‘No…’ His reply was unconvincing. ‘No, of course not.’

‘I’m very glad to hear that. As a lawyer, even if your field is corporate law, I know you wouldn’t want to give Metcalfe an excuse to sue the pants off you for sexual discrimination.’

‘I just thought-’

‘I know what you thought, James, but as you are well aware, it’s not a problem.’

He didn’t wait for an answer, but immediately turned his attention to business, launching into some complex legal question regarding a lease.

It was an example she’d be wise to follow, she decided. Flirting through the rear-view mirror with a passenger was definitely not the action of a ‘thoroughly, competent driver’. Quite the contrary.

Someone who was entertaining now…

Oh, stop it!

At the entrance to the Riverside Gallery, she climbed out and opened the door, keeping her eyes front and centre.

James Pierce stepped out of the car and walked past her without a word or a look. The word ‘miffed’ crossed her mind-one of her mother’s favourite words to describe someone who’d had their nose put out of joint.

Sheikh Zahir paused and, realising that she was grinning, she swiftly straightened her face.

‘What will you do until you pick us up, Metcalfe?’

‘I’ve got a book,’ she said quickly. Her message-competent chauffeurs were used to waiting around. They were ready for it.

Not actually true-the kind of jobs she was usually assigned didn’t leave a lot of spare time to catch up on her reading-but he was just being polite and she’d make sure she had one with her tomorrow. Always assuming there was a tomorrow.

Maybe it was time to start brushing up on her Blue Book-the taxi drivers’ bible that listed the shortest runs from a given point to any destination, the ‘Knowledge’ which had to be passed before a “cabbie” could get a licence.

Still he lingered. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t come into the gallery. Have something to eat. You could look at the pictures if the presentation bores you.’