A few minutes ago the sky had been a place. Of clouds, winds, pressures, turbulence. Now, it was just thedécor of a flashy Cyprus sunset. The propellers wound down and stopped with a brief, violent shudder, but I went on sitting there, running my hands over the still-unfamiliar avionics switches and trying to wriggle some of the stiffness out of my neck and shoulders. A small Ford van dashed up and stopped just in front.

By the time I'd worked my way back past the champagne boxes and stacked passenger seats and swung down the door, he was waiting below with a small piece of paper and a large anxious expression.

'Landing fee,' he said. 'You have cash money?'

'Yes, sure.' But I must have looked puzzled. I've known airports that were hungry to get paid, but this was a new record. Still, service with style – it says so on the tail of the aeroplane, just under the Castle Hotels International symbol. I found the wallet of Castle's money, sorted through to the Cypriot pounds and paid him. 'What's the rush? – are you behind with the rent?'

He tucked the cash away, receipted the bill, and looked happier.

I said: 'When you get back, will you ask the refuelling boys to step over?'

'You pay them cash?'

'Of course not. I've got a Shellcarnet.'

He smiled, a little maliciously. 'No. Is finished. No good.'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

'Your company – Castle – is bust. Finished. Broke.'

Loukis Kapotas was aged about thirty, with neat black hair, a long Grecian nose and the standard Cypriot business uniform of white shirt, tie and dark trousers, only his shirt was real advertisement white.

What he wanted from me was my money, my traveller's cheques, credit card and fuelcarnet.

'If you've got a pair of clean scissors, you can have my balls, too,' I said. 'What's goingon?'

'I am a chartered accountant. My firm acts as the Cyprus associates of Harborne, Gough and Co. of London, who are -unfortunately – acting as receivers to Castle Hotels International.' His English was good and his voice was calm, but his fingers crept nervously on the counter of the airportcafé. And he hadn't touched his coffee yet.

'Receivers?' I said. 'Somebody finally blew the whistle on Kingsley, did they? When?'

'We were informed just this afternoon.' So I was lucky to have got this far; the refuelling lads in Crete, and Naples before that, hadn't got the bad word. They'd accepted my car-net; I hoped they eventually got their penny in the pound or whatever. '

Kapotas added carefully: 'Have you known Mr Kingsley long?'

'We met when he was in the RAF, twenty years ago.'

'And you have worked for him – for Castle International -all that time?'

'I don't work for them. This is just a one-off job; their regular pilot quit the other day.' Because he'd foreseen stormy weather? Well… I sipped my beer. 'I was looking for a free trip down to this end of the world, and happen to be type-rated on a Queen Air, so Kingsley took me on for a week. What does all this do to my chance of getting paid as well?'

He remembered his coffee and took a careful gulp. 'In theory, you understand, a certain amount of wages and salaries have a certain priority. But first we must find if we have the money. Now, Captain… er…'

'Case. Roy Case. And just Mister.'

Thank you. Now – you understand that a receiver is responsible only for goods delivered or debts incurredafter he has taken over? The credit you pledged yesterday, or this morning, is not my concern. But what you do now with the company's credit andcarnet and cash – that is very much my concern. Please?'

He held out his empty hand.

It all sounded real. And it was typical enough of Kingsley to go in for high finance without visible means of support, but…, 'I suppose you have some proof of all this? '

He'd been expecting that. He did a fast draw, and dealt me a business card, his driving licence, and a slip of telex paper. It read: Have been appointed receivers to Castle Hotels International stop please take over Nicosia Castle soonest and intercept company aircraft Beech Queen Air en route Beirut stop bank informing local branch separately ends Harborne Gough.

'And since then,' he said, 'of course I have spoken on the phone to them in London for instructions.'

'So you're running the hotel as well?'

'Yes,' he said grimly. "The manager left before I arrived – I think not with empty hands. I have told the police. Now…'

'All right.' I took out thecarnet and credit card and traveller's cheques that Kingsley had given me less than two days before and… and carefully tore them all in half. Cyprus stillis the Middle East.

He grinned quickly and picked up the pieces. 'And the cash also, please.'

'There's only about thirty quid left, and I'm not walking around town stark financial naked. Call it drinking money.'

He frowned. 'Your room at the Castle is free, of course, and I can give you alitt in my car…'

'Drinking money,' I said firmly. 'So I'll pay for your coffee.'

He had a new Escort station wagon and he drove as carefully as a profit-and-loss account – though that sort of driving isn't so rare in Cyprus as in some parts of the Eastern Med.

When we were out on the main road into Nicosia, I asked: 'What happens to my flight, then?'

'That's not for me to decide." He hesitated, then said carefully: 'Harborne, Gough did not seem too clear what the flight was actually for."

'I'm taking a dozen of champagne into Beirut for the grand opening of the Cedars Castle.'

He frowned. 'Do you normally send champagne by air?'

'Probably not. I think somebody forgot to order it in advance – but the aeroplane was going anyway, so why not use it? I'm supposed to stay on in the Lebanon and give some of the travel writers and VIP guests free flights around, seeing the sights. All part of the Castle International tradition of service with style.'

'But champagne, by aeroplane…" he muttered.

'I flew low so the corks wouldn't pop. That's why I came down through Nice and Naples instead of over the Alps."

'Perhaps, but it means the aeroplane is full of champagne.'

'Half full. Just a dozen cases, 144 bottles. But all good stuff: Kroeger Royale '66.'

'How much is it worth?'

'It's insured for five hundred quid, but you could sell it through the hotel for at least twice that.'

'Not an inconsiderable asset.'

'The aeroplane itself must be worth thirty thousand.'

He glanced at me. 'But does Castle International own it outright?'

'I don't know.' But now I thought about it, I doubted Kings-ley had nailed down his own money for that Queen Air. It would be on some sort of lease or never-never.

'Well, London will know by tomorrow. Is the aeroplane safe where it is?'

I shrugged. 'It's in a Customs Area. Sort of in bond. When d'you think we'll know what I do next?'

Tomorrow, perhaps.'

I filled my favourite pipe, the only Dunhill of the lot, then decided it would be too tricky to light in a car with the windows open so just parked it in my face and waited. The road widened and straightened as we reached the outskirts of the town, and the first street lamps were going on, just faint sparks against the lingering brightness in the sky. The air was gentle and smelt of coffee.

'I like Cyprus,' I said. 'Particularly I like Nicosia.' The new town outside the walls is a rambling, shambling place, but both people and traffic move at a stroll. I said: 'It's a calm sort of place.'