‘Let’s see the way it goes for a week or two. I’ve never promised anything-I just said I’d think about it.’

‘First it was, let’s see if we can get the finance for a movie. Then it was, let’s see if we can get a satisfactory script. It’s been, let’s see, let’s see, let’s see, all down the line, Charles. Now we really have to get moving.’

‘There are a few ends still to be tidied up,’ said Stein. ‘I’d want to meet this director, take another look at the script and look over the contracts concerning the finance.’

‘Shall I tell you something, Charles? I suspect that the truth is that you don’t want to publish these papers. You’ve had these documents for so long now that they have become a part of your life. You talk of them in the same way that you speak of your stamp collection. You’ll never sell your stamps-you told me that last Monday-and I’m beginning to suspect that you are equally reluctant to lose possession of these papers.’

‘Maybe there’s some truth in that,’ conceded Stein.

‘In the ordinary way, perhaps it wouldn’t matter much,’ said Breslow. ‘But we are playing for big stakes, my friend. Who knows what money can accrue from a careful and skilful utilization of this fine asset? But make no mistake about the price of failure.’ Breslow rubbed his arm. ‘Isn’t it enough for you that the British tried to kill me today? How long do you think it will be before they make such an attempt upon your life too? How long before they decide to kill your Billy? Or my girl Mary? Ask yourself all this while you are demanding more time to think about the script and the director and the financing of the film.’

‘I’ll have to get some protection for Billy,’ said Stein. He wiped his mouth with his flattened hand. ‘I’ll have to get on to one of these security outfits and have them put a twenty-four-hour guard on him.’

‘Don’t fool yourself,’ said Max Breslow. ‘If something happened to your Billy I would blame myself if I hadn’t warned you that these people are professional killers. These are not muggers looking for the price of a few joints; they are killers… A couple of guys from a security outfit, you say… The sort of highly trained men that governments employ would kill them without a moment’s thought or hesitation. No, you’ll have to do better than that if you are to sleep at night without Billy on your mind.’ Charles Stein did not move or even blink. Not for the first time, Max compared him with the large reptiles that he had sometimes seen out in the Californian deserts. But was he one of the harmless varieties, Breslow wondered, or was he dangerous? Every time he was about to make his mind up about this, he found something in Stein that made him pause. Stein stirred his tea and then sucked the spoon briefly before drinking.

‘What are you going to do about Mary?’ said Stein.

‘Me?’ said Breslow. As if suddenly remembering the traffic accident, he ran his fingers along his arm until he found a place that made him flinch. ‘It’s not worth getting killed for, Charles. And I won’t let my family suffer. I shall make contact with our friend Mr Boyd Stuart and make sure he understands that I have no access to the other papers and that I’ve never seen any of them. That should be enough to remove me from the firing line.’ Breslow leant forward and tapped Stein’s arm. ‘It’s you I’m worrying about, my friend.’

‘That makes two of us,’ said Stein. He selected one of the coconut cakes of which he was particularly fond. He chewed a piece from it and then studied the filling. ‘I’m too old to die a violent death,’ said Stein. ‘I’ve got my end all figured out. It’s going to be upstairs in the best bedroom with Billy and his grandsons listening to what I tell them about the investments.’

‘It’s no laughing matter,’ complained Breslow, who felt that his own narrow escape was not being treated seriously enough.

‘I’m not joking,’ said Stein and ate the remainder of the cake. ‘You should taste one of those,’ he advised. ‘I get them from a little baker in Glendale. Maybe that seems a long way to go for cakes but there’s no one else who uses real coconut and makes the pastry with butter.’

‘Let me put a hypothetical question to you,’ said Breslow. ‘We are businessmen, are we not? And neither of us is getting any younger, my friend.’

Stein’s face remained expressionless. Breslow waved his cigar to indicate the expensively furnished room, the cut-glass chandeliers and the illuminated cabinet containing a collection of valuable porcelain figures at which Stein seldom glanced. ‘You have made for yourself the life you want. Can the world of business really offer you anything?’

‘Spit it out, Max,’ Stein told him.

‘Very well. Suppose I was able to arrange a sale of your papers? Suppose we were to include a provision that gave you a percentage of the film profits made, as well as putting a lot of money in your pocket? What would you say to getting out quickly and easily, and giving your attentions to something else?’

When Stein replied, his voice was gruff and his speech was slow. ‘I’ve told you before, Max. I am just the front man for a syndicate. I don’t own these papers. I just own a very small share in them. The people I’m working with trust me and rely on my judgement. I have to stay close to this deal and make sure my syndicate gets fairly treated.’

‘And why not?’ said Breslow. ‘Who’s talking about selling anyone short? What I’m telling you is that a big financial backer could take over this project and make more money out of it than we ever could. I know a corporation which has diversified into movies, TV, books and paperbacks. There would be cash up front, Charles. And a company like that could never come under the sort of physical threats that the British are subjecting us to.’ He rubbed his arm again. ‘Have you got the documents here in the house?’

‘Don’t crowd me, Max.’

‘Very well,’ said Breslow. He placed his cigar in the ashtray in such a way that it was clear he had finished with it. Then he got up to leave.

‘You mad at me?’

‘My friend, how could that be possible? We are virtually partners, are we not? I’m worried about you. I wish you’d tell me something I can do that might help either or both of us in this present predicament.’

‘I’ll phone you tonight, Max.’ Stein rang the spoon against his cup reflectively. ‘Or, failing that, first thing in the morning.’

‘Very well, Charles, but make sure you double-lock your doors tonight. These people mean business.’

‘I still got a few tricks up my sleeve,’ said Stein.

Max Breslow smiled condescendingly. ‘Of course you have, Charles. But let’s hope you do not have to demonstrate what they are.’

Billy had arrived and had parked his Thunderbird by the time Breslow was ready to leave. Both Steins stood by Breslow as he got into the driver’s seat and nervously touched the controls of his wife’s yellow Chevette. It was not a car that Max Breslow liked to drive; only in the big Mercedes did he feel really at home.

‘ Benedict Canyon will be better at this time of day,’ said Billy, who had just returned from taking Mary Breslow back home. ‘It will take you to the Van Nuys turnoff. The Ventura Freeway was already crowded when I was heading back. Or take Mulholland Drive.’

Breslow shook his head. The hillcrest route provided dramatic views across the valley and back across Los Angeles, but it was a steep and winding road with soft edges that required an element of caution. ‘No, I’ll stick to the freeway,’ said Breslow. ‘A determined driver would find it easy to force this little car off the road, and there are places where a car could disappear into the undergrowth for weeks.’

‘Whatever you say,’ said Stein, ‘But I think you’re overreacting.’

‘We’ll talk on the phone when you’ve had a chance to think about everything I’ve said.’

‘Sure thing,’ said Stein.

The Chevette backed off the ramp with a roar of engine and a puff of smoke; then, as Breslow got the feel of it, it started off down Cresta Ridge Drive, negotiating each hairpin with exaggerated care.