stripped off, James caught himself in the mirror and wasn’t impressed. His clothes were ragged, the man who’d clipped his hair at the commune was a butcher and something about the Survivors’ lifestyle was playing havoc with his skin. James had broken out in spots, especially on the back of his neck where he currently sported three giant whiteheads.
He was surprised by a knock at the door as he sat on a bare metal bedframe pulling on a clean sock.
‘Hiya,’ Elliot said brightly as he stepped in. ‘What’s occurring?’
James shrugged, as he wriggled his foot into his trainer. ‘I can’t go round stinking the joint up.’
‘I like that,’ Elliot said, wagging his finger. ‘Initiative.’
But James could tell that Elliot didn’t like it. It wasn’t that he objected to James taking a shower, he just didn’t like any Survivor deviating from his plans. Elliot took every tiny breach of the timetable as a threat to his authority.
‘But next time, run it by me first, OK?’ he added.
‘What are you doing here?’ James asked.
‘I’m afraid we have a situation,’ Elliot said.
‘What situation?’
‘I got a call from a Mr Wildman, Emily’s son. I tried to arrange her new will through a friendly solicitor, but there was confusion over some property Emily owns and the idiot went and contacted her family solicitor, who turns out to be a friend of Emily’s son. So the son finds out and – cut to the chase – half an hour ago I get a call from Emily. She’s all upset. Her son is here and he’s refusing to leave until he’s talked to me.’
‘Is he angry?’ James asked, secretly delighted that the Survivors might not get their hands on the old girl’s money.
‘I don’t suppose finding out that his mother has left two million bucks to charity will have him dancing a jig,’ Elliot said. ‘I’m going to see if I can talk him around, but I wanted you alongside me. Emily seems terrifically fond of you and people tend to behave more reasonably in front of a larger audience.’
James grinned as he pulled his clean shirt over his head and began rolling a deodorant stick under his pits. ‘Anything I can do to help, boss.’
‘Those are truly words of an angel,’ Elliot said, giving James a pat on the head that made him feel like a dog.
Emily’s room was fifty metres down a corridor. They found her sitting out on the patio with her son. There was a jug of milk and vodka and a couple of half eaten fish-and-chip lunches on the table between them.
‘Ronnie Wildman,’ the son said, introducing himself as he shook Elliot’s hand. He was a short fellow, but well built, with half a head of hair.
James shook his hand too. ‘Nice to meet you.’
Ronnie nodded. ‘My mother’s taken a shine to you, young fella.’
‘So,’ Elliot said, as he and James took up chairs around the table, ‘I understand you wanted to speak with me.’
‘Oh, I did,’ Ronnie said ominously, his eyes lighting up as he slid a folded document out of a leather organiser. ‘This is a copy of my mother’s new will. Miraculously, she seems to have revised the terms so that instead of leaving everything to me, ninety per cent of her money goes to something called the Survivors Development Foundation.’
Emily interrupted, ‘It’s my money, son. You’ve already squandered your share. I sold off the house to cover your last disastrous scheme.’
Ronnie snatched an angry look at his mother. ‘Well, I don’t think that’s what Dad would have wanted. But if you want to donate a few bucks to charity, let’s talk about Oxfam or the Red Cross, not these Survivor lunatics.’
Elliot smiled and spoke smoothly. ‘Mr Wildman, the Survivors’ religious activities and our fundraising efforts for the world’s poor are totally separate operations. We work in conjunction with all of the other major development agencies around the world. Last year we opened up more than four hundred hospital beds in some of—’
James jolted with fright as Ronnie cut Elliot off by smashing his fist against the table. ‘Cut the bullshit, you smooth-talking son of a—’
‘Ronnie,’ Emily snapped. ‘I told you to keep the leash on that temper of yours. Elliot, would you like something to drink?’
Elliot nodded. ‘A strong black coffee would be nice.’
Emily smiled at James. ‘Would you be a dear? Take whatever you want for yourself, there’s Coke in the fridge.’
James was relieved to step out from the tense atmosphere around the table. He filled the