The driver shifted himself from one foot to the other. It wasn't his idea of a spare-time job either — or even a legitimate part of the job he had. He didn't need to have the balance of the alternatives emphasized to him. They were so clean cut that they made the palms of his hands feel clammy. But that lazily, frighteningly impersonal voice went on:
"Anyway, you don't have to make up your mind in a hurry if you don't want to. Hoppy '11 keep you company if you don't mind waiting till I come back, so you won't be lonely. It's rather a lonely place otherwise, you know. We were only saying the other day that a bloke could sit here and scream the skies down, and nobody would hear him. Not that you'd have anything to scream about of course…"
"Wot is this job?" asked the man hoarsely.
Simon flicked the ash from his cigarette and hid the sparkle of excitement in his eyes.
"Just telling us some of these odd things we want to know."
The man's lips clamped and relaxed spasmodically, and his broad chest moved with the strain of his breathing. He stood with his chin drawn in, and his eyes peered up from under a ledge of sullen shadow.
"Well," he said. "Go on."
"Who was the girl friend?"
"Why don't you ask her?"
The voice was soft and musical, startlingly unlike the harsh growl that Simon's ears had been attuned to, and it came from behind him.