From the Green Man's Private Files: Three

Stannard's offices were located in a much more salubrious part of town. As Ms. Madison stepped out of the taxi this time, she was not told that this was just the wrong place for her. In pale suit, with a cheerful spray of orchids, she looked the very picture of a carefree young thing looking to invest some of her spare boodle. The receptionist saluted her, as she passed through the swing doors.

"I'm looking for Corona Investments," she smiled, "a friend said they helped people manage investments..."

"Second floor, suite seven," the receptionist pointed to a lift which had been recondited from an original of pre-war vintage. You're not the usual sort of client they get, if you don't mind my asking."

Ms. Madison smiled, before entering the lift. Her pose was going to be that of a wealthy young air-head, who had no idea how to manage the large amount of money that she had inherited from some welthy relative. The Green Man's seemingly unlimited funds were, she knew, likely to open doors for her. And perhaps blind Cliveden Stannard.

Ms. Madison entered Suite Seven, and a young man with gelled hair and an Armani suit rose to greet her, holding out a hand.

"Hi," he addressed her with the easy familiarity that someone somewhere has told businesspeople goes down well, "I'm Vance."

"Lynette," Ms. Madison used her real first name. It was a good idea, Sir Richard Arcos had told her, to use your real first name wherever possible, as the reaction to hearing your own name is often instictive. "Is this Corona Investments?"

"Sure," he spoke in that awful half-plebian accent that the whole of England appears to be adopting, in the belief that this appeals to people. "How can we help?"

"You manage investments for people, don't you?" she spoke with a note of hope in her voice. "Well, I recently inherited a lot of money from an uncle. A lot of it was in shares, and in this uncertain economic climate, I want to make sure I can make some money on them. You know how it is..." she looked at him with big, appealing eyes.

"Of course, Lynette." The man called Vance smiled artifically. "I'll have to arrange an appointment for you with one of our advisers. "When will you be free?"