Chapter Forty
Matthew checked his watch and thumped his fist against the cab’s door.
‘Fair go, mate. I can’t drive any faster. It’s peak hour.’ The taxi driver’s drawl dragged him from his thoughts.
‘It’s not you I’m annoyed with,’ Matthew said. ‘It’s the plane. Two-hour delay. Look, you’d better wait for me outside the Intercontinental and then we’ll continue on over the Bridge.’ No time to unpack, unwind and get another cab as planned. He’d have to check-in at the hotel, change his clothes, then duck straight out again.
‘So you’ve just stepped off a plane from the UK!’
Matthew affirmed that yes, he had. The driver’s pronunciation of the UK rang uncomfortably in his ears: Yoooook-eye. He’d forgotten how monotone Australian speech could be. Fourteen years away from it, and the stretch
