The Mercedes dealership was in Bromley. Jessica had arranged everything. She had called three days ago, identified the vehicle, negotiated the price, sorted the insurance, and informed the dealership that Danny Walsh would be arriving on Thursday morning to inspect the car before delivery that evening.
Jessica Finch did not leave things to chance. Jessica Finch treated car purchases the same way she treated sponsorship deals: with total control and zero tolerance for incompetence.
The showroom was bright and clinical, the cars arranged on the polished floor like sculptures in a gallery. A salesman named Philip approached us before we were through the door, his suit sharp, his handshake practiced, his face carrying the specific, slightly overheated enthusiasm of a man who had been told that a Premier League manager was coming and who had been rehearsing his opening line since breakfast.
"Mr. Walsh. Ms. Hartley. Welcome. We've been expecting you."
