“Forget it. I’ve got broad shoulders. How goes the sleuthing anyway?” Pauline asked.

“Slowly. Uncertainly. A bit like British Rail. You carry on in the hope you’ll eventually reach a destination. Unfortunately, the one you reach isn’t always the one you wanted to arrive at. How come you’re all still slaving away?” Lindsay asked. “I expected you to be partying, with only one session left.”

“Dream on,” Pauline sighed. “Conference has been extended for an extra day so we can complete the agenda. At least that’s what the officials are saying. The real story is, the cops have asked the NEC to keep the conference in session for a bit longer so they can continue their investigations without the delegates scattering to the four winds. So we’ve all been told to stay on at least till Saturday, maybe even Sunday. Handy Andy pulled this big sob-story routine on us that the poor old union can’t afford to pay us overtime, on account of all the other unforeseen expenditure they’re facing because of conference overrunning.”

“An appeal to your better natures, eh? I bet he was as popular as a gingham frock at a thrash metal gig. So did you all agree to work on for buttons?” Lindsay asked.

“What do you think?” Pauline said angrily. “There’s enough mugs in this clerical section to open a coffee bar. Anyway, since we’re on the subject of exploitation, what can I do for you?”

Lindsay had the grace to look embarrassed. “Yeah, right, spot the hypocrite. It’s all right for me to come creeping for favors, but it’s all wrong for Andy Spence to do the same. What can I say?” She shrugged and held out her hands, palms upward. “In my defense, I’ve got to say I’ve always really admired you, Pauline!” She grinned and winked.

“Dear God! Spare me the charm!” Pauline exploded with a giggle. “What can I do for you, light of my life, joy of my existence, fire of my lions?”

“Don’t you mean loins?”

“What, and me a happily married woman? Just be grateful for the lions. What is it you’re after? Come on, spit it out. Some of us have got work to do.”

“Media House,” Lindsay said.

“Yes, Lindsay, Media House. It’s where I work. It’s where we all work. It’s the head office of the Amalgamated Media Workers’ Union. Also known as Mafia House,” Pauline said sweetly.

Lindsay pulled a mock scowl. “Careful. I’ve been patronized by experts, you know.”

“You saying black people can’t be experts?” Pauline counterteased. “Now what was it about Media House?”

Lindsay swung one foot back and forward, studying her Nike trainer as if seeing it for the first time. “I don’t suppose there are many people there this week, with you all being at conference.”