"He is," she replied, soft and low. "You're a few minutes early, but he'll see you. Follow me, please." She turned on her heel and led me along a passageway. The roof of the atrium was on my right; on the other side was another panelled wall. It was double-skinned, with a Venetian blind between the panels, but the slats were open and I could see through into a long room that looked eastwards, towards Edinburgh and the castle. If I'd looked, I could have seen my apartment from there. I guessed that was where Torrent held his celebrity parties.

At the end of the passage there was a black glass wall, which

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stretched the full width of the suite. A door was cut into it, but you wouldn't have seen it, but for its round gun-metal handle. Natalie Morgan opened it and moved aside, for me to step into the sanctum. As I passed her, I caught a strong fragrance that I recognised from Hollywood. That place floats on Giorgio of Beverley Hills.

I stepped into the office, and looked around. For a while, I thought that it was empty. The door opened more or less into the middle of the room; on my right there was an oval meeting table, and beyond that a wall which looked as if it could have been made of ebony, but also of the blackest glass. Another door was set in it. To my left there was a big kidney-shaped desk with a plasmatronic computer screen and three telephones. Two leather armchairs faced it, and behind it there was a third, which turned slowly towards me as I looked at it.

James Torrent pushed himself to his feet and moved round the desk to greet me, a great podgy hand outstretched. He wore what might have been described as a smile on someone else, but which looked on him like something halfway between a leer and a grimace.

The man looked to be in his early fifties, and he was massive. He was no taller than me, but tremendously solid; not so much fat, but more like a small mountain on legs. He had sleek black hair, which swept back from a receding forehead. His facial features were as gross as the rest of him; thick rubbery lips, piggy eyes and ears and a great bulbous nose. His complexion was so swarthy that I knew at once that my earlier guess had been right.

"Oz," he said, in a gravelly voice, devoid of accent. "So glad to meet you."

"Likewise," I lied, with the same mock politeness. "Spanish?" I asked.

"My father was; he left during the Civil War. I was born and educated here. How did you guess?"

"From the way your staff pronounced your name; I've encountered it before."

"You've travelled in Spain?"

"I lived there for a while."

"More than me, then; I won't go back there. Franco shot my grandfather." He pointed me at one of the two visitor chairs. "Sit down," he said, returning to his swivel chair. "You'll have coffee?"

"No, thanks. I've had my dose for today."

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"Yes, we tend to drink too much of it, I always think. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? I have heard of you, of course; quite the coming man in the film industry, so they say."

"It's more than I'd say, in that case. I'm getting along though. But that's not the only string to my bow."

Torrent raised his heavy black eyebrows. "No?"

"No. I have a couple of business interests; non-executive directorships. I'm on the board of the Gantry Group; you'll have heard of us, I'm sure." I looked him in the eyes as I said it. Not a single lash batted, never mind an eyelid; he didn't give as much as a twitch.

"Of course," he rumbled. "You and Susie have a personal connection, don't you?"

"Yes. She's my fiancee." The word came out without my even thinking about it. Christ, Blackstone, I said to myself. What's got into you?

"You're in for an interesting life, then. She's quite a lady; a businesswoman after my own heart, as a matter of fact."

"I'm glad to hear you approve. But that has nothing to do with my visit. No, it's my other directorship that brings me here. I know you've heard of the unfortunate death of David Capperauld." This time, James Torrent did blink. "Well, as it happens, Alison Goodchild's an old friend of mine. She's asked me to join her board, to help her through, and I've agreed."

"Mmm." The murmur sounded like a drill cutting into rock. "There's a turn-up for the books." He paused. "But you did say non-executive, earlier."

"I did, but I take my responsibilities seriously. I have some time on my hands, so I thought I should visit all of our major clients, to assure them personally that David's loss isn't going to cause a vacuum in the management of the business, and that its quality of service will continue as before."

Torrent gave me that half-leer again. "I'm delighted to hear it, Oz. I value Alison's advice greatly."

"I'm glad to hear that too. I confess to having had a doubt about that, given the emphasis you placed on the importance of securing Ewan Capperauld to perform your opening ceremony. She gave me the impression that it was a condition of continued employment, in fact."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sorry if she took me so literally.

It's my style, I'm afraid. I like to keep my people on their toes.

This is a hard business I'm in, son, and I've been growing it for a long time. I didn't get here by being everyone's favourite uncle.

"I have the greatest respect for Alison, and admiration for her as a professional. Of course, it would be good to have someone as eminent as Ewan Capperauld visit this building, and even more to have him open it, but there are others. I'm sure the First Minister would be pleased to do the job.

"If Alison thought I was being threatening when I mentioned Capperauld's name, then please give her my apologies and tell her not to give it another thought." He shot me a quick, perceptive glance.

"Of course, you're making a film with him, aren't you?"

I nodded. "Yes, and I'll ask him, first chance I get. I've never met him, you understand, but most actors are ego maniacs The chance to have his name on a plaque on an important building might be too much for him to turn down."

"Let's hope so. Tell him he can name his own fee ... within reason, of course. Or if he'd prefer it, I'll make a substantial donation to a charity of his choice, in recognition of the event."

"Okay, I'll put that to him." Torrent's affability had thrown me; I had gone in there partly to check Alison's story, and partly to do battle. I had expected him either to deny everything, or to give me a hard time. The last thing I had anticipated was that he would be reasonable. I began to harbour my first doubt about Ms Goodchild; maybe she wasn't good at all.

Still, having Torrent in this sort of mood was an opportunity too good to miss. I decided to push my luck just a little further. "One of the areas Alison's asked me to look at is the company's cash flow This has all happened very quickly, so I haven't had a chance to look at the debtor lists. Can you recall if you're holding any outstanding invoices?"

That grin again; cheesy this time. "I'm sure we are," he chortled.

"We're bloody slow payers. I'm good at cash management too, Oz." He picked up one of his telephones and pushed a button. "Nat," he said into the phone. "Dig out all the pending Goodchild Capperauld invoices, total them up and make payment in full today, through the system, then send out the usual notification."

He hung up and turned back to me. "The money, whatever it is, should be in your bank by close of play this afternoon. We pay all our regular suppliers by electronic transfer these days. This is a cash less business. I hired a security consultant a few years back, and that was his first recommendation. Good chap; he's an ex-policeman. He was pretty senior, before he decided to retire."

"His name isn't Ross, is it?"

The great head nodded. "Yes, it is. Do you know him?"

"He's looking after security for the movie."

"You'll be fine, then. He's a very sound man, is Richard."

Fucking tight-lipped as well, I thought. Ricky had known I was going to see Torrent, and he'd said nothing about his connection with him.

"That's reassuring," I said. "I knew him as a copper; he was a real collar and front then, I can tell you."

He looked puzzled at my slang for a moment, then worked it out. I stood, and he followed suit. "I mustn't keep you any longer," I told him. "I'm grateful to you for putting me right on Capperauld, and for your payment. Alison will be pleased on both scores."

"That's good." I glanced at him; he seemed genuine. "Oh yes," he continued, "I should have mentioned this earlier. Please give the young lady my deepest condolences. David's death must be a terrible blow to her, both in personal and business terms. I had very little to do with him, but I found him a very pleasant young man when we did meet.. ." He gave a small sad laugh. '.. . Even if he didn't get on with his famous cousin." He pushed a button on his phone.

"I'm a great believer in family values, Oz," he rumbled as he walked me to the door. "I've never married myself, but I treat my late sister's daughter as my own. I couldn't do without her, in fact." At that moment, the door opened and Natalie Morgan appeared. "Could I, my dear?"

"Could you what, Uncle James?"

"Do without you."