Driving Me to Christmas (London Loves Book 5) (2 page)

His words pierced Sam’s heart like a metal spike. She sat up suddenly, wafting cold air between them. “You didn’t tell me that was why you split up.”

“It’s no big deal. But Bex wanted to get married and start a family. I wasn’t ready for that so she broke up with me. Actually, she broke my heart. That’s why I came here to live in the UK. I told you that, right?”

“No you didn’t.”

Verlaine reached up and tried to ease her back into his arms, but Sam sat and stared at him. Why did men have to be so brutally honest? Verlaine seemed to think telling her this now – when Rebecca was about to come here for Christmas – would put her mind at ease. Hadn’t he learnt anything about how to communicate with women!

Her mind reeled. “So Rebecca broke your heart? You still loved her when she split up with you?”

“Yeah. But don’t worry, baby, obviously there’s nothing between us now. Would-ya lie down, please?”

Sam bent at the waist and snuggled back into his arms.

“Relax, baby,” he said. “You’re so tense!”

“Can you blame me? You were still in love with your ex when she ended it.”

“Sam, that was seven years ago. There’s nothing to worry about. To be honest, I think she broke up with me as a test, you know, to see how serious I was about her. To see if I’d propose to win her back. But, much as I loved her, I couldn’t do that. I knew she wasn’t the woman I wanted to spend forever with, not if she was gonna try tricks like that.”

Sam’s heart pounded in her throat. She tried to get a grip on reality, but it was suddenly all blurry and intangible. Did Verlaine still harbour feelings for Rebecca?

Don’t be paranoid, Sam. He loves you. 

She decided to change the subject. “So your mum
does
like me, then?”

“She
loves
you. Almost as much as I do. You’re sweetest person I know. I mean, who else would give up a trip to Thailand to stay home and take care of their sister?”

“Everyone would.”

“No they wouldn’t. You’re special. You light up people’s lives with that smile of yours. You’re considerate and kind, and I love you. And so do my parents, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, baby.”

“No problem.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Hey, you got the time?”

She glanced at the bedside clock. “Er… ten-to-nine.”

“Oh shit!” Verlaine threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed. “I’m gonna be late – Miss Jenkins is gonna kill me!”

Sam chuckled at his insistence at calling Gemma that. “Why? It’s the last working day before Christmas. What could possibly be so important?”

Verlaine struggled into a pair of crumpled boxer-briefs he’d found on the floor. “We’re out at a car auction. Gates open at ten – she wants us there early so we can look at the stock. Can I take your car? I’ll never make it on the Tube?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, baby. I’ll see you later.
If
your sister doesn’t rip my head off.”

“Okay. Have a nice day.”

He pulled on his trousers, grabbed a sweater, and headed for the bedroom door.

Sam put on a stern voice. “Verlaine, aren’t you forgetting something?”

He darted back over and kissed her tenderly on the lips. “Sorry – I love you.”

She smirked. “I meant the car keys. They’re on the dressing table.”

They both laughed. He kissed her again, then grabbed his padded lumberjack shirt and fled out the door.

Sam sat there in the aftermath. Okay, her boyfriend – hopefully soon-to-be fiancé – had just revealed that the reason he’d left America was because his ex-girlfriend had broken his heart. And tomorrow this ex-girlfriend was coming to the UK, at Christmas, which was a hard time for Sam anyway.

Sam wasn’t sure whether to be jealous, worried, or just plain insecure.

She forced herself to relax. Surely the best plan now was to make herself a cup of tea and save her concerns for a heart-to-heart with Scott, when she met up with him later to find a dress for the Christmas Eve ball.

This disused aircraft hangar on the outskirts of London seemed like the perfect location for a 1960s spy movie. But actually it was crammed full of classic cars of varying makes, models, and ages – as well as several hundred
people
of varying makes, models, and ages, shuffling around like zombies and trying to wake up. As Verlaine followed Gemma through the crowd, he realised that all demographics were represented here this morning: smartly dressed men in suits, scruffy men in overalls, casual men in jeans. But Gemma seemed to be the only woman here. And the fact that she was blonde, curvaceous, and seven months pregnant with twins, made her even more conspicuous.

But actually, no one was taking any notice of her; all eyes were on the cars, which were lined up in categories, with their hoods open, as if they were waiting for the auto-dentist. Verlaine wanted to stop and look at the Ferraris, but Gemma was waddling towards the more sensible stock, so he followed.

He ambled past a 1962 Ferrari GTO and shivered. It was a beautiful car, but his shiver was actually due to the artic temperature in here. The crowd’s combined body heat did nothing to warm the huge space, and Verlaine’s toes felt numb inside his boots. He flapped his arms across his chest, trying to keep warm in his padded lumberjack shirt. Sam was always telling him to buy a proper coat; why didn’t he listen to her?

