She came back with her own glass full and nice big one for me. The rum had been introduced to some tonic but not too closely. On top of my lunch it made the beginnings of a formidably alcoholic afternoon. I took a pull and she knocked back a good slug. I took out tobacco and cocked my head inquiringly. She pushed an ashtray in the shape of a temple at me — a touch of Singapore.

‘One vice I don’t have,’ she giggled. ‘I knew a writer once who rolled his own. He lived in Balmain. You live in Balmain?’

‘No, Glebe.’

She rolled her glass between her palms. I was sweating despite the air conditioning and started to ease out of my jacket.

‘You don’t mind?’

‘Hell no, it’s hot, take if off, take off your pants.’

I grinned. ‘Business,’ I said firmly, ‘business.’

She lay back in her chair. ‘You’re going to be dull,’ she said petulantly. ‘You didn’t look dull. Everyone’s dull except me.’ She downed half of her drink to prove it. I didn’t want her to turn nasty so I put some away too.

‘We haven’t talked at all yet,’ I said. ‘Back to the judge…’

‘No, not yet — bottoms up. Next drink we’ll really talk. C’mon drink up.’

She tipped her head back and drank the stuff like lemonade. I finished mine in two swallows and she picked up the glasses and ambled off again. I tried to remember why I was there as the liquor rose in my blood and started to fuddle me. I got up — keep moving, that’s the rule, sit and you’re gone — and slid open the doors dividing the drinking room from the next.