The Last Summer of Being Single. Nina Harrington
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legal team.
It made sense to spend a few days with Nicole and put his mind at ease.
Seb raised his shoulders up towards his ears, then dropped them back down to help relieve the tension. He needed something to put his mind at ease!
Because now he was back where he started!
Back to the house that now belonged to his former stepmother, Nicole, who won this house in the divorce from his dad.
It was hers to do with as she liked, even if that meant only using it as a holiday house for a few weeks a year. Or as a venue for her birthday party.
Nicole probably didn’t even realise that this was the same week as the anniversary of his mother’s death. And that his precious mother had taken her last breath in this house.
Seb pushed back his shoulders and lifted his head higher.
He knew one thing.
He would never again allow himself to love one person and one place so completely. Not when they could be snatched away from him at a moment’s notice and he was powerless to prevent it. Especially knowing what he knew now.
He didn’t believe in focusing on the past—only the future. And that meant honouring his mother through the charity work that was changing lives now. His old life was gone. Over. And the sooner he got back to Sydney and started on the new projects, the better.
He was here to spend the weekend with Nicole, catch up with his emails, then get back to the negotiating table first thing Monday morning before flying home. And that was all. The sooner the better.
A few minutes later Sebastien gingerly edged his rented very wide, very red and very shiny Italian sports car between the posts and started slowly down the gravel path, which was becoming more and more familiar by the metre.
A splash of frustration at his own inability to control his anxiety and apprehension for this stretch of rough roadway hit Seb hard and fast as cold as the air conditioning and he straightened his back and revved up the engine, oblivious to the flying gravel on the paintwork and thrilling to the glorious roar from under the bonnet.
He only hoped the gardens would not be as overgrown as the driveway, but he would find out soon enough. Once around the next blind corner, he would be able to see the rooftops of the house.
He had been a fool to come here and expect the place to be the same.
The car picked up a little speed as he reached the corner, his eyes focused on the skyline looking for the house.
And then he suddenly slammed the brakes on so hard that the antilock brakes on the car activated and he came to a screeching halt on the loose gravel.
Something was lying in the road. Looking at him.
CHAPTER TWO
HEART thumping, it took a few seconds for Sebastien to catch his breath and unclamp his fingers from the steering wheel.
Knuckles still white, he flung open the car door, stretched his long legs out of the bucket seat and onto the path, the full heat of the afternoon sunshine hot on the back of his neck.
Laid out across the middle of the road only a few inches from the front of his car was a large grey and dapple brown dog who clearly had no intention of moving. Anywhere.
The dog was lying with its head on his paws, his shaggy coat thick with dust from the road and an extra layer of gravel that had been scattered by the car’s sudden stop.
And it was not just any dog. It was a hunting griffon, just like the one the kids on the next farm used to have when he was a boy. There was no mistaking the whiskers and heavy grey eyebrows on an old bearded face. He had not seen a griffon for years and just the sight of those intelligent eyes looking up at him made Seb smile as he stepped closer to check the dog was not injured.
Seb breathed a sigh of relief and hunkered down onto the back of his heels to take a closer look at this strange beast, who simply pushed a brown nose into Seb’s outstretched hand and sniffed heavily through wide open-flared nostrils before yawning widely, displaying a good set of teeth.
‘Not the best place to choose to have a nap, old mate,’ Seb muttered as the griffon wagged his tail, then turned on his side to have his tummy tickled, completely unharmed and apparently oblivious to the heart attack he had almost given the driver of the car who had come close to running him over.
The dog clearly liked what he smelt because Seb’s hand was given an experimental couple of licks before the ears twitched and the intelligent yellow eyes below the hairy eyebrows looked up into his face.
Then suddenly the griffon’s head shot up and both ears lifted as he pushed himself into a sitting position.
‘What is it, boy? What have you heard?’ Seb asked in French, but before the dog could bark a reply a gaggle of energy and four legs burst through the bushes and undergrowth and leapt up, barking loudly, and struck Seb straight in the chest with enough force to send him flying backwards from the gravel path into the thick grass. And briars. And nettles. And whatever other bio matter the local wildlife had left there since it was last cut.
It took a few seconds for Seb to gather his wits and raise both of his hands to fend off the attack from a very wet tongue and even wetter fur ball, but it was too late to block the pair of wet muddy front paws dancing and prancing with delight on the front of Seb’s couture south sea island cotton business shirt. He didn’t want to think about his suit trousers. Not yet. From this angle the monster looked like a younger version of the dog on the path. The dog equivalent to a hyperactive toddler high on additives and sugar.
The grin and tail wagging said it all.
This was dog language for: Look what I’ve found! Someone new to play with! This is funl Shall we see what tricks it can do?
Its older friend or relative decided that guarding the path was boring and took to hunting in the bushes.
Okay. Time to move.
Seb pushed himself up on one elbow and was immediately pounced on by the young hound, who had found a piece of stick for him to throw, his paws diving back and forward for attention.
Seb stared at it for a moment before chuckling out loud to himself.
This was turning out to be quite a day! Being knocked over by a playful puppy was nothing compared to a very long flight followed by two days of hard business negotiations and a short drive in a strange car on French roads he had last seen eighteen years earlier.
With a sigh he turned to the hopeful hound that was still prancing with his throwing stick and waved him away with one hand before speaking.
‘Not a chance, fella. Let me get back on my feet first.’
Only he never got the chance since the dog suddenly dropped the stick and took off at great speed back down the lane towards the main road, leaving Seb alone with the older dog, who was shuffling towards him for an ear rub.
‘Just you and me, mate? Where do you live? Um?’
‘Milou doesn’t speak English. And he lives with me, Mr Castellano.’
It was a woman’s voice. Her words were spoken in perfect English with the same type of accent he had heard many times from his British colleagues at the Castellano Tech headquarters back in Sydney. This particular bodiless voice was coming from the part of the lane he had just driven down so that its owner was hidden out of view behind his car.
Great! The first person he met in his old home village and he was flat on the back in the grass. And he had already been recognised. So much for wanting to keep a low profile!
He wondered how long she had been there watching him.
Seb sighed out loud and shook his head at just how ridiculous he must look at that moment. He had two choices. Start yelling about out-of-control hounds off the leash, which would hardly be fair considering that this was