‘I see,’ he said. ‘Sorry. No offence intended. So, can you help me or not?’
Well, of course she could help him. And it was no longer just a question of money. For how could she possibly give up the opportunity to tell the high and mighty Mr Benjamin De Silva what was wrong with Fab Fashions?
Surely there would be plenty of opportunities somehow to bring up her lost job during the course of their very long drive together. Mudgee was a long way away. She’d never actually been there but she’d seen it on the map when she and Colin had been planning their trip. It was a large country town in the central west of New South Wales, a good five-or six-hour drive from here, maybe longer, depending on the state of the roads and the number of times her passenger wanted to stop.
‘I can take you myself, if you like,’ she offered. ‘I am well over twenty-one, a qualified mechanic and an advanced driving instructor.’ She only helped out in the office on Mondays and Thursdays. ‘I also own a brand-new four-wheel drive which won’t have any trouble negotiating the roads out Mudgee way.’
‘I’m impressed. And extremely grateful.’
And so you should be, she thought a little tartly.
‘So where exactly are you now, Mr De Silva? I’m presuming you’re on the Central Coast somewhere.’
‘I’m staying in an apartment at Blue Bay.’ He gave her the address.
Jess frowned as she tapped it into the computer, wondering why a businessman like him would be staying up here instead of in Sydney. It seemed odd. Maybe he was just doing the tourist thing whilst he was in the country. Combining business with pleasure, as well as going to his best friend’s wedding.
‘And the address in Mudgee where I’ll be taking you?’ she asked.
‘It’s not actually in Mudgee,’ he replied. ‘It’s a property called Valleyview Winery, not far from Mudgee. It’s not difficult to find. It’s on a main road which connects the highway to Mudgee. After you drop me off, you could stay at a motel in Mudgee till I need you to drive me back here again on the Sunday. At my expense, of course.’
‘So you won’t actually need me to drive you anywhere on the Saturday?’
‘No, but I’ll pay you for the day just the same.’
‘This is going to be ridiculously expensive, Mr De Silva.’
‘I’m not worried about that. Name your price and I’ll pay it.’
Jess pulled a face. It must be nice never having to worry about money. She was tempted to say some exorbitant amount but of course she didn’t. Her father would be appalled at her if she did such a thing. Joe Murphy was as honest as the day was long.
‘How about a thousand dollars a day, plus expenses?’ Mr De Silva suggested before she could calculate a reasonable fee.
‘That’s too much,’ she protested before she could think better of it.
‘I don’t agree. It’s fair, under the circumstances.’
‘Fine,’ she said briskly. Who was she to argue with Mr Moneybags? ‘Now, I will need some other details.’
‘Like what?’ he demanded in a rather irritated tone.
‘Your mobile phone number,’ she said. ‘And your passport number.’
‘Okay. I’ll have to go get my passport. I won’t be long.’
Jess smiled whilst he gathered the information he wanted. Three thousand dollars was a very nice sum.
‘Here we are,’ he said on returning, and read out the number.
‘We also need a contact name and number,’ she said as she typed in the details. ‘In case of an emergency.’
‘Good grief. Is all this strictly necessary?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, wanting to make sure he was the right man. ‘Company rules.’
‘Fine. My father will have to do. Mum’s on a cruise. But Dad does live in New York.’
‘I did assume he’d be American, Mr De Silva. You have an American accent. His name and number, please?’
‘Morgan De Silva,’ he said and Jess smiled. She’d known it had to be him!
He rattled off a phone number which she quickly typed in.
‘Do you want to pay for this via your credit card or cash?’ she asked crisply.
‘Which would you prefer?’
‘Credit card,’ she said.
‘Fine,’ he said, a decided edge creeping into his voice. ‘I have it here.’
He read out the number. American Express, of course.
‘Okay. That’s all done. We’ll deduct one thousand dollars in advance and the rest on completion.’
‘Fine,’ he bit out.
‘What time would you like me to pick you up tomorrow morning, Mr De Silva?’
‘What time do you suggest? I’d like to be out there by mid-afternoon. But first, could we dispense with the “Mr De Silva” bit? Call me Benjamin. Or Ben, if you’d prefer.’
‘If you like,’ she said, slightly taken aback by this offer. Australians were quick to be on a first-name basis but she’d found people from other countries weren’t quite so easy going. Especially those who were wealthy. Maybe Mr De Silva wasn’t as pompous as she’d originally thought.
‘As to time,’ she went on with a little less starch in her own voice, ‘I would suggest that I pick you up at seven-fifteen. That way we’ll avoid the worst of the traffic. Any earlier and we’ll run into the tradies plus Sydney commuters. Any later and it’ll be the people going to work at Westfield’s, not to mention the mothers taking their kids to school.’ Lord, but she was babbling on a bit. She could almost hear him sighing down the line.
‘Seven-fifteen it is, then,’ he said abruptly as soon as she gave him the opportunity to speak. ‘I’ll be waiting outside so we don’t waste time.’
Jess’s eyebrows lifted. She’d picked up a few well-heeled tourists in her time and they rarely did things like that. They always made her knock, were often late and never helped her with their luggage—if it was a trip to the airport, that was, and not just a day out somewhere.
‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘I won’t be late.’
‘Perhaps you should give me your mobile phone number, just in case you don’t show up for reasons outside your control.’
Jess rolled her eyes. It sounded like he was another subscriber to Murphy’s Law. But what the heck? She was used to it.
‘Very well.’ And she rattled off her number.
‘And what should I call you, Miss…er…?’
‘Murphy. Jessica Murphy.’ She was about to say he could call her Jess—everyone else did—but simply couldn’t bring herself to be that friendly to him. He was still the enemy, after all.
So she said a businesslike goodbye instead and hung up.
Copyright © 2014 by Miranda Lee
ISBN-13: 9781460343517
Christmas in Da Conti’s Bed
Copyright © 2014 by Sharon Kendrick
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s in Da Conti's Bed
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