Chapter Thirteen
Steven drove the Volvo down the main street of Oban and pulled up just near the Caledonian Hotel. All the car spaces were blocked with red cones, except for one disabled space, which Beatrice spied through the crowd gathering in the street.
‘Just in there,’ she snapped, pointing to what Steven thought was a ridiculously small parking place. Steven tried and tried, and finally after a round of applause from the small crowd and a very sweaty brow, he parked just about a foot from the curb.
At the door, looking official in a navy blue porter’s uniform stood a thin pale man. He watched what he would call an attractive-looking man finally park his Volvo. The porter walked over.
‘Steven, you are a crap driver,’ said Beatrice.
Steven said nothing. He had just spent the last
