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Think of something else. Surprise me.’
    She smiled down at him.
    â€˜I will,’ he promised, and hurried out. She saw him get into the elevator and then shut the door.
    There was another man coming in an hour. He always took her out to dinner first. And she insisted on a top restaurant. The Tour d’Argent, Maxims, sometimes the Grill Room at the Ritz. She had to be seen, to be on display. And to look exactly what she was: one of the most expensive poules de luxe in Paris. The grovelling Gustav, whose name dominated the biggest fashion store in the Rue St Honore, was a noted bully and tyrant to his staff and his family. Tonight she would dine with an even richer businessman, pretend to listen while he talked about his business and himself, and then go home and bear with his equally boring sexual activities.
    At ten o’clock the next morning she would be on the flight to Geneva. The note had enclosed an airline ticket and the name of a hotel.
    It wasn’t the few sentences with the magical promise of money that had persuaded her to use that ticket and go.
    There had been no signature. Just one word. ‘Freedom.’ That was why she was catching the flight.
    Oakham enjoyed flying. He had no nerves, his imagination was untroubled by what might happen at thirty thousand feet and five hundred miles an hour if anything went wrong. He’d flown in everything, from twin seaters bouncing like toys in turbulence to the heavy military aircraft that spewed you out on the end of a parachute. Concorde had been the best. A trip to the States on a job where time was the prime factor and he’d been allowed to travel in style for a change. One of his best operatives had been so scared of flying that he vomited before getting on a plane. He’d disappeared in Amsterdam, of all the bloody places to get killed. He’d been a good man too. Amsterdam was as dangerous as it was dirty, full of human refuse and the rats that fed on them. Geneva was beautiful. He loved Switzerland, he loved the cleanness, the mountains, the majestic lakes. He’d done a lot of business in Switzerland when he was assigned the desk job.
    He took a taxi to the Hotel d’Angleterre. It was smart but not over-expensive, a place patronized by the better-paid business executives. He registered under another name; it matched the passport he carried. He hadn’t handed everything back when he gave in his keys … He went up to the third floor and looked round the room.
    â€˜This is very nice,’ he said to the boy who’d brought up his luggage, and gave him a good tip. It was comfortable, it had a pleasant outlook. He tried out the bed. Excellent.
    Jan was due in that afternoon. Oakham unpacked, had a hot shower and went down to lunch. He was spending money, but it was his own money this time. No tight-arsed Civil Servant looking at every item on his expenses, querying this and that. He was going to have money to spend. Money to burn if he felt like making a bonfire out of it. He wasn’t going to fail because he had never failed in his profession, except once. He didn’t mean to think of Judith. She floated into his mind before he could stop her. The blonde hair swinging like silk round her shoulders, the blue of a summer sky in her eyes as she looked at him and laughed. They’d laughed such a lot together. He thrust her away, back to the graveyard of old memories.
    At four o’clock Jan came up to his room. Harry let him in.
    The Pole said, ‘We’re in business.’
    He grinned at Oakham; he looked excited. ‘Big business. I got Rilke to come with me.’
    â€˜Well done,’ Oakham said in admiration. ‘That’s our ace. Well done.’
    â€˜The others will be here tomorrow morning. I said we’d meet at eleven o’clock. I said to ask for the D.H. Co. representative. Which is me.’
    â€˜I’ve booked a small private room for the conference. Lunch served