"I have a suspicion," Flint says. He stands up reasonably well to assessment, and a anything that is less than convincing has a way of blurring in the smoky atmosphere given the added impetus of his raised eyebrows and certain knowing quality in the expression he's adopted. "That discussing the details here will take us out past your curtain."

On cue, there is a rasp of rollers as the heavy curtain behind them rushes to part. A shriek of a horn, the rushing of a drum to catch up, and the patter of soft soled feet as four dancers come hurrying out of the wings to catch their cue.

The woman sighs. With a flick of the hand, she makes to close the ledger.