two bays along. ‘Where?’
He looked down, his eyes travelling the length of her legs to the floor. She followed his gaze.
‘What?’
‘You’re looking at them.’
She flushed. Tossing her head she crossed to the door of the car, with as much froideur as she could manage, opened it and hauled herself in. It was a long way up. Half way, she realised her mistake.
He stood by the door grinning holding a set of keys. ‘Missing something.’
She slid back out, refusing to look at him, keeping her face totally impassive and walked around the back of the car to the passenger seat. So, she was used to left hand drive cars, he didn’t need to be mean about it.
This horrible thing looked Spartan and uncomfortable. Unlikely she’d be taking a nap. Even climbing up was ungainly and her tight jeans protested, cutting sharply into her thighs. Immediately her feet were buried ankle deep in white paper bags, Coke cans and disposable coffee cups.
A pervading scent of manure and sweaty socks filled the vehicle. You couldn’t call it a car; it wasn’t civilised enough.
Years of being instilled with impeccable manners didn’t prevent her involuntary shudder. His eyes sharpened for a moment and she thought she’d offended him again. Although he seemed pretty easily offended.
‘Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting passengers today.’
‘Were you ever?’ The words slipped out before she could stop them.
His head shot round and his dark eyes flashed with the closest thing to approval she’d yet seen. He gave her a rueful smile. ‘You got me there. No, this is my work horse.’ He patted the dashboard affectionately as he glanced down at her feet which she’d used to push the mass of litter to one side. There was a rustle as a couple of Coke cans tumbled together.
‘Ugh,’ she clutched her knees in her hand lifting her feet above the mess, ‘you haven’t got rats in here have you?’
A mischievous glint danced in his eyes and his face lit up with a sudden cheerful smile. ‘It’s a distinct possibility.’ And with that he started the engine, which coughed into life with a noisy, diesel fuelled rumble.
Siena sneaked a surreptitious look at his profile as he concentrated on manoeuvring the beast out of the car park. Now they were in the car his temper seemed to have abated. He seemed a tiny bit more human and, she had to admit, very good-looking in an unpolished way. Not that he was her kind of man. Too scruffy and masculine. Butch. Far too butch. Dark stubble shaded his chin and cheeks, emphasising the strong lines of his face and heavy jawline. Put him in a decent suit and he’d brush up nicely, although his arms and legs seemed rather muscular. Powerful. She tucked her hands under her legs and shrank into her seat.
Yves had a completely different build; slim and slender and of course, much older.
She checked out his clothes. Double denim. A fashion fiasco. She suspected he wouldn’t care if she pointed out that some people believed it was an unpardonable offence to wear jeans and a denim jacket unless you were a member of Status Quo.
Clean hair; nice and silky even though it might as well have been cut by a near-sighted trainee with a pair of blunt hedge clippers. Breathing in, she took in his scent, slightly earthy but not unclean. Siena could bet he didn’t do aftershave.
‘There isn’t an exam you know.’
Siena started and blushed. What was wrong with her? This man had caught her sniffing him, or as good as. Her face burned. At home she would have apologised profusely. It was rude to stare and plainly even ruder to overtly smell people but for some reason, maybe being away from home gave her tongue licence to say what she really thought for a change, she said, ‘Just checking out my surroundings and getting my orientation.’
‘I’m Jason. I’m twenty-nine. That do you?’
‘And are you always this fache?’ she shrugged as she grasped for the proper word. (Cross, that was it.) And then very nearly spoilt things by gasping at her own boldness. She never said things like that to people and she’d certainly learned not to with Yves. That sort of thing did make him cross.
‘No, only when I’ve been up since half past five this morning and I have to be up again in five hours.’ He slipped a silver foil packet out of his pocket, easing out a tablet with one hand and popping it into his mouth.
‘I guess you’re a bit tired then.’ No wonder he was knocking back the energy tablets or whatever they were.
He shot her an incredulous look. ‘No shit Sherlock.’
Siena snapped her mouth shut. She’d been about to add, that she was grateful for him coming out. These people worked incredibly hard. Was it any wonder he was cranky with those hours? Although it was probably a hazard of the job, early morning airport runs were probably the most lucrative. She wrinkled her nose.
‘You know,’ she smiled to show she was being helpful rather than rude, ‘you might get more customers if you cleaned up in here. Maybe got a better car.’
‘I can’t see how.’
‘You mean your customers don’t mind?’
‘None of them have complained so far.’
Siena pulled a face to herself in the dark. Maybe British people were less fussy about their taxis.
With an ungainly swerve, the car rocked at speed around a bend taking the slip road. Alain, the family chauffeur, would have been appalled.
Weren’t they now going in the opposite direction to the signposts for London? Her stomach followed suit and nausea churned in the pit of her stomach.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, rather proud that her voice sounded normal. She should have asked this Jason man for some kind of identification. Thierry Deneuve’s seventeen-year-old daughter had been kidnapped in Italy last June. Everyone knew he’d paid a hefty ransom demand to get her back, even though the police warned them not to.
‘Home?’
‘What, your home?’ Siena sat up straighter, clutching her bag closer to her chest and eyed the passing lights outside. They were going by pretty quickly now. She probably looked ridiculous but if she had to make a run for it, she had everything she needed in there.
Jason turned his head and gave her a funny look. ‘Strictly speaking, I guess it’s Laurie’s house.’
‘I might have just stepped off the plane but I can read.’
‘Good for you.’
Did he think she was stupid? ‘So why are we headed in the opposite direction?’
Occasionally taxi drivers in Paris took her on a circular route if they heard her speaking English, making the assumption she was a tourist.
‘We’re not.’
‘So why did it say London that way?’ She pointed back up the motorway.
‘Because. It. Is.’
‘So why are we going this way towards Slew?’ She pointed to the overhead blue sign, which had handily appeared at exactly that moment. He didn’t need to know she didn’t have a clue where Slough was.
Jason snorted and said in a strangled voice, ‘Where?’
‘Slew,’ she said her eyes narrowing. Wait ‘til she spoke to Laurie; she’d tell her to not to use this cab company again.
Despite his bone-deep tiredness, Jason shook with laughter.
‘Oops.’ He wrenched the wheel and they veered off the M4 onto the slip road towards the signs for M25 Gatwick and M25 Watford.
‘Nearly missed it,’ he said still chuckling to himself. How in hell’s name was this spoilt brat related in any way