She went over to her escritoire and unlocked the deep drawer. Inside were months’ worth of unanswered, unlooked-at correspondence from her solicitor and various legal firms who had handled Raymond’s case.
As she settled herself down, pulling on her reading glasses and taking up a pen, she felt something akin to relief that she had finally started—until she began to read...
It was only when she was lying awake in the dark hours later, resting her chin on top of Fifi’s warm little head, that she realised it had taken someone like Nash to come along today and force her to see her behaviour through his eyes, this house through his eyes and for her to find the courage to face her problems.
She supposed she could thank him for that.
She shivered and drew the coverlet up a little closer to her chin. It was a cold night, and that was another problem with this house—it was drafty.
Get her inside. She’s bloody well freezing.
Had he really said that, or was it wishful thinking?
* * *
The next morning she was walking barefoot along the back terrace when her Sunbeam rolled up.
She put down her freshly brewed coffee and hurried out to speak to the two men who had delivered it. The car had been given a certificate of good health, she read, noting a few key parts had been replaced and the car had been tuned.
There was no bill.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said uneasily.
‘Compliments of Nash Blue,’ said the guy with a shrug. ‘She’s a beauty, madame, take good care of her.’
Lorelei’s fingers crumpled the report in her hands slightly before she realised what she was doing. Compliments of Nash Blue? She wasn’t a charity case. She didn’t need to be rescued.
Five minutes later a van was drawing up on the gravel drive. Lorelei looked up from the mechanic’s report, recognised the insignia on the side. A boy leapt out and came towards her, bearing a large bouquet of red roses.
She took them in both arms, burying her nose in the rich scent.
Damiano. How sweet of him—and unnecessary.
She plucked out the card and suddenly the blooms in her arms took on a whole different meaning.
Forgive me. Nash.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LORELEI parked and jumped out of the roadster.
The car was performing like a dream.
Which made staying angry with the man who’d fixed it and sent you flowers all in one morning extremely difficult.
This entire situation was difficult.
She wasn’t sure what she was doing here, but she figured something would occur to her when they came face-to-face. She had a half-formed notion that she would pull out her chequebook and insist he take payment for the car. But Nash, being one of those masters of the universe, probably thought it was his responsibility to make sure all the women in his vicinity didn’t have to lift a little finger to help themselves.
Which just made her eyes roll when she saw his name in big letters on the marquee. Who named their company after themselves anyway? It just proved the enormous size of his...ego.
She made her way through the crowd queuing on the perimeter of the fence. She gave her name at the gate and was handed her pass.
She’d dressed down in canvas top sneakers, skinny white jeans and a flirty gold lamé top that bared her arms and the backs of her shoulders. She’d pulled her hair back with a knotted blue scarf. But perhaps she was not dressed down enough.
People roamed about in windbreakers and casual gear, and as she made her way across the concourse she could feel eyes on her—as if she were some exotic animal released from the zoo come wandering among them.
She didn’t know any of the volunteers, either. This wasn’t her branch of the organisation. She’d actually had to ring the foundation that morning to organise a pass.
Her work for The Aviary was strictly high-end, and consisted of schmoozing for the big bucks at parties and receptions throughout the year. It was how she had met Damiano Massena and cemented her reputation as being impossible to refuse.
Every year she attended The Aviary Foundation’s annual ball with him and set the tongues wagging all over again. But there had never been anything between her and the men she fleeced on behalf of the charity. She didn’t mix business and pleasure.
No, there was no reason for her to be here—yet here she was, making her way through the crowd at a motor-racing track, soaking in the carnival atmosphere...honing in on the cars, the cluster of media, the excited children and their parents...