She would have to keep very much on the alert now. His other hand was pressing her shoulders round. She turned to him and he kissed her. She'd have to do something about his other hand. But not yet. Mini-skirts and tights, she thought dreamily. Action and reaction. The invitation to attack might be more compelling than ever before, but the defences were stronger. She grinned again, which produced a very invigorating kind of kiss. She could postpone her decision for a while yet. 'Christ, Marcus, where the hell have you been? You just said half-an-hour. It's been more like an hour and a half.' Marcus Felstead manoeuvred his bulk under the flap into the bar. 'Sorry, Ted, old son. Got held up a bit. Look, have a pint on me and push off now. I'll spell you when you've got a Saturday.' 'OK. And I'll have that pint. I've been so bloody busy that not a drop's passed my lips since you left.' 'It'll do you good. Give you an edge when they start fighting for the spare.' 'Some hope. There won't be much of that around now. See you, Marcus, Sid.' Sid Hope, the club treasurer, looked askance at Marcus.

'Nice of you to come back and give us a hand.'

'Come off it, Sid. I did get Ted to stand in.' 'Ted! Have you seen him at the till? He's got some peculiar decimal system of his own. Where have you been to anyway? On the prowl?'

'Nowhere important. Just out.'

A peal of uninhibited female laughter cut through the noise and fume of the bar. Marcus turned. Sitting in the furthermost corner surrounded by half a dozen men was the woman he expected to see after hearing that laugh. Dressed in a low-cut cocktail dress whose demure whiteness set off the gleaming black of her hair and the shining silver of her tights, she was looking up and smiling at the young man who bent over her, obviously telling a story. The treasurer followed Marcus's gaze and shook his head.

'Trouble,' he said laconically.