“What’s for years and years?”

“Well that’s how long I’ve know Zelnick. Damien. Poor man.”

“Oh, right, sorry I asked.”

“Poor, poor man.”

It seemed rude to interrupt him any further, he stared straight ahead in silence as the golf cart moved across the fairway.

“I’m sorry,” I said eventually. “Were you two close?”

“Not particularly. It just reminds one of one’s own mortality.”

He took another drag on his cigar, exhaled and then began to pick up pace, telling me about the dead man and how they were both going into business together, gradually gathering momentum until he seemed to have regained his earlier and sunnier disposition.

“You see he had a lot of money at one time but then he lost a great deal. There was a terrible business with his accountant.”

“Smith?”

“No,” said Travers. “Never seen him before in my life. We were supposed to be golfing with another friend of ours but he couldn’t make it. Smith was just there to make up the numbers. Pity really, he wasn’t the friendliest type.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Damien’s accountant was using his business to launder money for Big Terry.”

“Smith?”

“No, not that fool. He seemed to take against us the moment Damien joined us. I’m talking about Damien’s original accountant. He was using Damien’s business to launder money for Big Terry.”

“The gangster?”

“That’s the one. Bloody nasty piece of work. You always expect dwarfs to be friendly don’t you, like on telly, but Big Terry…” he trailed off. “Anyway Damien didn’t know anything about it. When he did find out his accountant was carted off but had a heart attack and died before it went to trial. Damage was already done.”

“But you two were rivals?” I said.

“Quite right, yes. Until then. Thing is he needed some capital after what had happened so we started to set up a deal negotiating to work together to get this sculpture.”