Jenny was already sitting at the bar shredding an olive when David got to the restaurant. He tossed his briefcase on the counter.

“Hi!” he said. “Sorry to keep you. Can I get you a drink?”

Jenny jerked her head up, staring at him with wide eyes. Her jaw shook. She croaked a few sounds, snatched up her coat and ran out of the restaurant.

It took David several seconds to react. By the time he was outside the door Jenny’s car was scorching past him, straight through a red light, and away.

He stammered some sort of explanation to the restaurant staff, and left – a waiter had to run after him with his briefcase. David was almost in shock; what on earth had made Jenny act like that to him? It was only a business dinner, for God’s sake! Just to get tomorrow’s presentation sorted. Had she thought he would make a pass at her? Had she thought he wouldn’t make a pass at her? Couldn’t she even face two hours with him in a crowded restaurant? Or was something seriously wrong?

And where was she now?

He stopped and dug his mobile out of his briefcase.

“Hi – Andy? Andy, it’s David MacDonald. Yes. Yes. That’s right. The last time was at the Glazebrook stand, I think. Yes. No, I’m looking for a favour this time. No, this is a personal one. It was something you said at Hamburg – look, can I pop round?” There was a pause. “You take Visa?”

Andy Preece opened the door with a decidedly suspicious sniff.

“Davey! Come in. It’s you are wanting my services this time, is it? Well, there’s unexpected. What did you have in mind?”

“It was what you said about mobile phones being traceable,” replied David.

“Well, that’s true, indeed, but that doesn’t make it legal, Davey boy. The telephone companies can get very touchy about hackers. Fair play, they’ve had good reason. Who is it anyway? The Prime Minister, is it?”

David explained.

“Oh I see. And you’ve come running to a poor innocent Welsh lad to put things right. As always.” His gold bracelets rattled as he reached over to flick some switches. Then he tossed a couple of pizza boxes aside and began clattering keys with one hand and running a mouse around with the other. “I’m ganging in that screen on the left there, Davey, so you don’t have to breathe Scotch down my neck. It’s coming up now. So what was this judy’s mobile number?”

An outline of Great Britain came up, with a red dot. Andy double-clicked, and the map expanded; the dot became a splodge.

“There she is. The red’s the coverage area of the transmitter she’s into.” Suddenly the splodge changed shape and jumped. Andy waved a podgy hand at David’s screen.

“See that, Davey? That’s crossing into a new transmitter. I’ll put up the motorways, then you can see where she is. Speedy little lady, isn’t she.”

She was already on the M6 – that was obvious. She must have driven insanely – even now she was doing well over a hundred.

Andy showed David the controls, poured him a coffee, and went on with his own work.

By sunrise David was slumped on the desk. Andy woke him with more coffee, and together they watched the red splodge flipping over and over up the screen.

“North of Glasgow! Duw! She must have superglued the accelerator down. Sugar, is it?”

“No, thanks.” David zoomed in again. “Can we put up some more roads or something to give me my bearings?”

“Railways?” Andy called up a menu and clicked.

“That’s great. She must be about Tyndrum.”

“A long way just to get away from you, Davey. You must be really flattered. Welsh, is she?”

“Well you’re not. You’re from Liverpool.”

Andy was unfazed. “Second capital of Wales, Davey. And anyway, people remember me. ‘Oh that fat Welsh bugger,’ they say, whereas when it’s Jim Cossett or Miles Perry, it’s ‘Who?’” He rattled some more keys and reached over to flick a switch under a tangle of wires. “It pays to advertise. No, damn, she’s beginning to break up.”

“The flickering’s when she can’t get a signal?”

“Yes. Coverage is damn patchy up there. That’s why Scotland’s so popular for holidays.” Andy ladled sugar into his mug. “Now fair play, Davey. Let’s be hearing the truth. What’s about this young lady, then?”

“I just want to be sure Jenny’s all right.”

Andy’s eyebrows rose. “Of course. No more than that.”

David’s face closed over. “Well, I was surprised. It was just so far outwith anything I’ve ever known. Running off in horror at the very sight of me. Even I haven’t had a woman do that to me before.” He drank. “Ohhh, That’s good coffee.”

“And what happens now, Davey boy? You get out your white horse and ride to her rescue?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. What is it you computer geeks say? ROFL, isn’t it, Roll On Floor Laughing?”

“Oh no, Davey. I never laugh at people who pay my invoices on time. So it’s just neighbourly, is it? You’re putting all this cash into my pocket just out of disinterested concern? What a noble and generous spirit you Scots have. And if you do catch up with her, Davey boy? After all, what she’ll be needing this very minute is a shoulder to cry on, and you know what they say: if the head’s on the shoulder the zip’s in the crotch.”

“And the knife’s in the back.”

“True. They do say that also. But she got to you, is that it? No problem. Women like a bit of sympathy in a man, so they say. You could be well in there.”

He looked back to the screen, where the red splotches were doing the flamenco. “Difficult to see, isn’t it, but I would be looking at this sticky out bit here.”

“Àird nam Murchan - the Ard-na-murchan Peninsula to you.”

“Duw! And they complain about Welsh names!” He paused for a few moments, as the last red flickers died on the screen. “Well, that’s it, Davey boy. Time to get your wallet out.”