"That's a man," whispered Olivia to Hamish.

"I know," he said crossly, thinking she really must consider him some sort of dumb hayseed, and then he remembered she had every reason to consider him an innocent abroad.

After Lola had finished, the lights blazed out from the stage as she began to sing "I Will Survive."

Hamish glanced covertly around. Just sitting down, a few tables behind him, was Anna, accompanied by a heavy-set businessman.

Pieter followed his gaze. "That's your lady of today," he said.

"How do you know?" asked Hamish, raising his voice to be heard above Lola's singing.

Pieter leaned forward and told him about the street videos.

"I feel a right fool," said Hamish. "Does she have a pimp?"

"No, she's a bit of an enthusiastic amateur. But any day now, someone's going to take her over. She's only been busted once. She tried to pick up a businessman in a hotel and his wife phoned the police. That's the only reason she came to their notice. Cheer up, Hamish. It was an easy mistake to make."

Olivia, who had overheard the conversation, studied Anna. Anna looked as fresh and wholesome as newly baked bread. She could easily have passed for her escort's daughter. She could all at once understand why Hamish had made such a mistake.

Lola departed the stage in a flurry of ostrich feathers and sequins. She was replaced by a conjuror. The audience promptly ignored what was happening on the stage and the babble of voices rose.

"Our American friends have just come in." Pieter waved. "And there's a thin man in a black suit leaning against a pillar at the back. Take a look, Hamish, and see if you recognise him."

"Which pillar? Where?"

"At the back, to the left of the exit."

Hamish looked and then looked quickly away. "It's the Undertaker, Lachie's man. I wonder why he's so obvious. He must know I would recognise him."

"They probably want you to know you're being checked up on. Good. Then on the road out, we'll stop at various tables."

"Surely these drug people will be mighty suspicious of anyone muscling in on their territory."

"Amsterdam is not their home ground, not the ones you'll meet. They're here to see to shipments."

The conjuror finished his act to a spattering of applause.

"How long do we sit here for?" asked Olivia, ignoring the compère's patter. "I'm getting bored." "Just a little longer," said Pieter.

"I'm hungry," complained Olivia. "I haven't had any dinner."

"And I didn't have any lunch either," said Hamish.

"No, you were eating the fair Anna," said Pieter, and laughed.

"Cut that out, now," snapped Olivia. "Remember Hamish is supposed to be my husband. I don't like coarseness."

"Then don't look at the stage," said Hamish.

But Olivia looked. Two men and a woman were engaged in complicated sexual acts.

"Aren't you enjoying it?" she asked Hamish.

"I'm not a voyeur," said Hamish, averting his eyes from the stage. Pieter ordered more drinks after the cavorting threesome had been replaced by semi-naked showgirls. Hamish sipped his drink cautiously. He was beginning to feel the effects of champagne on an empty stomach.

"I think we should leave now," said Olivia, much to Hamish's relief.

They all rose. As Hamish passed Anna's table, she looked up at him and gave him a glad smile.

Hamish cut her dead. He was supposed to be with his wife. Also she had left him with a bill for fifty pounds, which he would somehow have to explain away on his expenses. Anna's face fell. Hamish felt like a heel. But didn't the silly girl know what an awful sort of existence she was on the threshold of?

Pieter stopped by the Americans' table. Then he introduced them to a party of Turks and then some Spaniards before leading them towards the exit. There was no sign of the Undertaker.

"Do you know," said Pieter outside, "how the Spaniards are shipping cannabis into Britain?"

"No," said Olivia.

"They put the cannabis resin into onions. So when Customs and Excise see a truckload of onions, they simply look for the man with the dart."

"The dart?" asked Hamish, his eyes roaming up and down the cobbled street.

"A man carrying an ordinary dart, you know, darts? Like in English pubs? Well, he simply stabs this dart into the sacks of onions until he finds the hard onions and he knows he's got the right sack."

Olivia shivered. "Let's eat."

"I'll take you back to your hotel. Probably safer for you to eat in your room. I have business."

He flagged down a cab and gave the driver instructions. Hamish looked wistfully out at the night lights of Amsterdam. "I wish we didn't have to eat in the hotel."

"We'd best do as we're told," said Olivia. "What a cold night it's turned out to be."

Hamish noticed that her attitude to him had thawed.

Once in the room, they ordered steaks to be sent up. Olivia switched on the television set and they ate and watched the news. Then watched an American sitcom and drank coffee and there was a friendly atmosphere between them when they both went to bed. Hamish smiled in the darkness. Soon it would all be over. Soon he would be back at his police station.

Rain was drumming down on the car park at Inverness Airport when they arrived. They got into the Mercedes and Hamish set off on the drive back to Strathbane. "So do we just wait out the rest of the week?" he asked.

"I think we should try to speed things up," said Olivia. "We'll go and see Lachie tomorrow and tell him to tell Jimmy that the consignment is on its way."

For some reason, Hamish suddenly found his thoughts turning in the direction of Chief Inspector Blair. He wondered if Blair had got wind of what he was up to. He knew Blair hated him.

"I'll be glad when this is over," said Olivia suddenly.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I've got a bad feeling about it. Things have been running a bit too easily, apart from your gaffe in Amsterdam."

"I'm sorry about that," said Hamish ruefully. "I thought I had landed lucky at last. I could even see us married. I would never have believed I could be so naive. If you see any of the prostitutes in Strathbane, well, they've practically got labels round their necks screaming prostitute. I meet the girl of my dreams and then she says, 'Leave the money on the table as you go out.' "

"Pieter did say she was a happy amateur, but she won't be happy for long."

"She told me she was a student."

"Student of what?" commented Olivia dryly. "A lot of these silly girls just drift into it. It can start with a simple date with an older man. He gets the wrong end of the stick and pays up. Girl is mortified, then she giggles about it a bit with her friends, and the money comes in handy. Who knows? Maybe Anna was a student, and recently, too. It seems a harmless way of making a bit of money on the side. Some pimp starts to sit up and take notice. He acts as the John, introduces her to dope, gets her hooked and then puts her on the street."

"Perhaps she'll just stop."

"I doubt it. Are you so lonely, Hamish, that you should want to marry some girl you had just met?"

"I suppose I'm a romantic."

"You're in the wrong job. A lot of the men down in Glasgow consider me cold and harsh, but I have found that any sign of softness is taken as a come-on."

"I'm glad I'm not a woman," said Hamish, negotiating a hairpin bend.

There was a companionable silence and then he said, "I wasn't making a pass at you in the bed at the Grand. I really wasn't."

"I believe you, but I'll get us a room with twin beds this time so there will be no… awkwardness."

"You were saying you had a bad feeling about this job," said Hamish. "You know something? I cannae help worrying that too many people at headquarters know about it."

"Only the top brass, surely."

It's the top brass I'm worried about, thought Hamish.