was lighting a cigarette, but he looked up and saw them. He evidently
recognized David also, and he straightened up quickly and flicked away
the burning match.
There was a soft whooshing sound and the heavy thump of concussion in
the air, as fire flashed low across the concrete from a puddle of
spilled gasoline. In an instant the flames had closed over the rear of
the Citroen, and were drumming hungrily at the coachwork.
David left the girl and sprinted across the road.
Get it away from the pumps, you idiot, he shouted, and the driver
started out of frozen shock.
It was happy fifth of November, a spectacular pyrotechnic display, but
David got the handbrake off and the gearbox into neutral, and he and the
driver pushed it into an open parking area alongside the filling station
while a crowd materialized, seeming to appear out of the very earth, to
scream hysterical encouragement and suggestions while keeping at a
discreet distance.
They even managed to rescue the baggage from the rear seat before the
flames engulfed it entirely, and belatedly the petrol attendant arrived
with an enormous scarlet fire extinguisher. To the delighted applause
of the crowd, he drenched the pathetic little vehicle in a great cloud
of foam, and the excitement was over. The crowd drifted away, still
laughing and chattering and congratulating the amateur firefighter on
his virtuoso performance with the extinguisher, while the three of them
regarded the scorched and blackened shell of the Citroen ruefully.
I suppose it was a kindness really, the poor old thing was very tired,
the girl said at last. It was like shooting a horse with a broken leg.
Are you insured? David asked, and the girl's companion laughed.
You're joking, who would insure that? I only paid a hundred U. S.
dollars for her. They assembled the small pile of rescued possessions,
and the girl spoke quickly to her companion in foreign, slightly
guttural language which touched a deep chord in David's memory. He
understood what she was saying, so it was no surprise when she looked at
him.
We've got to meet somebody in Barcelona this evening. It's important.
Let's go, said David.
They piled the luggage into the Mustang and the girl's companion folded
up his long legs and piled into the back seat. His name was Joseph, but
David was advised by the girl to call him Joe. She was Debra, and
surnames didn't seem important at that stage. She sat in the seat
beside David, with her knees pressed together primly and her hands in
her lap. With one sweeping glance, she assessed the Mustang and its
contents. David watched her check the expensive luggage, the Nikon
camera and Zeiss binoculars in the glove compartment and the cashmere
jacket thrown over the seat. Then she glanced sideways at him, seeming
to notice for the first time the raw silk shirt with the slim gold
Piaget under the cuff.
Blessed are the poor, she murmured, but still it must be pleasant to be
rich.
David enjoyed that. He wanted her to be impressed, he wanted her to
