Tip Off by John Francome

he came to us because you know Toby well enough to get close to him without having any particular loyalty towards him.’
    â€˜How the hell would he know whether or not I felt any loyalty? I think he just wanted to protect Toby from any heavy-handed stuff from the in-house security people. He’s his godfather after all. I expect he thought we’d be more gentle.’
    â€˜Not necessarily,’ Matt said with a wolfish grin.
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    The head office of Salmon Leisure Plc was in a handsome old building in Hanover Square. Inside, it was decorated with low-key paintings and furniture of a quality that suggested it had been chosen to contrast deliberately with the vulgar way it had been gained.
    A pretty dark girl sat behind the long sweep of polished elm that faced the main entrance. With East End chirpiness, she pointed us to the lift which went straight up to the chief executive’s office on the fourth floor. There we were directed into an ante-room hung with large equestrian canvases, where another girl, even more striking than her colleague on the ground floor, looked up. After a momentary frown, she broke into a glowing smile that instantly encompassed both of us.
    For once, I heard a faint stutter in Matt’s voice as he introduced us. ‘Matthew James and Simon Jeffries,’ he murmured, ‘on behalf of the Jockey Club, to see Mr Chapman.’
    The girl’s black hair was cut in a short bob, setting off high cheekbones and slightly angled, electrifying blue eyes which lingered on Matt for a moment before she glanced down at the desk diary in front of her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Mr Chapman’s expecting you. He’ll be free in a few minutes.’ She stood up. She was wearing a short black skirt that rode up a little over the dark nylon of her tights and I saw a twitch of approval on Matt’s face at the sight of her well-filled blouse. ‘Coffee?’ she asked.
    â€˜Er . . . yes, please,’ Matt muttered and I nodded.
    â€˜Take a seat,’ she said, waving towards a cluster of squashy sofas around a low table. She disappeared through a small door behind her desk. We sat down. I looked at Matt.
    â€˜Which do you fancy most, the pictures or the staff?’ I asked, sensing that he was unusually uptight.
    â€˜No contest,’ he answered curtly and tried to relax back on to the sofa. It gave more than he expected, until he found himself almost supine. He heaved himself back and sat on the front edge, making a face; he hated to look foolish.
    The girl came back in carrying a cafetière and two cups on a tray. A pleasing aroma of strong fresh coffee wafted through the air as she bent over to place it on the table.
    â€˜Thanks,’ Matt said. ‘Where would you like to have dinner?’ he added hurriedly.
    I was astonished; I’d never seen him move so fast. The girl straightened her back and considered the question.
    â€˜Tonight?’ she asked, swinging her bobbed hair to one side.
    â€˜Of course,’ Matt said clearly, having evicted the frog from his throat.
    â€˜Harry’s Bar.’
    Before Matt could reply, a deep voice resounded from an intercom on the desk. ‘Sara. I’m free now.’
    â€˜I’ll bring your coffee through,’ she said with a mischievous smile.
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    Harry Chapman’s office was so big, it could have been a small ballroom. Perhaps once it had been.
    The chief executive of Salmon Leisure stood up behind his desk, with his back to a tall window that overlooked the bustling, rain-drenched square below.
    But no outside sounds penetrated the room, and the deep quiet matched the subdued grey-green and heather colours of the decor.
    As Harry came round the desk, his features became clearer. He was a tall man, not dissimilar in build to Lord Tintern. Facially, he could scarcely have been more different. His rubbery flesh was the pale pink of a peeled prawn, his nose bulbous and cheeks chubby.