I kept my face neutral while madam toyed with the suspicion that I had just accused her of being a common piece. 'I'm Didius Falco. Sabina Pollia, presumably?' I offered my paw for a handshake in a deliberately unconventional way. She looked unhappy, but accepted it. She had small hands with many jewelled finger-rings; short fingers with pale oval fingernails like a girl's.

Sabina Pollia made up her mind, and dismissed the two boys in the Adriatic uniforms. A lady ought to have sent for a chaperone; apparently she forgot. She threw herself onto a couch, rather untidily; the graceful Venus had the advantage of her now.

'Tell me about yourself, Falco!' A risk of my trade: she intended to enjoy herself, interrogating me. 'You're a private informer- how long have you been in that business?'

'Five years. Since I was invalided out of the legions.'

'Nothing serious?'

I gave her a dry, slow smile. 'Nothing that prevents me doing what I want to do!'

Our eyes met, lingeringly. Getting this beauty to discuss my commission was going to be hard work.

She was one of those classic kittens with a straight nose down the centre of a balanced face, clear skin, and extremely regular teeth -a perfect profile, though slightly lacking in expression since the owners of very beautiful faces never need to express character to get what they want; besides, too much expression might crease the paint they never need but always use. She was slight, and played on it- bold snake-headed bracelets to emphasise the delicacy of her arms, and a little, girlishly wounded pout. It was designed to melt a man. Never one to quibble when a woman makes an effort, I melted obediently.

'I hear you work for the Palace, Falco- though my servant tells me you are not allowed to say anything about that...'

'Correct.'

'Being a private informer must be fascinating?' She was evidently hoping for some scandalous revelations about past clients.