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photos had been taken some years ago. She retained a severe attractiveness and from the way she walked and held herself she had obviously kept herself fit. He looked again at the name at the top of the portfolio. Leonie Meckler. She was dressed in a smart, two-piece black suit, with a cream blouse.
    He noted her age on the file, thirty-eight.
    “When did you last work?” he asked.
    “Eight months ago,” she answered. “I had a small part in a TV serial”
    “And before that?”
    “I did some fringe work at the Edinburgh Festival the year before.”
    She had a sad look on her dark face. She smiled grimly, “If I were in great demand, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”
    “Why are you sitting here?”
    Again the grim smile.
    “I have a flat in Pimlico, and with the interest rates what they are at the moment, I stand to lose it if I don’t find work soon. It’s all I own apart from my clapped-out Ford Fiesta.”
    He looked down at the portfolio again. It had only scant personal details.
    “Were you ever married?” he asked.
    She nodded.
    “Children?”
    She nodded again. “A son.”
    “How old?”
    “He was eight.”
    She reached for her handbag and took out a packet of cigarettes.
    “Do you mind?”
    “No.”
    She lit up and inhaled deeply. He noticed again the nicotine stains on her fingers.
    She exhaled and said, with only a trace of bitterness, “His father was a very heavy drinker…an alcoholic. He was driving him home from prep-school one afternoon, after a heavy liquid lunch. He hit the back of a container lorry on the motorway. My son died.”
    “And the father?”
    “He survived.”
    “Where is he now?”
    She shook her head. She had straight, black hair to her shoulders,
    “I don’t know. I divorced him very soon after.”
    There was a silence, then Creasy asked, “Do you have a drink problem?”
    Again, she shook her head and said firmly, “No, and I never have. I enjoy a glass or two of wine. That’s all.”
    He studied her face, then he pushed a pad and pen across the table to her and said, “I’m going to tell you what the job is, precisely. It will be easier if you don’t interrupt. Just make notes about any questions you want to ask at the end.”
    He talked for fifteen minutes and when he finished she was looking down at an empty pad.
    “Any questions?” he asked.
    She lifted her head. “Just two. First, can you give me a thumbnail sketch of the boy?”
    He thought for a moment and replied, “As I told you, he’s just seventeen years old. He’s intelligent but does not communicate too well…perhaps chooses not to. He’s been in an orphanage all his life. Although it’s a caring one it tends to make a child mentally tough and withdrawn. I doubt that he will stir any maternal instincts.”
    She smiled wryly and said, “Second question, of course, is money. Harry said it would be good…how good?”
    The American closed the portfolio, stood up and stretched.
    “As I told you, it’s essential that you stay the full six months, not a day less. In four days, I will phone and let you know if you have the job.” He stopped and looked at her. “During those four days, I will be having you checked out…very thoroughly, and during those four days you can reconsider. If you check out and you accept the job we will go to a lawyer, of your choice, and draw up the contracts. At the same time we will post the banns at the Register Office. You will then receive three thousand pounds for expenses and I will give the lawyer a certified cheque for fifty thousand American dollars, which he will hold in escrow for you until he receives a declaration from a Gozitan notary confirming that you have spent six consecutive months in cohabitation with me in Gozo. During those six months you will receive an allowance of one thousand American dollars a month. Of course I will pay all household expenses. You will have your own car.” He smiled slightly. “Coincidentally, a not-so-clapped-out Ford