He flung himself on her, hands sliding across her breasts, mouth reaching for hers and as always, she responded, running her fingers through his hair, kissing him passionately.

And it was no good. It was just like all the other times. The strength, the emotion, drained out of him and he pushed himself up and looked down at her, a dazed expression in his eyes. When he turned to the mirror, an old man stared out at him.

‘Can I get dressed now?’ she said calmly.

He walked to the door like a dead man, opened it and turned, moistening dry lips. ‘I’m sorry, Bella. I don’t know what got into me.’

‘That’s all right, Harry.’

She stood looking at him, magnificent, the torn slip hanging around her waist, but there was only pity in her eyes and that was not what he wanted. He closed the door, went to his desk and pressed the buzzer. There was still a power he could command, a certain kind of power. That was better than nothing.

After a while, the door opened and Craig came in, his lips bruised and swelling. ‘Yes, Mr Faulkner?’

‘Has Miller left?’

‘About five minutes ago. It looked to me as if he was taking your sister-in-law home.’

‘Just her type.’ Faulkner ground his cigarette viciously into the ashtray. ‘It’s time he was cut down to size, Craig – and I mean cut. Are you with me?’

‘Perfectly,’ Craig said, his face wooden. ‘I’ll see to it, Mr Faulkner.’

‘I wouldn’t waste any time if I were you. He mightn’t be at the schoolhouse long.’

‘Fifteen minutes is all it takes, Mr Faulkner.’

Craig withdrew and Faulkner went to the bar and poured himself a large tonic water. He drank it slowly, savouring the freshness, and after a while the bedroom door opened and Bella appeared.

She looked quite beautiful, her face freshly made up, a three-quarter length dress of black lace moulding her magnificent body.

‘Ready, Harry?’ she said brightly.

He took both her hands and shook his head. ‘My God, but I’m proud of you, Bella. You’re the most beautiful damned thing in there tonight.’

She kissed his cheek affectionately and took his arm. When they opened the door to return to the party, they were smiling.

16

The flat overlooked the school yard and when Nick drew the curtain and peered into the night, rain hammered relentlessly into the asphalt and fog crowded the spiked railings, yellow in the glow of the street lamps.

‘How many kids have you got?’ he called.

Jean Fleming answered from the bedroom. ‘One hundred and fifty-three. I could double it with no trouble, but you can’t get the staff these days.’

As he turned, he caught a glimpse of her through the half open door beside the bed, her supple body outlined boldly under the nylon slip as she unfastened her stockings.