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He said something in Italian, which sounded condemning of English summertime weather, but he was simultaneously leading her towards his car, its headlights now cutting through the more heavily falling rain. He yanked open the passenger door, propelling her forward with his hand at the small of her back.
‘No, really...please, it’s quite all right.’
An expressive look came her way.
‘It clearly is not “quite all right” at all,’ he said stiffly. ‘I will drive you home—it cannot be far if you were intending to walk.’
‘Just into the village,’ said Connie, collapsing into the car seat because it was easier than arguing.
It was a very plush seat, and a very plush car—the most expensive she’d ever been in, in her life. She sat back, hurriedly pulling at the seat belt as he got into the driving seat beside her, gunning the engine with a powerful roar.
She glanced sideways at him surreptitiously, feeling awkward and horrendously self-conscious about what was happening. In profile, the impact of his stunning good looks was just as jaw-dropping, bone-melting as full-face, and she jerked her head away lest he catch her looking at him. Gawping at him, in truth.
‘Er...it’s very kind of you to give me a lift,’ she said, addressing him while staring rigidly out through the windscreen as the wipers slashed furiously to and fro.
‘Do you start all your utterances with “er”?’ came the pithy reply.
‘Do I...?’ she answered, flustered. ‘Um... I suppose I’m just—well, a bit nervous.’
He expertly rounded a tight bend at a speed she was not comfortable with, but with which, she allowed, he seemed to cope very well.
‘Nervous?’ His voice changed and she almost heard the frown in it. ‘I assure you,signorina, you are perfectly safe with me.’
Connie felt herself colour, was thankful that he could not see it. Of course she was perfectly safe with him. The very idea of anything otherwise...
His sort of females are like those ones at the wedding—designer frocks and killer heels and real jewellery, all groomed and coiffed and with long nails and perfect make-up. The total opposite of me...
Her rueful but resigned thoughts were interrupted. ‘We are approaching the village. Where do you wish to be dropped off?’
‘It’s just past the church. A little row of cottages. Gran’s is the last one.’
‘Gran?’
‘Yes, I live there with my grandmother. At least for now.’ She could not stop something entering her voice that had no business being there in these bizarre circumstances. ‘We have to move out soon,’ she said bleakly.
The car was coming up to the church, with its ancient graveyard and the small terrace of cottages beside it.
‘That’s a shame,’ came the voice of the fabulous fantasy Italian. ‘It looks very attractive—this whole little row.’
Even in the rain and the light from a solitary streetlight some way away the cottages were chocolate box pretty, with roses round the door and little front gardens with picket fences.
‘Yes, the other two are holiday lets. The new owner wants Gran’s to be one too. So we have to leave.’
Connie fumbled for the door, glancing back at him, ready to thank him for the lift and hoping her colour would not rise as she did so. That would be too embarrassing.
‘That will be hard for her at her time of life. The elderly like familiarity,’ she heard him say.
It seemed an odd thing to hear from someone like him, but she could not disagree.
‘Especially when they have dementia,’ she said. ‘Anything new is horribly confusing for her. And besides...’ she knew she sounded bleak ‘...nowhere else will be as nice as here. There’s nothing available to rent privately that we can afford—everything is becoming holiday lets now. We’ve been offered an upper floor council flat in town, with no outside space, or Gran will have to go into a care home. I’m dreading it, but it has to be faced—there’s just no way for us to stay here.’
She heard her voice tremble. What on earth was she thinking about? Saying something so personal to a man who was a complete stranger and had only offered her a lift out of pity?
She closed her hand over the handle, pushing the door open now, swinging her legs round heavily. The rain had lessened, so that was good at least.
‘Thank you very much for the lift. It was very kind of you,’ she said politely, getting out.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replied, almost absently.
