She rubbed hard at the dust on the glass panel in her door with her sleeve, got it satisfyingly dirty and gave me a broad wink. ‘That’s what I mean, lover.’

I blew the dust from the business card that carries my name and is held in place by a drawing pin-my version of the professional nameplate- and bent to pull at a promising-looking envelope. It was stuck under the door. I straightened up, trying not to feel stiff. ‘Have you got any plans, Paula? About moving?’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘They can pull it down around me. Don’t pin your dreams on the fat envelope, Cliff. I got one too. It offers you a chance to win a Fiji island, a stud racehorse and a speedboat. There’s a video of the horse and the boat in action.’

‘What d’you have to do?’

She snorted. ‘I didn’t bother to find out.’

‘Maybe I can record over the tape. Get an episode of Miami Vice.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it. Buggers’ve probably fixed it so you can’t.’

I shoved hard and got the door open. The offending envelope was just as Paula had said. To win one of the fabulous prizes you had to invest $10. I put the video cassette on my desk and threw the rest of the information away. There was no other mail, which didn’t surprise me. Things have changed in Darlinghurst: the white ants have made a couple of steps on the second flight of stairs hazardous unless you know them, which my clients naturally don’t, and Primo Tomasetti has moved his tattooing establishment several blocks away, so I no longer have a parking place. As a result, I’ve been doing most of my dwindling business from home, where I installed my only hired help-an answering machine.

But you never know; I once had a client who waited for forty-eight hours outside my office to see me. Another time someone left a telephone number and a cheque for a thousand bucks under the door. I wouldn’t feel right without an office. I brushed dust from the chair and settled down with the telephone and my notebook. Michael Hickie had a secretary who sounded as if she just loved to answer the phone, take down names and consult her boss’s appointments book. So much eagerness is suspicious; when she tried to squeeze me in for tomorrow I suggested later today and she buckled under the pressure. Four-thirty p.m. Maybe Mike and I could commiserate on how slow business was.