Outside, the warm June air carried city dust and fumes in its embrace, but once in his black Aston Martin Steel relaxed a little. He liked driving and the car was a dream, the air conditioning and state-of-the-art luxury making the experience pleasurable even in the worst London snarl-ups. He drove automatically, his mind on Annie. She and Jeff had been trying for this baby for a long time; ever since they’d married, in fact, three years previously. At twenty-six, Annie was twelve years younger than him and he had virtually brought her up when their parents had been killed in a car accident when Annie was six years old. He’d been about to go away to university but he’d got a job instead, and this income, added to his half of the nest egg which his parents had been accumulating in the bank, had meant he could continue to pay the rent on the three-bedroomed house that had been home. Annie had lost their parents, he hadn’t wanted her to lose the familiarity and security of the home she’d lived in all her life. Annie’s half of the estate had been in trust until she was eighteen and had been a nice little inheritance for her.