and mischievous as he
remembered back. ‘What did your father say when he got a hold of you?’
He
opened the huge end door and flicked a switch. An enormous space, filled with rows
of gleaming prestige cars, materialised before them.
‘What’s
your poison?’ he asked. ‘The red Ferrari F430 is extremely popular. Then there’s
the classic British sports car, which I can assure you is a very nice ride.’
The
spectacle greeting her was so out of the world ‘rich and famous,’ Libby put her
hand to her chest to try to catch a gasp. ‘I hate to think of your insurance
bill. Do you have as many cars in your other homes?’
They
strolled further inside, under the overly bright lights, surrounded by
automobile excellence and an atmosphere of wealth at its decadent best.
‘This
is my main stash. I have another healthy group hidden away in the French
countryside. Some in England too.’
‘Must
leave your dad’s collection for dead.’
Without
commenting, he strolled on, and it clicked that he hadn’t answered her previous
question. What had his father done when he’d caught his son driving his prize
cars? But then the obvious dawned and she guessed why he didn’t want to speak
about it.
She
put a compassionate note into her voice. ‘Is he still alive?’
Alex
frowned over. ‘Who?’
‘Your
father.’
He
ran his left hand over the bonnet of a deep-blue muscle car. ‘He’s dead.’
Expecting
that answer, she nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You
must be the only person alive who is.’
Libby
blinked several times and was about to ask him to explain. But his eyes were
suddenly so shuttered, his face expressionless. Clearly this was a touchy
subject. Seemed there was more to motoring superstar Alex Wolfe than met the eye,
an obvious bitterness toward his deceased father for one. What else lay beneath
his polished public persona?
But
she was being no better than the press. Everyone was entitled to keep their
past private, she and Alex included.
Still
walking, she crossed her arms and looked down. ‘I apologise. I shouldn’t have
dug.’
He
tugged an ear and, thoughtful, focused on some far-off point. ‘Quite a bit of
digging’s been going on recently,’ he admitted.
About
his past? Who was digging? ‘Someone from your family?’
‘Yes.
From the family.’
‘Who?’
‘My
twin.’
‘You
have a twin brother?’
‘Sister.’
‘What’s
her name?’
It
took a few seconds for him to answer.
‘Annabelle.’
‘Alex
and Annabelle.’ She smiled. Cute.
‘She
was in contact before my accident.’
‘Something
to do with your father?’
‘His
estate,’ he replied. Then he turned back to face her and his demeanour
purposely lightened. ‘Seems our oldest brother has made an appearance out of
the distant blue to renovate old Wolfe Manor before the council tears it down.
A sound idea, if you ask me.’
‘This
is back in England? Oxfordshire?’
‘An
estate overlooking a quaint little village by the name of Wolfestone.’
Libby
shook her head, amazed. How many people had a village named after their family?
But Alex didn’t seem impressed by any of it. The timbre of his voice was casual
again but the light in
remembered back. ‘What did your father say when he got a hold of you?’
He
opened the huge end door and flicked a switch. An enormous space, filled with rows
of gleaming prestige cars, materialised before them.
‘What’s
your poison?’ he asked. ‘The red Ferrari F430 is extremely popular. Then there’s
the classic British sports car, which I can assure you is a very nice ride.’
The
spectacle greeting her was so out of the world ‘rich and famous,’ Libby put her
hand to her chest to try to catch a gasp. ‘I hate to think of your insurance
bill. Do you have as many cars in your other homes?’
They
strolled further inside, under the overly bright lights, surrounded by
automobile excellence and an atmosphere of wealth at its decadent best.
‘This
is my main stash. I have another healthy group hidden away in the French
countryside. Some in England too.’
‘Must
leave your dad’s collection for dead.’
Without
commenting, he strolled on, and it clicked that he hadn’t answered her previous
question. What had his father done when he’d caught his son driving his prize
cars? But then the obvious dawned and she guessed why he didn’t want to speak
about it.
She
put a compassionate note into her voice. ‘Is he still alive?’
Alex
frowned over. ‘Who?’
‘Your
father.’
He
ran his left hand over the bonnet of a deep-blue muscle car. ‘He’s dead.’
Expecting
that answer, she nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You
must be the only person alive who is.’
Libby
blinked several times and was about to ask him to explain. But his eyes were
suddenly so shuttered, his face expressionless. Clearly this was a touchy
subject. Seemed there was more to motoring superstar Alex Wolfe than met the eye,
an obvious bitterness toward his deceased father for one. What else lay beneath
his polished public persona?
But
she was being no better than the press. Everyone was entitled to keep their
past private, she and Alex included.
Still
walking, she crossed her arms and looked down. ‘I apologise. I shouldn’t have
dug.’
He
tugged an ear and, thoughtful, focused on some far-off point. ‘Quite a bit of
digging’s been going on recently,’ he admitted.
About
his past? Who was digging? ‘Someone from your family?’
‘Yes.
From the family.’
‘Who?’
‘My
twin.’
‘You
have a twin brother?’
‘Sister.’
‘What’s
her name?’
It
took a few seconds for him to answer.
‘Annabelle.’
‘Alex
and Annabelle.’ She smiled. Cute.
‘She
was in contact before my accident.’
‘Something
to do with your father?’
‘His
estate,’ he replied. Then he turned back to face her and his demeanour
purposely lightened. ‘Seems our oldest brother has made an appearance out of
the distant blue to renovate old Wolfe Manor before the council tears it down.
A sound idea, if you ask me.’
‘This
is back in England? Oxfordshire?’
‘An
estate overlooking a quaint little village by the name of Wolfestone.’
Libby
shook her head, amazed. How many people had a village named after their family?
But Alex didn’t seem impressed by any of it. The timbre of his voice was casual
again but the light in
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