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come,' Heathers said in his hard nasal drawl. 'This business of not coming – I got frightened it was catching.'
    He took Malcolm's arm in a way that reminded him unpleasantly of what had happened in the tunnel. 'If you came in a taxi, I'll give you a lift.' They were walking to where Heathers' car was parked. Malcolm caught an acrid whiff of his own sweat and from Heathers the cloying sweetness of a deodorant. The chauffeur, who was sitting with his back to the site and head bowed as if reading, must have been keeping one eye on his mirror for as they approached he jumped out and opened the door.
    There was no reasonable way to refuse. Malcolm got in and slid over to leave room. Heathers followed him and the opposite door opened and Kujavia came in on the other side.
    'What – ' Malcolm began, but in his fright it came out, Wait! The car moved off, picking up speed as it came on to the paved road and became part of the flow of traffic moving towards the city.
    'How can I do business if I can't rely on people?' Heathers asked. He did not seem to want any answer to that, and Malcolm watched the buildings go by and tried to pretend Kujavia was not there.
    'How do you like being the boss of the Department, Malcolm? Does it suit you?'
    'I'm only in charge of things temporarily,' Malcolm said. 'Until Mr Bradley gets back to work.'
    'You know better than that . I made it my business to see the hospital reports. He's dying. He's gone rotten here.' With the same pale plump hand that had grasped Malcolm's arm, Heathers rubbed his belly. 'As of now, you're Johnny on the Spot. The man that matters.'
    'If anything did happen to Mr Bradley,' Malcolm said carefully, 'I'd certainly hope to be on the short list. After all, I know what the job involves . . . '
    Heathers stared at him, little blue eyes very bright above the red cheeks.
    'You're too young,' he said . 'They'll bring in somebody from outside. It's the way the Region's mind works. If you've got somebody good, you've got them, so look outside and see if you can bring another good one in. You can't expect politicians to know anything about management.'
    The casual verdict physically sickened Malcolm who wanted his share, his opportunity at the pork barrel Bradley had delved into up to the elbows. If Bradley had sold himself, he had taken care the price should be right. Malcolm remembered him saying, 'Some plumber or carpenter grafts away, studies, gets a leg up and becomes that wonderful beast, a Master of Works. First thing he's being invited out for a game of golf. No clubs? Don't worry – my son's bag's going spare in the boot. And you'll have a drink? Come to think of it – what about a meal? You can't pay here – it's club members' treat here. That kind of thing's nice – especially when you're not used to it. Oh, you're a popular chap. Then comes the day you're overseeing a job, a school or a hospital like as not, and the concrete's not what it should be or they've scamped the wiring and you should have a word with the contractor . It's a good job you're seeing him at the weekend for a round of golf and dinner at the club. He's right glad you mentioned it. He'll see to it – no problem. And if things don't improve, you don't like to keep narking on, do you? Not a popular chap like you, a chap who fits in so well. Not with him being a personal friend, like.' Bradley shook his head in disgust and his accent broadened. 'That's what the public would never credit – how cheap most of those buggers come.' It was six weeks and a day before the routine medical check-up gave the first hint that something was wrong. The big Yorkshireman's eyes were clear and his skin had a very healthy look from the open air and all the good holidays he had taken where you could be sure of the sun. There was no way of telling that he had gone rotten inside.
    'I always got on well with Willie Bradley,' Heathers was saying.

'I could work with him. It wouldn't be reasonable of me to say you could