LITMIR.BIZ

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Hughie forced a window open. (The violet water was particularly strong today.)

      ‘Yes! I need a break. Maybe a drink with some friends.’ He stared at Hughie, who was busy eyeing up an Aston Martin that growled into view.

      ‘Good plan,’ Hughie agreed, wondering if the driver of the Aston was under or over thirty (these questions being of significance to young men who hadn’t yet made their first million).

      ‘I was hoping you’d say that!’

      ‘I can always be counted on to endorse a drink.’

      ‘So, what time would you like to meet?’

      ‘For what?’

      Malcolm peered at him with an anxious smile. ‘Drinks, silly! You said you were my friend.’

      ‘Yes, yes. But that’s different from…I mean, it’s not the same as having one’s own friends.’

      Malcolm straightened. ‘For God’s sake, Hughie, I’m engaged to your sister!’

      ‘Yes, I know. She’s a lovely girl, don’t you think?’

      Malcolm winced, as if retreating from an unseen belt across the jaw. ‘Yes, a lovely girl.’

      Hughie had an idea. ‘Maybe she’d like to come along?’

      ‘Perhaps…’ Malcolm agreed, slowly. ‘Then again, there’s also nothing to prevent us from having a quiet drink on our own.’

      ‘I just don’t think I’ve got the time, Male’ Hughie’s phone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, grateful for the interruption.

      It was his mother.

      ‘Hello, Mum.’

      ‘Yes, a large gin and tonic, please,’ she was saying to the waiter. ‘Oh. Hello, darling, I’m here a little early. How long will you be?’

      ‘I’m on my way. What time is it, anyway?’

      ‘Quarter to. How close are you? Shall I order you something to drink?’

      ‘I’m, uh, somewhere on the Edgware Road.’

      ‘That’s miles away, Hughie! We’re meant to be meeting at one!’

      ‘Like I said, Mum, I’m on my way. Traffic’s bad.’

      ‘This is London, Hughie. Traffic is always bad. A little forward planning wouldn’t go amiss! Really!’

      She rang off before he could reply.

      (It was going to be a real trick getting any cash out of her today.)

      ‘You’re in a bit of a pickle,’ Malcolm observed.

      ‘Oh, you know what they’re like.’

      His phone rang again.

      ‘Where are you?’ Leticia purred.

      ‘Almost there, darling. Just coming up to Marble Arch.’

      ‘Marble Arch! Are you in a cab?’

      ‘No, I’m on the bus, angel.’

      ‘How quaint!’ she laughed. ‘Is this your way of telling me you don’t fancy me any more? Taking public transport?’

      ‘No, no! I fancy you like mad!’

      ‘Then show me. By the way, I’m wearing nothing but double cream.’

      She made a low, thoroughly filthy growl before hanging up.

      ‘Now, there’s a place I know of in Soho where we could meet.’ Malcolm was jotting down the address. ‘Most amusing. Members only…’

      ‘To be honest, I don’t think I can, Male’

      ‘Oh. Really’

      ‘I’ve got a hell of a lot on…’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘Tickets, please!’

      Swaying in front of them was a ticket inspector, pad at the ready.

      Hughie prodded Malcolm. ‘You’ve got my ticket.’

      ‘Have I?’ Malcolm raised an eyebrow. ‘You know, I’ve got a hell of a lot on, Hughie. I’m not sure I can remember where I put it. Perhaps if I had something to look forward to,’ he sighed, ‘…a drinks engagement perhaps, I might be able to recall what I did with it.’

      ‘Tickets please, gentlemen!’

      Malcolm produced his bus pass with a flourish. ‘Here’s mine!’ He smiled sweetly at Hughie. ‘And you?’

      Hughie wished, not for the first time, that his sister would find herself a different beau.

      ‘You do have a ticket, young man? There’s a fine if you haven’t.’ The inspector tapped his pad. ‘Quite a considerable fine.’

      Malcolm shrugged. ‘Oh, dear!’

      Hughie was just about to give up when there was a gentle tap on his shoulder.

      ‘Excuse me.’

      He twisted round to find a dashing man in his fifties behind him. He wasn’t the sort of man you’d expect to find on the top deck of a bus. Exquisitely dressed in a tailored grey wool suit and gold silk tie, he radiated authority, ease and polish. His hair was impeccable, nails trimmed, his skin had the soft golden glow of tan. But it was his eyes that were so arresting. They were a rare intensity of blue, not unlike Hughie’s own.

      ‘I believe you dropped this,’ he smiled, holding out a ticket.

      Hughie hesitated, then took it. ‘Thank you.’

      The man stood up. ‘My pleasure.’

      Then he clasped the hand of the ticket inspector and shook it warmly. ‘I just want to say I think you’re doing an excellent job. I work at Head Office and rarely have I seen a servant of the people as devoted and diligent as yourself. It makes me proud, my good man! Proud to be part of this great public transport system, and I must say, proud to be British!’ He looked to Hughie. ‘Don’t you agree?’

      ‘Absolutely!’

      The ticket inspector blushed. ‘I don’t know what to say! It’s so nice to be appreciated for a change. The number of people who abuse you, just for doing your job!’

      The man nodded and patted him on the shoulder. ‘You’re a brave soldier.’

      ‘You have to be!’

      ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said the man, taking out his mobile. ‘I’m putting in a call to Head Office right now and I’d like to mention you by name.’

      ‘Really? Do you mean it? It’s Paul, sir. Paul Pullerton.’

      ‘Mr Pullerton, you’re a credit to your profession! I’m dialling right now. Keep up the good work!’ he called as he headed down the steps and off the bus.

      ‘Now there’s a gentleman!’ the inspector declared to anyone who would listen. ‘Last of a dying breed!’

      ‘He didn’t have to show his ticket!’ Malcolm pointed out.

      But the inspector ignored him. ‘A dying breed,’ he repeated and moved down the aisle.

      Hughie looked out of the window. The man had disappeared.

      Surely he’d given him his ticket. But why had he bothered to save a complete stranger?

      Halfway down Park Lane, the bus shuddered violently. Clouds of black smoke billowed from its engine. The driver pulled over and rang the bell. ‘Everyone off! Everyone off the bus!’

      Hughie climbed off and managed to lose Malcolm in the outraged throng of pensioners and pushchairs. Traffic had ground to a halt.

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