He nodded, gaze unwavering. “Seventy-five pounds and thirty-five pee.”
“You’ve got a big car.”
“That’s beside the point. How much is it?”
“Per litre?” Her voice squeaked.
Jilly put the money back and took out her credit card.
“Who said the age of the highwayman is dead? It’s alive and well, skulking in motorway service stations. What the hell, I’ll have this bar of chocolate - no, don’t tell me how much it is, or it may choke me. Put it on the card.”