IT FELT weird, Jenny thought as they walked across the yard towards his car. It was almost dark. She should be reading her son his bedtime story.

She shouldn’t be climbing into a Ferrari.

‘You drive,’ Guy said, and tossed her the keys.

‘This is a bad idea,’ she muttered. ‘This is a borrowed car. Surely your friend wouldn’t agree to me using it?’

‘If you crash it I’ll buy him another.’

The idea made her stop in her tracks. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘Why would I kid?’

‘I don’t want to go with you,’ she said, and it was his turn to pause and stare.

‘You have ethical objections to money?’

‘No, I…’

‘You should be charging Kylie. There’s no need for you to be broke.’

‘Isn’t there?’ she snapped, and glared.

‘Giving your services for free is noble, but…’

‘You have no idea, do you? This community…we’re here for each other. We do what has to be done, and asking for payment-’

‘Your career is a bridal planner. Selling yourself short is stupid.’

‘When Ben was killed, Henry was injured, and he had to spend months in a burns unit in the city,’ she snapped. ‘Jack has macular degeneration-his eyesight’s not what it should be-and Lorna hasn’t driven since her stroke. Shirley Grubb was one of a team who took it in turns to drive Jack and Lorna down to see us. Twice a week for nearly six months. Every other day they drove Lorna into the bridal salon and someone stayed with her all the time. The business stayed open. There were casseroles-you can’t believe how many casseroles. And you know what? Not a single person charged us. Did they sell themselves short, Mr Carver?’

‘Guy,’ he said automatically, and opened the driver’s door of the Ferrari. ‘Get in.’

‘I’m not driving.’

‘You are driving. You need to bring it home yourself, so you can try it out now.’