mine.’
Ronan checked all his limbs were still attached and that his head could move from side to side. All OK.
But his shoulder was on fire, stopping his breath. Heat was building in his temples, too, but that wasn’t medical.
It was simple good old-fashioned fury.
Slowly, he turned to contemplate the woman beside him. She was removing her sunglasses; grin blazing, eyes dancing, as she awaited his reaction.
He didn’t keep her waiting for long. ‘What part of “I broke my clavicle” didn’t you understand? I’m still healing! My career is hinging on my recovery and you throw me around like an insane fucking idiot!’
The grin flicked off and Leah’s eyes widened with horror. ‘What?’ she gasped. ‘I didn’t know you’d been hurt!’ She actually clapped her hand to her forehead like a sitcom actor.
‘How could you not know? You were sitting right there when I explained! And, anyway, you don’t put someone through your stupid antics without knowing their medical history. You could kill someone!’ The final two words emerged in a kind of strangled roar.
White to her hairline, she swallowed hard. ‘I am so sorry. Should I get you to a doctor? Should you lie down? Do you have medication?’
‘As far as I know, I’m in one piece,’ he allowed grumpily, sliding over the peak of his anger as he eased his shoulder up, down and round, laying tender fingers on his collarbone. ‘It’s still working, which is better than I’d expect from being hurled into a series of car stunts without warning, helmet, harness or other rudimentary provision for my safety.’
She hung her head but not before he saw tears well in her eyes. ‘I can only apologise. I was showing off.’
Silence, apart from the smug purr of the engine, while Ronan fought with himself. Probably she had been expecting him to be impressed by her prowess but it had been an idiotic piece of exhibitionism and part of him wished the driver had been a man so he could drag him from behind the wheel and vent. Leah being female – the bikini had left him in no doubt about that – physically relieving his feelings was not an option.
He drew in a slow breath. And then another. ‘In my job I take safety extremely seriously and to have someone do that for a joke in my current circumstances—’
‘—is unacceptable,’ she agreed, wretchedly. ‘Unacceptable in any circumstances. Showing off is exactly what my instructor told me never to do. I completely understand.’ Her voice had thickened. ‘Should I take you to the garage? Will you be able to drive home? Are you certain you shouldn’t see a doctor? There might be a hospital in Muntsheim or I could take you into Strasbourg.’
At her obviously miserable guilt he felt the remains of his fury drain away. He flexed his arm experimentally. It worked fine. ‘Let’s just go. I think I’ll be OK to drive.’
‘Right.’ Gently, she put the car into gear and pulled away like a granny with a full load of eggs on board.
Ronan glanced at her as she rejoined the traffic. She’d replaced her sunglasses, so he couldn’t see her eyes but he could see her hand tremble on the gear stick and he began to wish he hadn’t been such a diva. She’d only meant to have fun at his expense and when he was fit he liked fun. Every pilot had adrenalin-junkie tendencies beneath the control and precision that governed the job. If the episode had occurred six months ago he would probably have howled with laughter as she’d flung the powerful car around like a pro.
But since he’d had a stark reminder of his own fragility and the way that his career, like a helicopter, depended on everything being in top working order, he was more cautious. ‘Left at the square, then the garage is at the top of the hill.’
She nodded.
He tried to think back to the moment when he’d explained his injury in the after-lunch social chatter. Alister had been soaking up the sun and the wine in equal measures. Michele had been asking Ronan twenty questions … and, damn, Leah had been texting, frowning in concentration as her thumbs flew.
She hadn’t been listening.
Before he could acknowledge this they pulled up at Garage Zimmermann to be greeted by a deserted forecourt and a padlock shining dully on a big blue sliding door. Ronan sighed. ‘Great. My car’s probably the other side of that. But it looks as if there’s a note.’ He left her sitting silently while he hopped out to squint at the few scrawled words on an envelope taped to the door.
In moments he was letting himself back down into the passenger seat. ‘I think it says that they’ll be back at five but the note appears to have been written with a blunt pencil held between the toes.’
‘Shall we hang around?’ she queried, ultra-politely. ‘Or would you prefer to wait alone? Unless you think you shouldn’t be left alone,’ she added.
Her woefulness made his conscience twinge anew that he’d been so heavy on the self-righteous indignation. ‘I probably shouldn’t be left alone, actually.’ He smiled, though it was wasted as she was looking anywhere but at him. ‘There’s a nice café on the square where you can keep an eye on me.’
At least his words made the corners of her mouth relax. ‘I could use a shot of caffeine,’ she confessed.
He directed her to the Rue des Roses where he felt sure of Muntsheim’s sometimes complex parking system and they strolled through to La Place de la Liberté, a pretty, popular square surrounded by shops. They took a table outside Café des Trois Cigognes where they could watch the sun making diamonds of the splashing water in the fountains.
Leah ordered espresso and he was glad to see some colour return to her cheeks as she sipped the black brew.
He added milk to his Americano. ‘Now I’ve got over myself, I’m in awe of your driving. Are you a stunt woman in your spare time?’
Her smile was so faint that it was hardly there. ‘I like going on experience days – stunt, drifting, performance, that kind of thing. I don’t usually do it in my own car and I’ve left some expensive rubber on that car park. That, as well as putting your health in danger, will teach me not to show off.’ Under the shade of the parasol she’d lodged her sunglasses on top of her head, allowing him to see the contrition in her eyes. ‘I don’t know where my brain went. Whenever I do an experience day I have to fill in a huge medical questionnaire so I know that before you start throwing a car around you have to be sure there are no issues for anyone who might be in it.’ She clattered her cup on its saucer.
‘If being up yourself is a medical condition, I certainly suffered a severe episode,’ he observed, gravely. ‘Honestly, I’m usually more adventurous.’ He was rewarded by a glimpse of a proper smile, a big improvement on the wretched mask she’d been wearing for the last half-hour. ‘I apologise–’
She cut across him. ‘No, don’t. I was the one in the wrong.’
He leaned a little closer. ‘But I could have put my objections across without being a gobshite.’
The smile flickered again so he was encouraged to continue. ‘Here are the highlights of the conversation you evidently missed. At the beginning of July I had what’s known as “a hard landing” in a helicopter. I did my collarbone and now I can’t go flying until the doctors say so.’
‘When’s that likely to be?’ Her gold-brown gaze shifted to him.
‘Maybe September if, by then, the pain has gone, my orthopaedic surgeon says I’m OK and my Aviation Medical Examiner agrees. I’m on full pay so I expect my boss, Henry, will want me back in the air as soon as possible – as I want to be. Flying’s one of those things that isn’t so much what someone does but