“What?” “Four pounds thirty-five.” The taxi driver twisted in his seat to peer at her over his shoulder. Eugenie glanced out of the window, astonished to realize they were back, parked outside the county council headquarters in Morpeth—and the driver wanted to be paid. She scrabbled in her bag for her purse and handed him a five-pound note. He fumbled about, pretending to look for change, obviously hoping she’d tell him to keep it. No such luck. She intended to claim the fare back, so she wanted her change and a receipt too. She waited for him to hand it over—however reluctantly—then she got out of the cab. Eugenie checked her watch—twenty past five. She might just catch her boss before he left for the day. She could fill him in on the deal she’d struck at the airport, bask in his praise for a bit then rush off home to fill out her application. It occurred to her that it might be considered disloyal to be looking for another job when this one was going so well, but she quashed that notion.
