From Italy With Love. Jules Wake

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