I don't have a car

When he stopped talking Irene had a fair idea of the gist of the negotiations he was undertaking as well as a familiarity with the territories they covered. It would be a huge coup for Fullbuster Grey if they scored this breakthrough into the Chinese market, she realized.

Then he glanced at his watch and drained his beer.

‘I should get going. Thank you for your time, though.’ He stood up and retrieved the cooler bag from the bar and a colourful bunch of gerberas, white daisies and asparagus fern wrapped in cellophane.

It was when they got to the foyer and she collected her bags and jacket that he said humorously, ‘I hope you haven’t parked too far away, Irene?’ He ushered her into the lift.

‘I don’t have a car.’

He frowned and hesitated before pushing a button. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I don’t drive.’

He looked at her for a moment as if she might have escaped a lunar landscape, and Irene had a secret desire to laugh.

‘So how do you get about?’

‘Buses,’ she said gravely. ‘I also have a bicycle. And, very occasionally, taxis.’

‘Where do you live?’ She told him.

‘That’s on my way.’ He pushed the basement button and the doors closed. ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

‘You really don’t need to do that, Mr Fullbuster,’ she protested. ‘I’m quite used—’

‘Irene,’ he said with his eyes glinting, ‘a piece of advice, don’t argue with me. Especially not when I’m being at my best because it may not last that long.’

The lift came to rest at the basement floor and the doors slid open. ‘Well—’ She temporized.

‘Besides which,’ he added, eyeing her carrier bags, ‘you’ve got an awful lot of loot on you by the look of it, all paid for with my money—you could get robbed, mobbed, anything, and I wouldn’t appreciate that.’

‘Are you saying so long as the “loot” was OK, you wouldn’t mind what happened to me?’ she demanded.

‘Now that is putting words into my mouth,’ he drawled. ‘But enough of this chit-chat, let’s go!’

Irene had no choice but to follow him as he strode across the garage towards a gleaming navy-blue Bentley that looked brand-spanking new.

‘Wow!’ She pulled up and couldn’t help gazing at the car admiringly, her ire dissolving somewhat. ‘I don’t know much about cars but this is something else!’

‘Yes, a beauty, isn’t she? So damn classy—if she were a girl I could marry her.’

Irene had to laugh as he unlocked the boot and they deposited her bags, the flowers and the wine in it, then he unlocked the doors and she climbed into the cream leather and walnut interior. It even smelt beautiful inside.

‘Is it a conscious decision not to drive?’ he queried as he nosed the car up the garage ramp and onto the street. ‘A “greenie” decision?’

Irene wrinkled her nose. ‘I would love to say so, and I do think too many of them are wrong, but it’s a practical decision. I don’t have a garage and I’m so used to taking buses and so on.’ She waved a hand.

‘What is your economic situation?’ he asked with a sudden frown.

Irene watched the city street slide beneath the bonnet of the Bentley. It had

rained while she’d been upstairs and the slick surface was reflecting myriad lights as the tyres hissed over them.