… Mister Em is tall, slim and tanned, with white hair which does not look dyed.
I would put him in his late forties to early fifties.
He is accompanied into the dining room by a young, scantily-clad female
with long, straight, blonde hair, who is also tanned.
This does not look like it is going to be my usual sort of financial meet.
Mister Em smiles at me reassuringly, indicates the chairs at the far end of the room
and shakes my hand as we take our seats.
He does not introduce his companion who, somewhat alarmingly, sits on his lap.
“You do not approve of Veronica?” he smiles.
“Why, of course I approve of Veronica,” I smile back, “whatever gave you that idea?”
The meeting progresses along vaguely familiar lines but every time we reach a sticking point,
Mister Em bounces Veronica up and down on his knee and she giggles.
I take this to be a distraction tactic, stick to my plan and seal the deal.
The meet ends abruptly.
I find my own way out of the building and run across the street.
All the time my soul is screaming, ‘Unholy… Unholy… Unholy…’
When I get home I phone to cancel the deal.
“Why did you do that?” asks Maddy.
“Never trust a man who treats a woman like a ventriloquists dummy.”