17
M25 Motorway – Two Days Later
Petra noted that Rafi was a bad driver. She also realised that when they were lovers, back in the day, she’d never been in a car when he was driving. If she had, she wouldn’t be in one now. Rafi’s lane changing, acceleration and braking bore scant relationship to the traffic flow. And when the torrent of cars on the M25 slowed down to a crawl around Heathrow, Rafi fiddled with the audio controls on the grey Ford Focus as if he had some sort of palsy. Finally he tapped his hands on the steering wheel and frowned.
‘Are we in a hurry?’ Petra said.
‘No.’
‘Then why the hell are you driving so fast and so badly?’
‘Sorry, I wasn't concentrating.’
‘Are you worrying about whether we’re clean? Did you see the guy in the blue suit at the hotel?’
Rafi frowned,
