with dignity. ‘I’m not living in the Dark Ages. I just—tap it a little and it comes right.’

      ‘I’ve got a better idea. Suppose I tow you to the nearest garage, or have you got a special one where you normally go when this breaks down? ‘

      ‘My brothers own a garage in Crimea Street,’ she said with dignity.

      ‘And do they approve of your “tapping” the car?’

      ‘They don’t approve of anything, starting with the fact that I bought it without consulting them. I just loved it on sight. It’s got so much personality.’

      ‘It’s certainly got that. What it hasn’t got is a reliable engine. You say you have brothers in the trade, and they let you buy this thing?’

      ‘They did not “let” me because I didn’t ask their permission,’ she said indignantly.

      ‘Nor their advice, it seems. I hope they gave you a piece of their minds.’

      ‘They did.’

      ‘So would I if you were my daughter.’

      ‘But I’m not your daughter, I haven’t asked for your help and I certainly haven’t asked for your interference. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to leave.’

      ‘How?’ he asked simply.

      In her annoyance she’d forgotten that she was stranded. She glared.

      ‘It’s three miles to Crimea Street,’ he pointed out. ‘Are you going to walk it? In those heels? Or are you going to call them to rescue you? They’ll love that.’

      ‘Yes, and I’ll never hear the end of it,’ she sighed. ‘Ah, well, I don’t seem to have any choice.’

      ‘Unless I give you a tow?’ Seeing her suspicious look, he said, ‘It’s a genuine offer. I can’t just leave you here.’

      ‘Me being such a poor, helpless damsel in distress, you mean?’

      His lips twitched. ‘Well, there must be something of the damsel in distress about you, or you wouldn’t have bought this ridiculous car.’

      ‘Very funny. Thank you for your offer of help, but I’ll manage without it. Good day to you.’

      ‘Come off your high horse. Come to think of it, a horse would probably have served you better than this contraption. I’ll fetch my car and connect them.’ Starting to move off, he turned to add, ‘Don’t go away.’

      She opened her mouth to reply, had second thoughts and closed it again. It was annoying that she couldn’t help laughing at his jibe, but that was the fact. She was still smiling when he returned in an expensive vehicle that made her eyes open wide.

      ‘Oh, wow! Are you sure you want that thing seen with my old jalopy?’ she asked.

      ‘I’ll try to endure it.’ He worked swiftly to connect the cars, then opened his door and indicated for her to get into the passenger seat.

      She had to admire the smooth, purring movement of his vehicle, which spoke of expense and loving care, suggesting that this man had an affinity with cars. Since she loved them herself, she could feel some sympathy, even a faint amused appreciation of how she must look to him. He’d implied that she reminded him of a daughter, and she wondered how many daughters he actually had.

      ‘I’m Roscoe Havering, by the way,’ he said.

      ‘Pippa Jenson—well, Philippa, actually.’

      ‘Pippa’s better: more like you.’

      ‘I’m not even going to ask what is “like me”. You have no idea.’

      ‘Cheeky Very young.’

      ‘I’m not that young.’

      ‘Twenty—twenty-one—’ he hazarded.

      ‘Twenty-seven,’ she laughed.

      It was as well that traffic lights had forced him to halt because he turned quickly to stare at her in surprise. ‘You’re not serious.’

      ‘I am.’ She gave him a wicked smile. ‘Sorry!’

      ‘How can I believe you?’ he said, starting up again. ‘You look more like a student.’

      ‘No, I’m a solicitor, a staid and serious representative of the law.’ She assumed a deep voice. ‘Strong men quake at my approach. Some of them flee to hide in the hills.’

      He laughed. ‘I think I’ll get you home first. I won’t ask who you work for. Obviously, you have your own practice which is driving everyone else into bankruptcy.’

      ‘No, I’m with Farley & Son.’

      She saw his eyebrows rise a little and his mouth twist into a shape that meant, ‘Hmm!’

      ‘Do you know them?’

      ‘Quite well. I’ve used them in the past. They’ve got a big reputation. You must be impressive if they’ve taken you on. Aren’t we nearing Crimea Street now?’

      ‘Next one on the left.’

      They saw the garage as soon as they turned into the street. The little business that Pippa’s great-grandfather, Joe Parsons, had set up ninety years earlier had flourished and grown. It was now three times the size, and her brothers, Brian and Frank, had bought houses on the same street so that they could live close to their work.

      They were just preparing to shut up shop when the little convoy rolled into view. At once they came out onto the pavement and stood watching with brotherly irony.

      ‘Again!’ Frank declared. ‘Why aren’t I surprised?’

      ‘Because you’re an old stick-in-the-mud,’ Pippa informed him, kissing his cheek, then Brian’s. ‘And clearly you didn’t mend it properly. This is Roscoe Havering, who came to my rescue.’

      ‘Good of you,’ Brian said, shaking Roscoe’s hand. ‘Of course a better idea would have been to dump her in the nearest river, but I dare say that didn’t occur to you.’

      ‘Actually, it did,’ Roscoe observed. ‘But I resisted the temptation.’

      The brothers laughed genially. They were both in their forties, heavily