Portia spun slowly in front of the mirror watching the fringe bottom of her dress dance and sway with the motion. Rodney poured a snifter of brandy and observed her distractedly.

"You think it's too short, Rodney?"

"Everything looks good on you, love."

"Something wrong, you sound sad?"

"Just business"

"Is there trouble?"

The look answered without words.

"You know he does what he thinks best for the business, Rodney. You need to stand up to him a little more, dear brother. Let him know you have a brain and ideas too."

"Bit of pot and kettle there wouldn't you say?"

"The difference, Rodney, is I don't care about father's approval. I love him and I know he loves me - both of us - but my life is my life."

"Except when you need rescuing."

Portia lowered her face and smiled, stepping close and planting a soft peck on his cheek. "That's what big brothers do."

"Yes . . . all too often." He drained the snifter and set it on the drinks table. "So, what mischief are you planning today in your new dress?"

"Lunch with David at the Mirage."

"David?"

"David Ashby, he works at Trevor Auctions.

"Father's client has some dealings with them."

"One of our clients you should be saying, brother - not father's, you're part of the firm you know."

"Difficult to imagine some days. I think it's one of our clients that prompted his recent concern."

"With Trevor Art and Auction?"

"Don't be getting into your snoopy mode, dear sister."

Portia gave him a sidelong glance and an impish smile. "Cheer up, brother, maybe I can liven up your day before it's over."

"God forbid."

The Mirage dining room was in a small hotel and a popular getaway for intimate business meetings and the fact they served discrete drinks. A divider separating the small marble table from the more lush banquettes allowed Portia and David to enjoy their dish of starters in privacy.

"You chose this place so you could drink, didn't you? Figured I would say no to one of your regular gin mills."

"I don't see anything wrong with a cocktail at lunch." Portia moved her tiny handbag from the table and hung it over the chair back. "You can have noodle juice if that satisfies."

"You are a real bearcat, Dee. But you know what? I think it's all a big front. I think you try this larger than life, living on the edge to hide the loving, tender little heart that beats inside–"

"Okay, David. Enough of the phonus balonus. Are you having a drink with me or not?"

"No, I'm afraid. I have to work still and Rolly has a nose like a bloodhound. I'll settle for tea."

Menus arrived, orders were taken and the small talk continued while they waited.

"My brother said he and father have a client connected with one of the Trevor companies when I mentioned we were having lunch. Something about being concerned." Portia dipped an elegant finger into the starter dish.

"Really? Huh, not with us that I know of, did he say who - and why concerned?"

"Uh, uh - try one of these." She popped a sauce covered something into his mouth and waited."

David nodded. "Yes. Nice. I wonder who the client is."

"I forgot to ask, how did your deadline meeting go?"

"Not well in my opinion - and I stood alone."

"My hero." She slid a morsel into her mouth.

Meals arrived, beverages refilled and small talk continued. David recognized the oblique approach that Portia used when wheedling information and he sensed it had something to do with her previous comment. Under the vacant flapper facade hid the mind of a very bright, if somewhat audacious woman.

He mentioned the deal Rolly was foisting on the company and listened to see if the bait got a nibble.

"You really think it's money from gangsters, David?"

"I know it is! Dennis Creighton is Karl Hagen's right-hand man. You'd know that too if you read more than the fashion page, Dee."

"Testy, David." She ate another starter. "I've heard father mention that name recently in passing.

"Really, in what context?"

"I have no idea, they don't impart company secrets to me. You don't suppose his concern has something to do with what you're talking about do you?"

"I imagine that would depend on who his client is at Trevor. What was he concerned about?" David recognized her subtle probe.

"Oh, they don't tell me, as I said."

"Well if it has something to do with what I'm concerned about he could be treading on dangerous ground."

"You mean with gangsters like that Karl Hagen you mentioned?"

"I certainly hope not - you have sauce by your lip - your dad is smarter than that I think." He felt the nibbles turn to larger bites.

"But he might have a client who isn't." She wiped at her mouth.

"Other side." He pointed. "I guess that's possible . . . be interesting to know who it is."

"I could probably find out."

"If you could be subtle that is."

"My middle name, David." Her grin said exactly the opposite.

"Portia . . ."

David smiled to himself. She got what she thought she wanted and now, hopefully, she'll get what he wants.

"I think you're worrying too much, David. That scheme your boss wants to run, it really isn't against the law you know. Auction and art buyers and sellers can be anonymous and the amounts exchanged don't have to be reported."

David sipped some tea and frowned. Interesting you know these things, Dee. "I know all that. It's been thrown at me often enough lately. Still it's dirty money from who knows what horrid crimes, and the transactions are definitely not kosher."

"But if they bought the item and then sold it that would be okay. This way they are just pretending to buy and not go through the trouble of finding a new buyer."

"Dee, the money is dirty, and Rolly is taking eight percent over every transaction . . . and they aren't really buying anything are they?"

"You having desert? They make a crème brȗlée here that's the berries."

"I have to get back. Let me leave you some money for the lunch and a taxi. Please don't say or do anything–"

"Go, David and stop fussing so. Will I see you tonight?"

"I'll call when I get off work." He leaned down and they both kissed the air an inch between their lips.

"You have placed an eighty thousand dollar deposit on a rare Marsden sculpture, Karl.

"Do I give shit what it's for?"

"I was just saying. The piece comes up for auction as part of a consignment this week. I'll get in touch the day before and withdraw our bid with regrets. We should have a cheque shortly thereafter."

"Goddam right we will or this Royce character will be getting a visit. Was there any discussion?"

"He was expecting eighty-four, I think he had already spent his two percent." Dennis chuckled. "Oh, and that will be going directly into Mr. Royce's personal account as a private procurer commission."

"How did he take it?
"Reluctantly, but he took it."

Hagen tossed a couple of large dog biscuits on the rug and watched his hound snort them up.

"What's this other thing I hear about some mouthpiece . . . DeLysle?"

"He represents Cardinal Imports, the legitimate side."

"That's one of ours."

"Yes. Apparently Ralph Garber, he's the financial manager on the art gallery side at Trevor, approached Cardinal about moving some expensive paintings that could be acquired by the gallery. They discussed how the deal could be done."

Hagen made a rude noise. "Are you on top of this?"

"Looking into it as we speak. Should have something to report by this evening."

The wolfhound growled.