“How much?”
“I’m sorry; the total bill comes to seven hundred and seventeen dollars and forty cents.”
Vanessa felt her knees going weak, she clutched at the greasy counter top for support, her face veering from the pale of shock to the red of rage and back again.
“I don’t believe you. That’s impossible.”
“Look I can understand your feelings about this Ms. Wilkinson, we kept the cost down as far as we could, but a new clutch and flywheel is an expensive fit. Bob, I mean Mr. Wilkinson told us to go ahead with it, and he said you would settle the account when you collected the car.”
“But over seven hundred dollars . . .”
Steve, the garage foreman, just shrugged, and then pointedly glanced up at the clock over Vanessa’s head. Vanessa lapsed into silence, her mind reeling from the shock of the bill and the even clearer fact that she didn’t have enough money in her purse to pay it.
“Did you tell him how much the bill was?”
“No . . . at that point we didn’t know ourselves; until we finished the job; but I did tell him it was going to be expensive. Do you have a problem here?”
Vanessa flushed slowly, the way she nervously bit her lip was answer enough. She knew the other two mechanics were watching from the other side of the garage, obviously wanting to get away, to get home.
“You could come back for the car tomorrow . . . I could get one of my lads to drop you home if you’re stuck.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“My husband is out of town for four days, he flew out this morning . . . He’s got the cheque book with him. Damn! I need the car! . . . Wait, if I ring him, can you take a credit card over the phone?”
Steve shook his head sadly,