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Fortunately, the car seemed to sound and drive a lot better for being allowed to cool down a bit. We spent twenty-five minutes sat in the car park of the service station just outside Dijon, and by the time we reached the Swiss border it was already quarter past twelve.
In my mind’s eye I could see everything that was going on back in Herne Bay. A middle-aged woman in a cleaner’s uniform unlocking the door to my room, worrying about her husband’s impending redundancy and her tearaway teenage son’s school record. Tutting as she sees the state of the bed and the fact that I’ve left my bath towels on the floor. She’d run a hoover round, wipe down the surfaces and maybe even make the bed. Then she’d open the bathroom door and there’d be a terrible blood-curdling scream as her life as she k
