The forecourt was lined with a selection of top-of-the-range cars – Porsches, Ferraris and BMWs – all of them waxed, polished and glinting in the afternoon sunshine. ‘Can you wait for us?’ asked Kier, handing the taxi driver a twenty-pound note through the hatch. The driver took the note, held it up to the light and nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘No problem.’ ‘Ready?’ asked Saskia, slamming the door shut. ‘Yeah, let’s do it,’ said Kier. ‘Let’s buy a car.’ The salesman was all smiles, smart suit and slicked-back hair. ‘Hello, sir, madam,’ he said. ‘Can I help at all?’ ‘I think you probably can.’ Kier had detected a slight touch those cars and you’re dead kind of tone in the salesman’s voice and decided to do something about it. ‘My girlfriend’s got a birthday coming up in a few weeks and I’m thinking of buying her something a bit special, if you know what I mean.’ ‘I see, sir.’ The salesman looked at Saskia and raised an eyebrow.
