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Marlowe got to his feet, a terrible vital force rushing through him. There was a great roaring in his ears and as he stumbled forward, her arms reached out and pulled him down. Her mouth fastened hungrily on his and she moaned his name once. As his hands moved over her she gave a cry of ecstasy and her fingers clawed at him like a tigress as the fury swelled to envelop the both of them.

The room was almost in darkness and the few remaining embers glowed fitfully in the grate. She stirred and moved her head against his shoulder. 'We'll have to be going,' he told her. 'It's past eight. That dinner you ordered will be spoilt.'

She turned her softness into him and slipped an arm round his neck. 'There's no rush,' she said. 'The garage haven't phoned about the car yet.'

Marlowe reached for a cigarette and lit it from the silver table lighter that went with the box. As he blew smoke out in a long streamer to the dark ceiling she picked at his shirt with her fingers and said, 'Are you really going to go on defying my uncle?'

'I don't see why not,' he said.

'But you don't stand a chance,' she told him. She slipped an arm around his neck and kissed him. 'I don't want you to get hurt.'

He grinned, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. She struggled up beside him and said, 'What's so funny?'

'That last remark of yours,' he told her. 'You see, I think it's your uncle who's going to end up getting hurt.' He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch and said, 'Round about now Mac must be just leaving for London.'

She switched on a standard lamp and there was incredulity on her face. 'But why is he going to London?'

Marlowe shrugged. 'To sell a truckload of produce at the greatest market in the world, Covent Garden. Even your uncle doesn't cut much ice there.'

For a moment she looked dubious and then she smiled and hugged him. 'Oh, I think it's a wonderful idea. I hope it works for you.' She stood up and stretched and looked at herself in the mirror. She gave a little shriek. 'My goodness, what a sight I look. I must go and change.' She smiled and rumpled his hair. 'Straighten your tie like a good boy and have another drink while I'm getting ready.' As she walked to the door she added, 'I'll phone the garage and see what the delay is.'

Marlowe helped himself to another Martini and listened to the muffled sound of her voice as she used the telephone in the hall. A moment later she opened the door and said, 'They'll deliver it within fifteen minutes. I shan't be long.' She closed the door again and Marlowe picked up a magazine and idly browsed through it.

After a moment or two he tossed it to one side and considered the events of the evening. He didn't try to pretend to himself that he was in love with Jenny O'Connor. There was no need. It was a peculiar type of relationship he had experienced only once before in his life: a tremendous chemistry which gave rise to a physical craving that had to be satisfied.

He checked his watch again. It was almost nine o'clock. By now Mac should be fairly started. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling and tried to calculate the time the Jamaican would arrive in London. Probably about three in the morning. They should see him back by lunchtime easily. One thing was certain. The plan had to succeed. If it didn't it would put Magellan out of business. Of that there was no doubt.

The door clicked open and she entered the room. She was wearing a black, sleeveless knitted dress that was completely form fitting. She smiled and held out a fur coat and he draped it across her shoulders. 'I'm beginning to wonder if I can afford you,' he told her.

She smiled and led the way towards the front door. 'Don't worry about that. I've got plenty of money.'

For a moment some essential core of male pride caused him to feel resentful and then he smiled. After all, why not? It was O'Connor's money. A car horn sounded outside and when she opened the door they found a white-overalled mechanic standing beside the Jaguar. 'You