It was September, two weeks after the media blitz on the anniversary of the attack on the twin towers and the story was still running, although there was a weird segue to the threat posed by Iraq to the ‘freedom loving people’ of the world. The day was cloudy and dull but the light in the room seemed to lift as she said New Caledonia. I had visions of palm trees and blue lagoons and snorkelling under a tropic sky. I looked at my hands, a bit pale after winter, scarred from fights and accidents, and I shivered although it wasn’t cold. I’m a summer type, greedy for the sun, and now maybe I wouldn’t have to wait for it.

‘New Caledonia,’ I said, just to be saying it.

‘You know where it is?’

‘Vaguely,’ I said. ‘You turn right at Townsville.’

‘Rockhampton actually, but near enough.’

The correction reined me in a little. If I didn’t really know where the place was, how likely was it that I’d be any use there? ‘I don’t speak French.’

She laughed, showing those strong white clackers and the thought crossed my mind that being shut away from her must be bloody hard for Master. ‘Neither does Stewart or any of his mates. There’s a whole gang of them over there and one of them, or a couple, must’ve set Stewart up.’

‘Why?’

She shrugged. ‘Thieves fall out.’

‘You’re frank about him.’

‘Stewart’s a con artist, a fraud merchant, a thief, but he’s not violent and he doesn’t deal in drugs. He… he mostly takes advantage of people who’re trying to take advantage of him.’

‘What was he doing in New Caledonia?’

‘Property deal. Legitimate.’

‘It could’ve gone wrong. He could’ve been sucked into something he couldn’t control. It happens.’

‘Not to Stewart. Too smart.’