halt across the busy main road, its passenger pausing to pay the driver.
Barbara reached the opposite kerb just as the Skoda began to move off but then the driver clocked her waving hand in his rearview mirror and stopped once more.
‘Glasgow, please,’ she gasped, her chest hurting from the dash to reach the cab. ‘Badica’s car hire, Argyll Street. Do you know it?’
‘Naw, whit end’s it at?’ the driver asked and Barbara told him, settling back against the back passenger seat, rummaging under her left side for the safety belt.
The car hire was situated on a corner of Argyll Street behind Dumbarton Road, not far from the Kelvingrove Art Galleries and Museum where Barbara had been taken as a kid on several school trips. The museum had been closed for renovation some years back and Barbara had always meant to see the new layout that had been so widely publicised. Maybe she could go there afterwards, get a bite to eat in the wee snack bar on the ground floor, if it was still there. The very thought of a hot cup of coffee and a sticky bun cheered her as she stepped out of the cab and stood in front of the white painted building.
There was no name above the main door, simply a neon sign that read LUXURY CARS FOR HIRE. The premises extended out on two sides; one was a glass-fronted showroom with just a few cars to be seen, the other held a blank wall with a metal-shuttered door and Barbara guessed that the messy business of servicing and maintaining the cars went on behind this area, out of the public’s sight.
Barbara strolled past the window, taking note of the cars gleaming in a morning sun that held more brightness than warmth. There was a lovely dove-grey Mercedes and, had Barbara been a genuine customer, this was the car she’d have hired for herself, its sleek lines making her sigh with sheer pleasure. The others were classy enough, she supposed; another Merc, the sort of colour the manufacturer probably termed as gold, and a neat little Audi cabriolet in a dishy shade of ice blue. Further back were a couple of Mercedes Sports, neither of which was white, Barbara noticed, and a graphite-coloured Porsche.
Pushing open the main door, Barbara saw that while the door into the showroom was made of glass, all the rest of the offices were rather old-fashioned, solid doors and dark wood panelling giving the place a rather shabby appearance, as though this part of the business didn’t really matter. The cars spoke for themselves, Barbara supposed, and it wasn’t as though they were trying to sell them, after all. Anyone patronising this place would have already decided they wanted a hire car. Probably didn’t even come themselves, just sent their office minions to collect one for them.
‘Can I help you?’ A young girl with curly blonde hair wrapped up in a bandeau was sitting behind the desk, a copy of OK magazine propped in front of her.
‘I was wondering about car hire,’ Barbara began.
‘Well, you’ve come to the right place,’ the girl replied dryly and gave her a smile. ‘Is it for a wedding?’
Barbara thought quickly. A wedding would require a white car, wouldn’t it?
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Can you show me anything?’
‘Here’s our brochure, and this is the current price list,’ the girl said, picking up a couple of leaflets from a stand on her desk that Barbara had already noticed.
‘Oh.’ Barbara took them in her podgy hand, then flicked through the glossy leaflet until she came to a page where bridal couples posed in front of a selection of cars. ‘Can I actually get to see one like that?’ she asked, pointing to a white Mercedes.
‘If you like,’ the girl replied brightly. ‘Just let me put a call through to the garage and I’ll have somebody show you round.’
She picked up the telephone and pressed a number. ‘Sacha, there’s a customer here to see wedding cars. Can she come down to the garage? Okay. Fine. I’ll let her know.’
The girl put down the phone and smiled again at Barbara. ‘He won’t be long. Just take a seat over there and the mechanic will be with you in about ten minutes. Would you like a coffee?’ she added, nodding at a machine beside a long table. ‘It’s not bad stuff. I brought it in myself yesterday morning, I only work weekends here,’ she rattled on, already moving towards the coffee machine and