McCracken couldn’t say anything else, and he didn’t really need to. His disbelieving expression said it all.

‘Your concern is noted.’ The Chairman sat back in his swivel-chair, fingers steepled. ‘And I’ve absolutely no doubt that should any of our … lads come to you with any kind of complaint, much less a scheme of any sort, you’ll report it to me forthwith.’

‘Yeah.’ McCracken gave a small shrug. ‘Sure.’

‘I’m so glad.’ Pentecost smiled, and because it was something he did rarely and was so unpractised at, it looked more than a little deranged. ‘Your loyalty to the company is most welcome … even if it’s only to be expected.’

Chapter 7

Raimunda was the ultimate platinum blonde.

Her glorious mane hung to the small of her back, her 38-24-38 figure accentuated by her body-hugging, electro-pink minidress, while her matching pink six-inch platform-heel sandals, which elevated her five-foot-ten inches to an intimidating six-foot-two, added what seemed like miles of luscious, shapely leg. As always, her sultry looks were daubed in makeup: blusher on the cheeks, thick kohl rimming her sapphire eyes, cherry gloss on the lips.

Clarissa had something even more exotic about her.

Her locks were shiny and tar-black. She was olive-skinned, her enchanting golden eyes almond-shaped, her cheekbones delicate, her mouth small but sensual, though ripened tonight with purple lip-glow. She was a similar shape to Raimunda: tall, almost unfeasibly so for a woman, but equally curvaceous. An archetypal Amazon warrior, her outfit comprised a green zip-sided miniskirt, a green camisole top and strappy shoes with six-inch clear heels.

The pair of them walked with an elegant sway even as they tiptoed through the grotty yard at the back of the terraced inner-Manchester residence. They kept it sexy – that was their stock-in-trade – but it was dark, so they also had to be wary of tripping over stacks of bricks, or sacks crammed with broken masonry.

‘I’ll see you next Monday,’ Dean Chesham said from the open back door behind them. He was a muscular young black guy, film-star handsome, clad only in a pair of red silk undershorts. Despite the evening chill, his strong, stocky physique was slick with sweat.

They replied with lazy waves as they vanished through the back gate. Grinning to himself, Dean went back into the house.