He was drunk on two Negronis, a bottle of Venetian Chardonnay - and the intoxicating presence of Gossamer Hawk. Dinner had gone well, so well that Gossamer had promised to show him round afterwards 'below stairs at the PC'. And so here he was, boozily following the Prosecutor into a meanly furnished reception area. A skinny woman in a lurid shell-suit sat behind the desk, boredom stitched across her forehead. A nasty glint shone in her small currant-black eyes when she saw Kelvin. 'Got a customer for us, have you, Prosecutor?' she asked Gossamer. 'A very special visitor, Gloria,' said Gossamer in her crystal tones. 'One of the gentlemen of the press, Mr Kelvin Priest of Nouveau magazine. I'd like you to give him your most particular attention.' Had Kelvin been less tipsy or less excited by his proximity to the gorgeous Gossamer he might at this point have smelt a rat. But he smelt only T'Adore, the Prosecutor's perfume, and he smiled benignly at her as she explained she had an urgent call to make upstairs and that she was leaving him in the very capable hands of Sergeant Gloria Just.
