He wasn’t in the mood for more confrontation, whether with clients, opposing solicitors or barristers’ clerks chasing payment of inflated fees, and at first he paid no attention, hoping the call would go away. No chance. Suzanne had seen him slink in and, irked by his failure to check on calls received in his absence, would let him have no hiding place. Finally he surrendered. ‘Who is it?’ ‘Mr Rogan,’ the girl said and put Finbar through before Harry could tell her to take a message. ‘Harry, at last! This is the third time I’ve called since midday. The lovely Suzanne said you’d gone to some lecture, but this is no time for swotting. Your clients need help.’ ‘What can I do for you?’ asked Harry, not finding it difficult to restrain his enthusiasm. ‘Listen, that bloody Sladdin, you know what he’s done? He’s got a couple of fellers in a car down the road keeping an eye on me. When I went out to the newsagent to see what the Daily Post had to say about the bomb, they followed me down the road.
