Ash by James Herbert

passenger door of the Mercedes and opened it for Ash.
    The investigator shook his head once. ‘I’ll sit up front alongside you. That okay?’
    ‘Certainly. But y’do have a telly and DVD screen set into the back of the headrest in front of you there. It might fill in some of the time for you on the journey?’ The driver raised his eyebrows questioningly.
    ‘I thought Comraich was close by.’
    ‘Nae. Y’ll find it’ll take some time along the narrow and twisting country roads.’
    ‘All the same – I’ll ride up front.’
    ‘Then shotgun it is.’
    The Scot opened the rear door and put Ash’s bag on a seat, then went to the front passenger door and opened it smoothly. As Ash ducked his head to enter the Mercedes he thought Dalzell looked as if he could take care of himself and his passenger in any road-rage brawl. He couldn’t think why, but it gave him an odd sense of security.
    ‘Nice car,’ Ash remarked appreciatively as he settled into the soft charcoal-grey leather seat and took note of the panoramic glass roof.
    ‘Mercedes-Benz Grand Sports Tourer,’ the driver informed him proudly as he opened the opposite door and got behind the steering wheel. ‘Smooth ride and plenty o’power. Makes m’job easier.’
    He strapped himself in and gunned the engine, deliberately heavy-footing the accelerator pedal to achieve an engine roar. He grinned at Ash like a boy performing his first party trick.
    ‘Okay, I’m impressed,’ said Ash, taking in the complex hi-tech centre console with its navigation display and rows of multi-functional control buttons. ‘But let’s get going.’
    ‘Right, Mr Ash. Lock ’n’ load. I’ve always wanted t’say that.’
    They were out of the airport in less than a minute, Ash already relaxing into the sumptuous interior of the high-powered vehicle as it swept through the gates. He caught the driver giving him a quick once-over when they were on their way.
    ‘Is the heating all right for you, Mr Ash? Too warm, too cold?’
    ‘It’s just fine. Don’t change a thing.’
    ‘Some music then? Or local news?’
    ‘No, I’ll just enjoy the drive.’
    He sank further into his seat.
    ‘How long have you been driving for Comraich Castle?’ he asked Dalzell.
    The car slowed to turn off the main artery into a narrow hedge-lined lane.
    ‘Oh, now there’s a question.’ The driver squinted his eyes as if the answer lay beyond the windscreen. ‘Let’s see. It must’ve been four years now. M’partner and me, we were running our own chauffeur-drive service in and around Edinburgh when a representative for Comraich Castle approached us. Just in time, too – business was dire and getting worse. Tourism was bleak, particularly where the Americans were concerned.’
    He shook his head regretfully as if the memory still irked him. ‘We depended mainly on USA tourists to keep us afloat, not just in summer, but during the cold months as well. Unfortunately, they were staying home, reluctant to risk air travel for a while. And who could blame them? That’s why it was good luck when Mr Maseby turned up with an offer we couldn’t turn down. We’d driven him once or twice before, so we weren’t unknown t’him.’
    ‘Simon Maseby?’
    ‘Aye, that’s the feller.’
    ‘And your contract’s with his entire company, not just with the part that runs Comraich Castle?’ Ash guessed.
    ‘That’s right. One of the conditions, though, was that we had to drive exclusively for Comraich. No other clients, just the Comraich and Maseby people. And we had to live there to be on call, night or day. There’s quite a community of them – servants, maids, chefs, office staff and groundskeepers as well as doctors and nurses. It’s a little world of its own. And sometimes, we have visits from very special VIPs, but that’s kept all very hush-hush.’
    Ash was even more curious. ‘Why would that be?’
    ‘I really don’t know. We collect ’em from the airport or sometimes we make the trip