‘Scott di Maggio, this is Cliff Hardy.’

Di Maggio was a heavy-set individual with hooded eyes, greying crinkly hair and a square jaw. Quick nod, brief handshake. All his movements were impatient, as if he was in a hurry to be out of this backwater and home in the US of A.

‘Have the shredded chicken and salty fish, Cliff,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s great.’

‘Okay.’ I gave the order to a hovering waiter and reached for one of the wine bottles, poured.

Charlie laughed. ‘That’s Cliff,’ he said to di Maggio. ‘Doesn’t care what he eats as long as it’s hot or what he drinks as long as it’s wet.’

‘And cheap,’ I said, looking at the American. ‘Who’s this on? The Hartley Agency?’

Di Maggio grinned and shook his head. ‘Dutch. This whole thing’s been Dutch, at least to this point. Right, guys?’

Not their first meeting then. Three heads nodded. I found it hard to imagine Charlie Underwood, Colin Hart and Darcy Travers agreeing about anything. It made me suspicious and inclined to dissent. ‘Just what is this thing?’ I pointed to their glasses and bowls. ‘You’re ahead of me.’

‘I like this guy,’ di Maggio said.

Underwood emptied his glass, poured more. ‘I told you, Scott. I said you would.’

‘Cut the bullshit, Charlie,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

At a nod from di Maggio, Underwood laid it out with occasional interventions from the others. They believed that Sentinel Insurance was in big trouble, probably insuring bad risks and incurring heavy payouts. The rash of investigations was a sign of panic, an attempt to stop the haemorrhaging.

‘I don’t mind telling you,’ di Maggio said, ‘Hartley’s owed a big pile of dough and it’s not just for claims investigation. They had us in as consultants on a couple of mergers they were considering. We looked into the bona fides of some of the principals, you know.’

Underwood and Travers nodded.