When they were satisfied that the fat man was not carrying any apparatus that could either blow holes in their boss, or cut bits off him, they allowed him to pass into the next room, in which sat the most sexy girl in the world. She wore a charcoal-grey, knitted dress, that appeared to have been made at a time when there was a severe, international wool-shortage. What Slan saw was the almost naked body of a girl, decorated with the odd grey strand of wool; the only item of clothing that actually covered any of her body was the Woolmark label.

Slan was swept in a trance through polished-wood double doors into Sleder’s office. Now, he thought, he was beginning to understand why men fought and cheated and stole and killed to get to the top; because if this was what awaited them, then to hell with the wrath of God. There was nothing any devil could come up with in the hereafter that could possibly make one regret having lived a life like this.

The office was enormous, with a staggering view through the blinds – which took the glare but not the warmth from the streaming November sun – down towards the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, and a panorama of other high-rise buildings. Up here was an intimate little village in the sky. One looked out at other high-rises as equals, instead of up at them as towering dominating monsters. It was a view that could make any man happy to come to work. The office was the size of a football pitch, and Sleder’s desk the size of a tennis court. Sleder sat behind it, in total command of it, wearing a white sports jumper and a cream open-necked shirt. The desk was almost bare, with just an intercom, dictating machine and, surprisingly thought Slan, just one telephone.

Sleder extended a hand, and Slan marched over. As he got near, Sleder stood up. Slan didn’t even attempt to reach across the desk, but walked round the side and shook the outstretched hand.

‘It’s very good to see you again,’ said Sleder in an accent that made even the toughest of the Anglo-Saxon female breed go weak at the knees. ‘I trust you had a good journey?’

‘Terrific!’ said Slan. ‘I’d travel Sleder any time!’

They both laughed, then Slan stiffened. He didn’t know why Sleder wanted to see him, but he knew why he wanted to see Sleder. He’d drunk too much and he had let his guard drop; he’d better pull himself together now – fast.

‘Will you have a glass of coffee, or would you prefer something stronger?’

‘Coffee will be fine, thank you.’

Sleder pushed a cigar box at him. ‘Havana?’

Slan shook his head.

Sleder pushed an onyx cigarette box. ‘Cigarette?’

‘I gave up.’

‘Did you? So did I. I don’t find it easy, though, do you?’