As we drove along the Belgian motorway, he began to tell me a little about
himself; his upbringing in an orphanage until he was fostered and then
adopted by an elderly couple, his short spell in prison for an idiotic smash
and grab raid which went wrong; his good fortune in getting his present job.
He had a beautiful speaking voice, and sounded better educated than most of
the other drivers. I caught myself fancying him, as I had sometimes in the
past when I saw him stride past the office window.
“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s not interested in you,’ I thought to myself,
and thrust from my mind the sudden image of him lying naked on the bed in
his flat. I’d never been there, of course, but people said it was a small,
comfortably furnished place overlooking the park. Hurriedly I hunted for
another topic of conversation to put the disturbing visions from my mind.