Jack followed Rita on the Norton, his heart in his mouth as she’d roared away on the Australian’s Royal Enfield, taking the bends much too fast as they wound their way up the hill towards the Cliffe Estate. He was suffering a bit from a hangover, and not at all sure how to handle this meeting with Peter Ryan, but the clean, cold air seemed to be clearing his head, and he decided he’d play it by ear and give the man a chance. After all, Rita loved him, and as long as that feeling was reciprocated, he couldn’t really find an objection to them marrying. But he’d make damned sure the man was worthy of her.

As they reached a long straight stretch Rita disappeared in a burst of speed, and Jack opened up the throttle to try and catch up with her, appreciating how well the Norton was running. Rita clearly knew what she was doing when it came to mechanics, but did she know enough about men? And was she mature enough to see beyond a handsome face and winning ways to make such life-changing decisions? He’d soon find out, he thought grimly as he reached the stone pillars marking the entrance to the house and gardens.

Rita brought the Enfield to a skidding halt which sent gravel flying to pepper a couple of men in white coats who were standing on the steps of the imposing entrance. They glared at her, and Rita waved an apology. She cut the engine and took off her helmet, laughing as Jack approached more sedately and parked the Norton beside her.

‘Was I going too fast for you, Dad?’ she teased. ‘Lost your nerve?’

He switched off the engine, kicked the stand in place and climbed off with as much dignity as a man in his late forties could muster. It had been years since he’d ridden a motorbike for any length of time, and it took a moment to ease out his creaking muscles.

‘I’ll have less cheek from you, young lady,’ he chided, taking off his helmet and running his hand through his flattened hair. ‘You’re a menace on that thing, and I’m amazed you haven’t come off it the way you take those tight bends.’

She grinned and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘You worry too much,’ she said lightly before gripping his arm and looking up at him with pleading eyes. ‘Be nice to Pete, Dad. He’s a good man, and I love him very much.’

Jack stiffened in defence, hurt to know his daughter didn’t trust him to be fair and polite. ‘Of course I’ll be nice to him,’ he retorted. ‘I’m not about to play the heavy-handed father, Rita, and am willing to give the lad a chance.’