He grinned at the memory of this morning and yearned to be with his gorgeous girl. He knew she’d be sitting up in bed at the moment, working on the laptop, and enjoying a second cup of tea. It was tempting to abandon Gemma, return home, and warm himself up…

Verlaine snapped himself out of it, and trailed behind Gemma across the shiny floor. Gemma was wearing Jack’s old parka, and Verlaine wondered whether it was because she was unconsciously missing him. Or maybe it was the only thing big enough to fit around her huge tummy now.

Gemma shuffled through the crowd ahead of him, towards the boring-but-saleable Bentleys and Jags. Verlaine knew he should keep up with her, but he spotted a 1940 Mercury Eight Convertible, and got caught in its tractor beam, which dragged him over. He called Gemma’s name, then squeezed through the mass of men, to worship the car.

Gemma halted at his side. “You hollered?”

He ran his fingers over the paintwork. “Christ, Miss Jenkins, only nine-hundred of these was ever produced and most are gone forever. Look at this V8 flathead engine – it’s in awesome condition.”

“Well, when you win the Lottery you can buy one, can’t you?”

She started to walk away.

“Oh, come on, Gem, at least lemme look inside?”

She turned back, but an elegant man in a suit accidentally placed himself between the two of them.

Gemma leaned round the man. “We’re here to buy cars, Verlaine, not to fulfil your schoolboy fantasies. A car like this, I’ll never shift it. People want post-war cars, not this 1930s junk. God, if I left you to buy the stock, you’d supply us with nothing but the filth of your teenage wet-dreams. I still can’t sell that Roadster you convinced me to buy back in March. We shouldn’t leave cars standing on the forecourt for months – it looks bad.”

Verlaine gazed at her. She was definitely getting crankier. He knew her hormones were probably driving her crazy at the moment, but it didn’t stop him from pulling a face behind her back as she waddled off.

“Nineteen-forty
is
post-war,” he muttered.

“Don’t be cheeky,” she called back.

He smirked. She was gonna make a great mom to those twin boys.

He caught up with her as she was peering into the engine of a very dull-looking Audi.

Verlaine leaned his elbow on the roof. “So, when you practically begged me yesterday to take over the business for your maternity, you actually didn’t mean it at all?”

Gemma scrutinised the engine. “No, I did mean that. You can still take over while I’m away. But yesterday you laughed in my face and point-blank refused.”

“That’s cuz I don’t know anything about running a business. As you say, I’d probably buy cars that don’t sell. I can’t work behind a desk, Gemma, it’ll kill me. I wanna work with cars. You know that.”

“But we can get you an apprentice – pay them minimum wage to learn how to be a mechanic. And I’ll still be around whenever you need me.”

“What about Sam – why don’t you ask her?”

“She’s not interested in cars.”

“I meant to run the business, not to become my apprentice!”

“I know what you meant. I
do
know something about cars, you know.”

“I know, sorry. Look, why don’t we worry about it after Christmas? You’ve still got six weeks to go, right? And… you never know…”

“What?”

Verlaine stepped around so they were both facing the engine of the Audi. He bent and inspected it. “Not this one. Look, see that brown oil stain here? The head gasket’s leaking. And the radiator hose is worn. I think you should give it a miss.”

Gemma’s eyes burnt into the side of his face. “Verlaine, if you’ve got something to say, then I suggest you say it.”

“Okay… I think you should get back together with Jack.”

“Right. Well, I think you should mind your own business.”

“It
is
my business.”

“May I remind you, you’re actually my employee?”

“When it suits you. Those twins are practically my nephews.”

Gemma rubbed her tummy. “And when are you going to make them officially your nephews?”

“Well, if you must know, I was planning to propose in Thailand.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“So I guess I’ll do it at the ball on Christmas Eve. I’ll take Sam to one side and get down on one knee. Hopefully she’ll say yes.”

Gemma scoffed and shook her head.

“Do you think she will?” he asked, suddenly paranoid.

“Of course she will – you two are the perfect couple.”

They turned and shared a smile. Gemma opened her mouth, possibly to say something affectionate, but a middle-aged man barged into her as he hurried past. Her low centre of gravity caused her to stumble into Verlaine’s arms with an ‘oof!”

Anger flashed through Verlaine’s chest. “Hey, asshole! Are you blind? She’s pregnant!”

The man turned. He looked as if he’d spent his entire life at second-hand-car auctions – his face was steely and grey, like a hubcap. “Well, why did you bring your pregnant wife to a place like this, you idiot?”

“This is my boss, you sexist moron.”

Gemma squeezed his arm. “Verlaine, it’s alright. To be honest, I’d like to go and sit down.”

Verlaine put his arm protectively around her as the man rushed away. He rubbed her on the back. “You wanna get some coffee? Or a decaf for you.”

