Whiff Of Money

'Yes ... I must admit that fact had escaped me. Not that I could have done anything about it. It's Malik's private vendetta, Anyway, it doesn't matter to me. I'm distinctly ex now. I don't suppose I'll ever run into Malik again. You had better warn your boys. They have been having it too soft recently.'

Dorey rubbed his jaw as he regarded Girland.

'I don't believe you really want to leave us, Girland. Now there is an interesting little job in Tangier that would exactly suit you.' He reached for a file and drew it lovingly towards him. 'Plenty of action... two women . . . pretty ones involved. Yes, it would exactly suit you and I know you could handle it.' Girland lifted his eyebrows. 'The old siren at work again. How about the money?'

This is an official job so you would be paid official rates,' Dorey said, a sudden waspish note in his voice.

Girland levered himself out of the chair.

'No, thank you. I have ten thousand dollars to squander. I've given up working for peanuts.' He lifted his hand and flapped his fingers at Dorey. 'So long. If anything crops up in the ten thousand dollar bracket, I might consider it. Think big is my motto: should be yours too.'

He wandered out, closing the door gently behind him. His face lit up with his charming smile as he saw Mavis Paul at her typewriter.

She looked up, flushed and then continued to type.

'Not a word of welcome?' Girland said, coming to the desk and smiling down at her. 'Not one glad little cry of pleasure?'

Mavis hesitated and then stopped typing. She looked up at him.

'Did anyone tell you you have eyes like stars and lips made for a kiss?' Girland asked. 'I got that off a bottle of perfume.'

'The exit is behind you and to the right,' Mavis said without sounding very convincing.

'How about a dinner with me at Lasserre: soft music, beautiful food, velvety wines? I have lots of money I want to get rid of. Shall we say nine o'clock?'

Mavis regarded him. She thought he looked very handsome. An evening out with him couldn't fail to be exciting. She suddenly realised her life up to now had been all work and no play.

'Thank you... yes...'

'My mother once told me that if I didn't at first succeed... Girland laughed happily. 'This is going to be the most maddeningly exciting evening of my life... and your life. Then nine o'clock at Lasserre.'

She nodded and began typing again.

Girland wandered to the door. As he was about to leave, she stopped typing. He turned and looked inquiringly at her.

Her eyes were sparkling as she asked, 'Do you still own that Bukhara rug?'

THE END