“If you say so.” Sarah pushed back a strand of limp blond hair, side-eyed her and added wickedly, “Although I still think he’s dishy.”
“Then help yourself. I won’t tell Niall that his wife is a shameless and mentally impaired hussy.”
“Oh dear.” Sarah came to a sudden stop, and her brown eyes opened wide. “I’m guessing Richard didn’t inscribe his own car door as a fashion statement?”
“What?” Lainie asked blankly.
She followed the direction of Sarah’s troubled gaze, and her heart sank. Richard and his hapless messenger stood in the midst of a murmuring crowd, all of whom were gathered in a circle around the Ferrari, gaping as if it were a murder scene. The unfortunate victim in the case was the driver’s side door, which had been tagged. Fairly explicitly, and in deep gouges with a key.
“I’m also assuming that Dick is not meant as a chummy nickname.”
“Probably not when it’s wedged between an expletive and the word head, no.”
Lainie regretted ever getting out of her warm bed and pyjamas. She didn’t really want to look at Richard, but forced herself to do so. His lips were pressed together so tightly they had almost disappeared. The nerve ticking in his jaw was like a timer on a volatile bomb. She was surprised he hadn’t already exploded. This was a positive show of restraint, and one she doubted would last.
Catching sight of the same photographer in the crowd of onlookers, happily snapping photos and probably planning a weekend break in Biarritz on the profits, she shook off the horrified inertia and went to Richard’s side.
Up close, the damage to the prohibitively expensive car was even worse. And the message was offensive to the point of repulsion. Lainie grimaced. She might have called Richard at least one of those names in the privacy of her head—and possibly on the phone to a long-suffering relative—but this was just...foul. Insulting, abusive vandalism. Considering where they were, and why they were here, it was sick.
Mary from the Women’s Institute obviously agreed. She looked appalled as she stammered an apology to Richard, making hesitant allusions to local tearaways.
“There’s a youth centre in Brickford...”
An offer to reimburse him for the damages was made with obvious dread, an emotion silently echoed by Lainie. A sharp finger was poking at her own conscience on that score. It might not have been her idea that Richard tag along to her charity events, but it was still because of her that he was here.
God knew what it would cost to restore a carved-up Ferrari. Almost certainly more than she could afford if she wanted to continue feeding and clothing herself.
She heard a muffled giggle, hastily hushed. More than a few people, in fact, seemed to be finding amusement in the incident.
Proof in action of Richard’s unfortunate public image.
For a woman who usually wanted to skewer Richard with a blunt pencil, she was strangely annoyed by the general air of “serves him right.” When she looked at him standing to one side, alone, with the skin taut around his eyes and mouth, she felt almost...protective. He would give short shrift to any offer of sympathy, so she kept her mouth shut and settled for placing a tentative hand on his elbow. Even that she expected to be rejected with some force.
He barely seemed to notice her touch. His glaring attention was fixed on his poor sexy, wounded car. She could hear the low, harsh sound of his breathing and feel the muscles quivering in his arm. He looked and sounded so much like a bull about to charge that she experienced a fanciful pulse-jump when the wind whipped her long red ponytail in front of his face like a flag. Hastily retrieving her hair, she tucked it into the collar of her—his—coat. She felt additionally guilty about wearing it now. It might be easier to face public insult and property destruction if he wasn’t freezing his balls off at the same time.
“I don’t suppose,” Richard at last spoke, very tightly, “that anyone saw it being done?”
Nobody had seen it done. Or if they had, they weren’t prepared to admit it.
“You should file a police report,” Sarah said, the voice of calm reason, and Mary immediately offered to summon the local constable.
Lainie, keeping a wary eye on the avidly interested paparazzo, said dubiously, “I doubt if there’s much they can do, without witnesses...unless you have CCTV footage?”
They did have CCTV surveillance, but the camera was directed at the front of the church, not the rear side where Richard had parked.
“You still need to file a police report for your insurance company.” Sarah nodded to the anxiously hovering Mary, who immediately went in search of Constable Porter, last spotted browsing the book stall.