But, since she’d hot-wired Mrs Warburton’s car, clearly driving wasn’t all her grandfather had taught her.

‘What were you doing under the Bentley?’ he demanded as a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature ran through him.

‘Just checking it out. It needs new brake linings…’ The phone began to ring. With the slightest of shrugs, she leaned around him, unhooked it from the wall and said, ‘George Saxon and Granddaughter…’

What?

‘Where are you?’ she asked, reaching for a pen. ‘Are you on your own…? Okay, stay with the car-’

George Saxon and Granddaughter…

Shock slowed him down and as he moved to wrest the phone from her she leaned back out of his reach.

‘-we’ll be with you in ten minutes.’ She replaced the receiver. ‘A lone woman broken down on the Longbourne Road,’ she said. ‘I told her we’ll pick her up.’

‘I heard what you said. Just how do you propose to do that?’ he demanded furiously.

‘Get in the tow-truck,’ she suggested, ‘drive down the road…’

‘There’s no one here to deal with a breakdown.’

‘You’re here. I’m here. Granddad says I’m as good as you were with an engine.’

If she thought that would make him feel better, she would have to think again.

‘Call her back,’ he said, pulling down the local directory. ‘Tell her we’ll find someone else to help her.’

‘I didn’t take her number.’

‘It doesn’t matter. She won’t care who turns up so long as someone does,’ he said, punching in the number of another garage. It had rung just twice when he heard the clunk as a truck door was slammed shut. On the third ring he heard it start.

He turned around as a voice in his ear said, ‘Longbourne Motors. How can I…’

The personnel door was wide open and, as he watched, the headlights of the pick-up truck pierced the dark.

‘Sorry,’ he said, dropping the phone and racing after his daughter, wrenching open the cab door as it began to move. ‘Turn it off!’