She hauled Jack’s old winter coat around herself. “Yeah, come on.”

***

Verlaine did love Gemma, even though she could be incredibly uptight. But over the years they’d had some tender conversations, and Verlaine knew she approved of his relationship with her little sis. Now that she was pregnant, though, something inside of him wanted to protect her babies from the world. Sam had told him it was probably just some tribal, instinctive thing. But it didn’t make his protectiveness any less real.

A wave of chatter hit them as they strolled into the crowded tearoom – it was full of second-hand-car salesmen networking over a cuppa. In the olden days, this place would’ve been shrouded in a cloud of cigarette smoke, but now, thanks to the smoking ban, it was just full of hot air. The furniture was old and plastic, and the tea was served in paper-cups from an urn by a burly woman who looked a bit grubby. She was wearing tinsel around her catering hat and her earrings were shaped like frolicking reindeers. Verlaine could just about make out the sound of Mariah Carey’s
All I Want For Christmas
playing on the radio underneath the chattering voices. It didn’t fill him with festive cheer.

They found a vacant table in the corner, so Gemma lowered herself down to sit. She looked pale and tired.

“You want anything to eat?” he asked.

“No, it’s okay.”

“Alright. Be right back.”

He paid for a couple of teas and brought them over. Gemma was typing on her phone as he sat down on the rickety plastic seat, but she quickly dropped the handset into her huge handbag and threw him a thin smile. She seemed physically and mentally uncomfortable, sitting with her legs apart; face set to a frown. It was noisy and stuffy in here, and she probably wanted to go somewhere more tranquil. Verlaine did, too.

“You alright, Miss Jenkins?”

“Yeah, s’pose so. How’s Sam? Is she really okay about not going to Thailand?”

“You know Sam; she always puts other people before herself.”

“She’s a sweet girl. But I do worry about her sometimes.”

“Why?”

“She’s too trusting, don’t you think?”

“She’s smarter than you give her credit for. Don’t forget who saw through Marcus Priestley’s slimy ways.”

Gemma rankled. “Yes, well. I just think Sam’s ‘all you need is love’ approach might end up getting her in trouble, that’s all.”

“Did you want to talk about something other than your naive little sister?”

“Yes I did actually.” Gemma leaned on the wobbly table and lowered her voice against the background bustle. “There’s something I need to tell you, which I haven’t told anyone else.”

Worry seeped through Verlaine like an oil slick. “Okay.”

“You’ve got to promise not to tell anyone, not even Sam. Especially not Sam.”

“I can’t promise that, Gemma. It depends what it is.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply into her ample chest. Then she blurted out: “I had an affair. These babies aren’t Jack’s.”

Her words smashed into Verlaine like a multi-car pile-up. Poor Jack – his first wife had cheated on him, too, just after they’d got married. His mind swam with questions, but all he could ask was, “Does Jack know?”

“No. I asked him to move out because I felt so guilty.”

“Oh,
that’s
why. So… who’s the father?”

“Patrick Jones.”

“The Rolls Royce dealer?”

She winced. “He’s a charming man.”

“He’s a married man.”

“And I’m a married woman.”

“Does Patrick know?”

“No, I haven’t told anyone. Although Patrick’s probably guessed. But I’m assuming he won’t want anything to do with me. His wife’s worth quite a bit, you know.”

Verlaine spoke directly into her eyes. “Gemma, Jack’s devastated you kicked him out. I’ve never known him so upset – he loves you.”

“And I love him. You probably don’t believe me, but I really do.”

“Well, maybe if you explain everything…” Verlaine suddenly realised it might not be quite
that
simple. “Obviously you’ll need to… I mean... Why did you do it?”

“A moment of weakness, I suppose. Or rather, five moments. Patrick’s very charming. And Jack and I haven’t been… Anyway, I called it off with Patrick because I couldn’t handle the guilt – especially after everything poor Jack went through with his first wife. By the time I realised I was pregnant, it was too late to do anything about it.”

Verlaine picked up his paper-cup and blew on his tea, making it ripple. “Er… how can you be sure they’re not Jack’s?”

Gemma raised an eyebrow. “We don’t all go at it like rabbits every day, like you and Sam, you know.”

Verlaine almost spat out his tea. What the hell had Sam been telling her sister! He’d never dream of divulging information about their love life to his friends and family. But apparently it was different for women.

He composed himself. “You’ve gotta tell Jack about this, Gemma. What’ve you got to lose? Obviously it’s gonna take time and a lot of talk, but... please – will you at least think about it? He might take you back.”

She decapitated a sugar sachet and poured the contents into her tea. “I’d do anything to get back together with my husband.
If
he’ll forgive me.”

“Then you need to talk to him.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it. Now come on, we can’t sit around here all day gossiping – we’ve got cars to inspect.”