‘He’s probably creeping out at night every time it rains and adding to the score personally, just to keep the story going.’ Faulkner chuckled and emptied his glass.

Meadows shook his head. ‘It gives me the shakes, I can tell you. I know one thing … you won’t find many women on the streets tonight.’

Behind them the door swung open unexpectedly and a young woman came in. She was perhaps nineteen or twenty and well made with the sort of arrogant boldness about the features that many men like, but which soon turns to coarseness. She wore a black plastic mac, a red mini-skirt and knee-length leather boots. She looked them over coolly, unbuttoning her coat with one hand, then sauntered to the other end of the bar and hoisted herself on to a stool. When she crossed her legs, her skirt slid all the way up to her stocking tops. She took a cheap compact from her bag and started to repair the rain damage on her face.

‘There’s someone who doesn’t give a damn for a start,’ Faulkner observed.

Morgan grinned. ‘Perhaps she doesn’t read the papers. I wonder what the Rainlover would do to her?’

‘I know what I’d like to do to her.’

Meadows shook his head. ‘Her kind of custom I can do without.’

Faulkner was immediately interested. ‘Is she on the game then?’

Meadows shrugged. ‘What do you think?’

‘What the hell, Harry, she needs bread like the rest of us. Live and let live.’ Faulkner pushed his glass across. ‘Give her a drink on me and I’ll have a refill while you’re at it.’

‘As you say, Mr Faulkner.’

He walked to the other end of the bar and spoke to the young woman, who turned, glanced briefly at Faulkner, then nodded. Meadows poured her a large gin and tonic.

Faulkner watched her closely and Morgan tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come on now, Bruno. Don’t start getting involved. We’re late enough as it is.’

‘You worry too much.’

The girl raised her glass and he toasted her back. She made an appealing, rather sexy picture sitting there on the high stool in her mod outfit and he laughed suddenly.

‘What’s so funny?’ Morgan demanded.

‘I was just thinking what a sensation there would be if we took her with us.’

‘To Joanna’s party? Sensation isn’t the word.’

Faulkner grinned. ‘I can see the look on Aunt Mary’s weatherbeaten old face now – the mouth tightening like a dried prune. A delightful thought.’

‘Forget it, Bruno,’ Morgan said sharply. ‘Even you couldn’t get away with that.’

Faulkner glanced at him, the lazy smile disappearing at once. ‘Oh, couldn’t I?’

Morgan grabbed at his sleeve, but Faulkner pulled away sharply and moved along the bar to the girl. He didn’t waste any time in preliminaries.

‘All on your own then?’