LITMIR.BIZ

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is actually walking up a man’s back with her Nugget.

      ‘This much better use for ploduct,’ says Happy Spirit persuasively. ‘Business vlery glood.’

      ‘Yes, but you’re supposed to be working for me!’ storms Sidney.

      ‘Slurely Mr. Ishowi told you about actlivities?’ says the girl sounding genuinely surprised. ‘I think that why we stayed in Hotel.’

      ‘Mr. Ishowi put you up to this, did he?’ snarls Sid, turning an unpleasant colour.

      ‘Oh yes. This is what he say we clum to England flor.’

      ‘What were you doing in Japan?’ I ask suspiciously.

      ‘Slame thing. We work for Mr. Ishowi in his whorehouse. The Golden Tearoom in heart of old Tokyo. Unfortunately, what goes on there slo unspleakably flilthy it closed down by Japanese authorities. The flightened Lord Longflord and Missy Whitelouse see it and export of family saloons diminish dlamatically.’

      ‘So you’re all geisha girls?’ gasps Sid.

      ‘Oh no. Much dirtier than that,’ says Happy Spirit pleasantly.

      ‘Where are the rest of the girls?’ I ask.

      ‘They below helping customers lie down comflortably.’

      ‘I’m going to kill that bastard Ishowi,’ grits Sid, ‘I’m going to tear him limb from limb.’

      ‘I wouldn’t fancy trying, myself,’ I say. ‘Come on, let’s see what’s happening downstairs.’

      When we get down to the St. Denis suite it is even worse. St. Denis would not like it at all. There is a long line of beds on either side of the largest room on which those who have had a sauna are supposed to be relaxing. Relaxing! Some of the things that are going on you would not credit if you saw them through your own flies. The tricks those six girls get up to are a living testimonial to the industry and ingenuity of the Japanese race. And the noise! Screams, giggles, screeches, moans.

      ‘I don’t know why the hotel doesn’t put a stop to it,’ I say.

      ‘Why don’t you ask the manager,’ says Sid. ‘He’s the one on the right of the third bed on the left. Better wait a minute though. He’s probably been taught not to speak with his mouth full.’

      It is terrible, isn’t it? I mean all the men are so fat and flabby. Dirty old sods, they should buy magazines and think about it.

      Sidney, of course, is furious. Not because he has any moral scruples but because he did not come up with the idea himself. As usual in such a situation he turns on me.

      ‘Blooming marvellous partner you are, aren’t you?’

      ‘What do you mean, Sid?’

      ‘Obvious idea like that staring you straight in the eyes and you don’t see it!’

      ‘What about you, Sid?’

      ‘That’s right! Blame me! Marvellous, isn’t it? I’m supposed to think of everything, aren’t I? I dream up the whole proposition and I can’t even leave you to chase up a bit of detail – I can’t drive myself twenty-four hours a day you know. I can’t have my eye on everything.’

      ‘Do me a favour, Sid.’

      ‘Well, it’s not good enough. These birds have been making monkeys out of us.’

      ‘They had a head start with you, didn’t they?’

      ‘Yes, well—hey! Wait a minute! Don’t start giving me any of your lip –’

      ‘You don’t need any, Sid. You look like half a rugby ball as it is.’

      ‘Now, listen! –’

      ‘I’m sorry, Sid. Just my little joke. Look, Sid, I don’t think you can blame the girls too much. They were only doing what Ishy told them.’

      ‘Ishy! I’ll make him wishy he’d never been borny! That bleeder was the one who demanded that the girls stayed in a hotel. He’s been making a fortune out of this caper while we’ve been eating blancmanges made with curry powder.’

      But, of course, Sidney cools down eventually when he realises that we want to present a united front to idiot boy Truscott. Settling up with Ishowi can wait until we have unloaded the Nuggets.

      For that reason he manages to keep something approaching a smile on his face when Ishowi glides into town on the four-twenty. To my relief he is alone.

      ‘Ah so,’ he says. ‘Thanks to British Rail we meet again.’

      ‘You haven’t brought your nieces with you,’ I say, stating the obvious.

      ‘No. They fly back to Japan.’

      ‘I don’t expect they needed planes,’ murmurs Sidney, ‘not unless they had a lot of baggage.’

      ‘Not bad news, I hope?’ I say.

      ‘Oh no. Quite reverse. They selected for Japanese ladies volley-ball tour of Russia.’

      ‘May God preserve Tamara Press,’ I say. If those two manglers cannot get a regular place in the team, what can the rest of them be like?

      Because it is our last night Sid and I have booked ourselves into the Grand and we grudgingly take Ishowi back there with us. He is no sooner through the door than he starts practising little karate chops. ‘I read in browny that there is sauna here,’ he says. ‘I think I try.’

      ‘“Browny”?’

      ‘Small guide.’

      ‘Oh yes. Look, Mr. Ishowi, I’d like to have a word with you before you take that sauna.’ And Sid leads Mr. I. away towards the tea lounge. When they return there is a very thoughtful expression on the wily oriental’s mug and he is shaking his head.

      ‘I think I do business with English gentlemen,’ he says sadly. ‘I very surprised you behave like this behind my back.’

      ‘I have no wish to talk about the matter at further length,’ says Sidney with commendable dignity. ‘If you want your money you will have to do as I say. Tomorrow we leave for Blacksea.’

      Blacksea is a seaside resort about thirty miles away where Truscott is introducing the Nugget to his luckless field force. We arrive there about midday. Sid has hired a coach and the scene when we leave the Grand is quite amazing. A crowd of middle-aged men, some with damp towels over their arms, throngs the foyer, a few sobbing uncontrollably. The sight visibly affects Sid, mainly because it is another reminder of the loot he has lost out on, and he does not say a word all the way to Blacksea. The girls sing the Eton Boating Song without stopping to draw breath, turning it into my least favourite song after the first half dozen miles.

      Ernest Truscott is a small, fat man with a leaking mouth he is trying to plug with a small, fat cigar stub. He is wearing a beautifully cut suit and is pretty well cut himself.

      ‘Ee, what a loovely bunch of tarts,’ he says as the girls trip off the coach. ‘Which way does it go then, eh? I bet you can tell me that now?’ He nudges Sid in the ribs and winks at me and I bet that all the birds at Funfrall Enterprises went out and got pissed the day he left the building for good.

      ‘Good to see you again, Ernie,’ says Sid unconvincingly. ‘Got all your lads lined up, have you?’

      ‘They’re arriving after dinner. We don’t want them all blotto with booze, do we?’ says the last of the big spenders. ‘I thought we’d have a little roon through and then I’d buy the ladies a drink. You can tell me—er, which—er, woon—er, you know?’ The elbow goes in a few more times and we all wink at each other to confirm that we know it is not just used for stirring your tea.

      Truscott conducts the rehearsal with a large scotch in his hand and is dead keen on playing up the Japanese bit. He decides that the conference should open with a gong being bashed and the Daughters

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