She grinned and tapped her knees together, pleased with herself.

The table was cleared, and they paid the bill.

Max said, “Shall we go to the bar before we go home?”

“Ok. I’ll have a pineapple juice, no ice.”

Max ordered and paid for the drinks. A few minutes later, a man in his early thirties got up from his table, leaving two other men watching him, and approached Carla.

Obviously drunk, he said, “I heard you sing, and you look very beautiful, I want to buy you a drink.”

“That’s very kind, but I have one and I am going home in a minute,” she replied.

“What do you do for a living he persisted?”

Carla smiled enigmatically and whispered. “It’s very secret work, so I really can’t say,” and moved away from him.

“Come on! You can tell me, I can keep a secret.” She moved extremely close to him and let her fingers walk up his chest, following them thoughtfully with her eyes.

Then she looked up with a sweet smile and deadly cold eyes that penetrated to his soul and said, “Well! I could tell you, but then I would just have to kill you!”

Shocked, he immediately drew back.

“Well, just a kiss then!” He lurched forward and with his hand behind her head pulled her face to his. She offered no resistance, just stood there, arms by her side, until he forced his tongue into her mouth. She bit it with all her strength and did not let go. He screamed, blood splattering onto her face as he managed to pull away, his tongue was in shreds.

He lunged at her again, she nutted him extremely hard on the bridge of his nose. More screaming and blood issued from the man and then he suddenly turned and crashed through the doorway into the street.

Carla walked over to the man’s table and used the remainder of his drink as a mouthwash, spitting the swill back into the glass and using his napkin to wipe her face.

One of the other men got up and aimed a punch at Max’s face. Sidestepping, the blow went over his right shoulder. Max brought his linked hands, down hard on the man’s right shoulder, forcing him down by kicking his feet from under him.

With the man’s face to the floor, one hand gripping the man’s wrist, the other his elbow, keeping the arm straight, Max stood on the man’s right shoulder blade with all his force. The man’s shoulder gave a sickening gristly crunch as it became dislocated.

Max let the useless arm fall on the screaming man, who rolled over onto his back and grabbed Max’s ankle, to unbalance him. Transferring all his weight to the foot, so it would not slide, Max stamped down hard with the other foot, onto the man’s lower rib cage, cracking several ribs like twigs. Overcome with more chronic bone pain the thug lay screaming on the floor.

As bar staff helped him up and outside, the remaining man decided to leave, as well. The doorman stopped him and escorted him back into the pay desk to settle the bill. The manager, who had seen everything, asked Max and Carla to leave at once through the back entrance to avoid any trouble.

“Well, Carla! You certainly know how to give a guy a good time! You won’t be able to go back there again.”

“I thought I showed great diplomacy and tact,” she replied sarcastically. “It will be at least a month before my chap will be able to show his bruised face, anywhere.”

When they got home, Carla was unusually quiet.

“What’s troubling you asked Max?”

“I hate this,” she said tearfully. “When people see a young girl having a good time with an older man they always think the worst.

They thought I was a cheap tart with her sugar daddy.

I hate it; I really hate it!

I thought I had left that all behind and I don’t want it, ever again.”

She left the room sobbing and went to her bedroom, alone.

Max made a drink for himself and went to his room; he was so sad, and dreaded what might happen in the morning.

Maria woke him the next morning with breakfast on the balcony.

He asked if she had seen Carla yet. “Yes, she said, but she is in a strange mood.”

Max thought she wanted to add something, a clue as to what might be the best thing to do in the circumstances, but she said no more.

After showering and dressing, Max found Carla wandering about the garden. She turned as he approached and said, “The time has come to move on Max, I cannot go through that scene again, I will not be treated as a tart ever again.”

“Where does that leave us?” His stomach felt sick with dread. “That is the problem, she replied. I think I love you, I don’t know why, but I feel safe and relaxed with you. I am not competing with you, and you don’t judge me. I must trust you even more than the Duke, because my emotions are in your hands. You have made me vulnerable to my feelings and I can’t bear the idea of being away from you.”

“To the outside world we could appear as colleagues,” suggested Max hopefully.

“Perhaps, we shall have to see!”

A phone rang in the lounge, ending the conversation and leaving the problem unresolved. Carla ran and answered it. A few minutes later, she reappeared, announcing the Duke wanted to see them both immediately.

Chapter - The visitor.

After the call to Carla, the Duke prepared his desk to receive a visitor he had not seen for nearly six years, though he had spoken to him on many occasions recently. It appeared a serious problem had developed, in a joint project called Oracle. It had the potential, to change the course of history and the future of humankind, forever.

Philippe was shown into the Duke’s office, a room about six metres square with beech panels on three walls. The panels were identical, and some were doors leading to adjacent offices or exits. The Duke chose which should open from his desk, or for those who were familiar with the room, a small button could be used next to the door panel.

The ceiling was a grid of light panels spreading even illumination to every corner, the floor was polished marble, gleaming clean and clinical in the light. The Duke’s desk was a broad, leather topped, beech executive type, with padded leather Captain’s chair on castors, to complement it. A white telephone and sheaves of documents ready for signing were placed neatly on one side of the desk.

Behind the Duke was a bookcase, wall to wall, floor to ceiling with leather bound volumes covering many subjects, including law and tax.

On opposite walls at the ends of the desk were two portraits, one of his late wife, Lana and the other of Carla. Both portraits showed blonds of a similar age, with long hair in loose curls and blue eyes. The faces were of a similar type as well, beautiful, balanced and smiling, but the mouth and eye expression were quite different.