‘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.
BEN SIGHED AS he flipped his phone shut and slipped it into his jeans pocket. The last thing he wanted to do was be driven all the way to Mudgee tomorrow by Miss Jessica Murphy, qualified mechanic and advanced driving instructor, he thought grumpily as he headed for the drinks cabinet. She’d declared herself well over twenty-one. More likely well over forty. And plain as a pikestaff to boot!
Still, what choice did he have after that doctor at Gosford hospital had declared him unfit to drive for at least a week? Not because of the excuse he’d given over the phone just now. His right shoulder was stiff and bruised but quite usable. It was the concussion he’d suffered which was the problem, the doctor having explained that no insurance company would cover him till he had a signed medical clearance.
Stupid, really. He felt fine. A little tired and frustrated, maybe, but basically fine.
Ben scowled as he sloshed a good two inches of his mother’s best bourbon into one of her crystal glasses. He supposed he should be feeling grateful he’d found a hire car at all, not irritated. But Miss Jessica Murphy had got right up his nose. There was a fine line between efficient and officious and she’d certainly been straddling it. He half-regretted making the offer for her to call him Ben, but he’d had to do something to warm the old tartar up, otherwise the drive tomorrow would be worse than tedious.
If only his mother had been here, Ben thought as he headed for the kitchen in search of ice. She could have driven him. But she wasn’t. She was off on a South Pacific cruise with her latest lover.
Admittedly, this one was older than her usual. In his mid-fifties, Lionel was only a few years Ava’s junior. And he was currently employed—something in movie production—so he was a big improvement on the other fortune-hunting toy-boys who’d graced her bed over the years since his parents’ divorce.
Not that his mother’s affairs bothered him much these days. Ben had finally grown up enough to know his mother’s personal life was none of his business. A pity she didn’t return the favour, he thought as he scooped a few cubes of ice from the fridge’s automatic ice-dispenser and dropped them in his glass. She was always asking him when he was going to get married and give her grandchildren.
So maybe it was better she wasn’t here right now. The last thing he wanted was outside pressure about his relationship with Amber. He was having enough trouble as it was, deciding whether he should give up the romantic notion of marrying for love and settle for what Amber was offering. At least if he married Amber he wouldn’t have to worry about her being a fortune hunter, which was always a problem when a man was heir to billions. Amber was the only daughter of a very wealthy property developer, so she didn’t need a meal ticket in a husband.
In all honesty, Ben hadn’t been under the impression that Amber wanted a husband at all yet. She was only twenty-four and was clearly enjoying her life as a single girl with a glamorous though empty job at an art gallery, a full social calendar and a boyfriend who kept her sexually satisfied. But, just before his trip down under, Amber had suddenly asked Ben if he was ever going to propose. She said she loved him, but she didn’t want to waste any more time on him if he didn’t love her back and didn’t want marriage and children.
Of course he hadn’t been able to tell her that he loved her back, because he didn’t. He’d said that he liked her a lot but did not love her. Ben had been somewhat surprised when she’d replied that she