“Sculpture?”

“Oh yes. Wildly expensive, wonderfully beautiful. It would have been the start of a fantastic partnership. And of course a boatload of money. But it was not to be.”

“Not for him at least, but presumably you still stand to make a killing from the deal? That is – er – I mean…”

“Absolutely. That goes without saying. An absolute schooner of it. No more or less than if he were still alive. And think of the long term…”

“So did anyone else know about his involvement apart from you?”

“No. No-one. He insisted upon complete secrecy. Pride I suppose.”

Travers turned away slightly and drew the cigar out of his mouth, looking at the end he continued, “Gone out. Blast it. Here…”

He reached into his pocket and took out a lighter.

“You couldn’t light it for me could you? Damned arthritis, I can hold a golf club but can’t light a bloody cigar. My wife says it’s for the best.”

“Yeah, of course,” I took the lighter with my left hand, doing my best to keep the cart steady with my right.

“Hey! Watch

The voices came back first. People shouting, the sound of running and then Travers voice trampling up into my consciousness. My eyes snapped open.

“…the bloody golf cart NOW!” he screamed.

The side wall of the clubhouse was metres in front of us. I slammed on the brakes and came to a stop in the same way a cloud would if it had slowly hit a pillow.

“Don’t panic,” I said.

“Are you allowed to drive?” he retorted.

“Not exactly, no.”

He nodded then smiled and let out another Bwaaaaaaaaaaaah!

“You know,” he added. “It was worth risking life and limb to watch you run over that fool Smith.”

“What?” I said. “What do you mean run over?”

“Just that, you caught him good and proper, knocked him into the rough.”