‘I’ll try’, I said. ‘The money you mentioned is too much-I’ll take seven fifty for a retainer, and work for a hundred and twenty-five a day, plus expenses.

‘Bonus for results’, he said.

‘Fair enough.’

We shook hands and I felt self-conscious as some departing guests looked at us curiously. Guthrie’s hand was hard and corrugated, dry to the touch. He stepped back; he seemed almost sprightly. ‘Just came here to try to cheer myself up’, he said. ‘Pat couldn’t face it. I didn’t think I’d do anything positive about Ray.’

‘Don’t get your hopes too high’, I said. ‘You can’t make people be good, you can’t make them be grateful, you can’t make them be anything. Not really.’

‘Why d’you say that? About being grateful?’

‘Most parents want their kids to be grateful.’

‘You got any kids, Hardy?’

I shook my head. ‘I’d probably want them to be grateful if I did. And they probably wouldn’t be.’ I grinned at him. ‘Too disappointing.’

‘I don’t want him grateful. I just want him… safe.’ He handed me a card; his colour was better already-action did him good. He checked his watch. ‘Ring me later today. Okay? We’ll get started.’

It was 2 a.m. I did a last check on the people and the silverware. Nothing seemed to be missing and when I put Mr and Mrs Olsson, who seemed to have shot for the drunkest couple title, in their cab I was through for the night.

Roberta was snoring gently in an armchair. One brown breast had fallen out of her dress and she had one silver shoe in her lap. I shook her arm gently.

‘Roberta. Party’s over.’

She opened one eye theatrically. ‘Wasn’t it awful?’ she groaned.

‘It was fine-great success.’

‘I’ll send you a cheque. Thanks, Cliff.’ She dropped the eyelid.