‘Shouldn’t you be working?’
James winked. ‘My pupil master’s extended his holiday in Tuscany, so I’d just be twiddling my thumbs in chambers. They told me not to bother coming in, then Johnny showed up and twisted my arm.’ He was speaking to Cat, but his attention was all on Bella, whose ecstatic dance with her brother had just ended.
John Thorpe broke away from his sister and seized Cat’s hand, swooping low over it in a mock-heroic gesture. ‘And you must be the famous Cat Morland I’ve heard so much about from Bella and Jamie. I’m Johnny Thorpe, and you must be delighted to make my acquaintance.’ He released her hand and beamed at her, his plain face revealing how pleased he was with himself and his attempt at humour.
Cat giggled uneasily, not quite sure how to handle so bombastic an introduction. ‘Bella’s told me all about you.’ There was some truth in that, though his sister had not mentioned his paunch or his thinning hair.
He raised his eyebrows in an arch expression. ‘God, I hope not,’ he said in exaggerated style. ‘So, Cat, I bet you can’t guess how long it took us to drive up the bloody awful A1 from Newcastle.’
Cat, whose studies in British geography had left her with gaps the size of Wales in her knowledge, looked to James for help. ‘I don’t know how far it is.’
Her brother tore his attention away from Bella long enough to say, ‘About a hundred and twenty miles.’
‘More like a hundred and fifty,’ John corrected him. ‘Given the time it took. So, Cat, what do you think? How long?’
Cat frowned, trying to do the sums in her head. ‘About two and a half hours?’ she hazarded.
John slapped his thigh in a gesture of incredulity. ‘Are you kidding me? Have you seen my flying machine? An hour and twenty minutes. I noticed the church clock on Shieldfield Green said ten o’clock as we passed it on our way up from the Quayside.’
James laughed. ‘You’ve lost an hour, Johnny. We left at nine.’
John’s chest puffed up under his pink and grey striped polo shirt. ‘At nine?’ He turned to Cat for support. ‘Is he always like this? Picking a fight when he knows he’s in the wrong? I tell you, just look at this car of mine and tell me you think it would take two and a half hours to travel a hundred and fifty miles.’
‘A hundred and twenty,’ James said weakly.
‘It does look fast,’ Cat said, trying to make peace between the pair before their mock argument turned, as they so often do between men intent on impressing women, into the real thing.
‘Fast? She goes like the proverbial. Just touch the gas and she shoots forward like a bullet. She’s hand built, engine tuned to within an inch of its life. Look at that cream leather interior, the black walnut dash, the perfection of that chrome. Spring-loaded drink holders, on-board wifi and subwoofers to blow your ears off. And don’t get me started on the brake horsepower and the torque.’
Cat nodded politely, hiding the fervent hope that he would not indeed get started on those perplexing matters. ‘It looks very smart.’
‘And you know what I paid? Three grand less than the list price. Three grand! Amazing, no? She’s the perfect car for me. In the City, success is ninety per cent front and ten per cent balls. And this beauty makes a statement about me. She lets people know I’m a man to be reckoned with. She was built for a Christ Church man, to his spec. But I heard he’d been a bit too flash with his cash so he was looking to offload her for readies. I ran into him in that Slovakian cocktail bar up near Hilda’s and he goes, “Johnny, Johnny, my man, do you know anybody who might be interested in the best car in Oxford? Only, I need to realise her capital value sharpish.” Now, I’d just had a spot of luck at the casino, so I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Et voilà.’
‘I don’t know much about cars, but it looks like you got a bargain.’
John gave a smug little smile and patted his hair in a self-satisfied gesture. ‘A total bargain. But you know, I was helping the poor guy out. You need a favour, I’m your man. Always ready to do my bit.’
Before he could preen further, his sister exclaimed, ‘Johnny, there’s a traffic warden heading straight for us.’
‘Buggering barnacles,’ he swore, turning his back on them all and returning to the car, this time opening the door. ‘Come on, girls, get in!’
Cat hung back, looking dubiously at the shallow parcel shelf behind the two seats. But Bella grabbed her hand and together they clambered inelegantly into the rear of the car. They’d barely squeezed in when John stamped on the gas and shot down the hill in a throaty roar of exhaust. Cat and Bella clung to each other, shrieking.
At the first set of traffic lights, John resumed the conversation. ‘I could have sold it for four grand more the day after I bought it. Jacko Jackson from Oriel offered me cash on the nail the next day in the King’s Arms.’
‘Yeah, but you’re forgetting your parking permit was included,’ James pointed out.
‘Like I’d be dumb enough to sell my parking permit after the amount I had to bribe the college porter to get it in the first place. Duh.’ The lights changed so once more communication was rendered impossible.
Before long, another set of traffic signals brought them to a halt. ‘Do you like a rag top, Cat?’ John asked.
‘He means a convertible, Sis. With the top down.’
‘Oh. Well, this is my first experience, unless you count a quad bike. But yes, I can see it might be fun if you were in a proper seat and not in fear of spilling out the back every time you accelerate.’
John roared with laughter. ‘God, Jamie, you never told me she was so funny. Cat, I’m going to take you for a spin every day I’m here. With the top down.’
It wasn’t that thrilling a prospect to Cat. ‘There’s a forecast of rain tomorrow.’
‘We’ll dodge the raindrops. I’ll drive you up the coast for fish and chips.’
‘Won’t you want to take it easy after your long drive today?’
He laughed again. ‘Call that a long drive? That was just a warm-up. No, it’s a date. Fish and chips at North Berwick for lunch.’
‘Oh, me too, me too!’ Bella exclaimed.
‘Are you kidding? I didn’t come to Edinburgh to drive my sister around. Jamie, it’s up to you to amuse Bella.’
And again, conversation was stilled by acceleration as they drove out across the Dean Bridge and down Queensferry Road a way towards the flat where Mrs Thorpe and her daughters were staying, some little distance from the Book Festival and most of the venues of the Festival Fringe. The one advantage their accommodation had over the Allens’ apartment was that it lay just outside the city centre’s restricted parking zone, so all that was required to find a parking space was for John Thorpe to drive round the block three or four times.
As they walked back up the hill to the Thorpes’ flat, John fell into step beside Cat. Desperate to avoid another lecture on the subject of his splendid car, Cat cast about for something to say. Given that Bella was his sister, she reasoned that they might share some tastes in common. ‘Bella has introduced me to the Hebridean Harpies series of novels,’ she said.
‘Oh my good lord,’ he groaned. ‘Spare me! Not another one. I’ve had Bella wittering on about those bloody books for ever. I don’t have time to waste on novels, but if I did, it wouldn’t be them I’d choose. Vampires and banshees – I ask you. Those books are dumber than a deaf mute with a mouthful of superglue.’
The image was so singularly unpleasant that Cat could