“So you’re an interior designer as well.”

“I don’t think you understand what I mean. Feng Shui is an ancient oriental art. It involves arranging all items in a building in such a way as to maximise positive energy flow. I’ve been studying it for a couple of years, but I’d hardly call myself an expert. Are you interested in the oriental arts, Mr Clarenden?”

“Only if I can pick them up with chopsticks. So tell me, what would God say if He knew about this little trip you made into Heaven?”

“Why should God have a problem with it?” asked the Devil, a note of genuine puzzlement mixing into the otherwise cocksure tone of his speech.

“You don’t think God would have a problem with his arch-nemesis sneaking into Heaven in the middle of the night?”

The Devil laughed loudly. “I’m sorry, I understand what you mean now. Let me try to make this clear. As I mentioned before, I am a businessman, and I look at my relationship with God purely in those terms. There are numerous joint ventures we both have a stake in, and I like to think that the two of us can work together effectively as partners. I won’t deny that at times there is an element of competition between us, but it’s never conducted with any hint of rancour. And I have certainly never regarded myself as God’s arch-nemesis.”

“But aren’t you the master of evil? Doesn’t that automatically mean you’re opposed to God?”

“Who says I’m evil? You’ve been reading too many Sunday school pamphlets.” The Devil took a sip of his drink before continuing. “Look, I’m not opposed to God. We just have different roles to play. Sometimes that might seem to put us on opposite sides of the fence, but when it comes down to it, we’re both working towards the same goals.”

“Are you telling me you’re not actively tempting people into sin?”

“Do you really think I need to? Come on, Mr Clarenden, you know what it’s like out there. People are quite capable of being tempted into sin without any assistance from me.”

“So you’re not going around possessing people and speaking out of their mouths?”

“What do I look like, a ventriloquist?” the Devil snapped.

I couldn’t help laughing at that. “What am I doing, lecturing you? I must sound like some deranged televangelist.”

The Devil nodded. “I understand how these misperceptions occur. It’s all due to successful marketing. But believe me, it’s only an image. It’s not the real me at all. Actually, I quite like God. When He’s in the right sort of mood, there’s nobody who’s more fun to be with. Unfortunately, most of the time He’s too stressed to let it show. He’s always letting the pressures of His job get to Him. And He’s got that dreadful smoking habit.”

“Actually, He’s just given up.”

“I’ve heard that one before. I’m sure it won’t last more than a couple of days.” The Devil sighed. “I’ve tried to teach Him about the importance of a healthy lifestyle. I’ve even offered Him free admission to one of my workshops.”

“You run workshops?”

“Self-development workshops. They’re very popular here in Hell. I’ve based them on my bestselling book. Here, take a look.” The Devil opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out a book, and handed it to me.

I examined the cover. Be All You Can Be screamed the title in bold letters, while underneath, a subtitle declared that this was The Devil’s Guide to Fulfilling Your Inner Potential. Beneath the subtitle was a picture of the Devil, or rather the Devil’s accountant, wearing a diabolical smile and grasping a handful of money with one hand and a buxom blonde with the other. I quickly thumbed through the text, observing a cross-section of chapter headings: Mephistophelian Money Making, Satanic Stress Relief, Lucifer’s Love Manual.

“This is popular?” I said, handing the book back to the Devil.

“Enormously successful,” said the Devil. “It’s changed people’s afterlives. But once again, I digress. We were talking about Sally, were we not? Would you like to know more about the principles of Feng Shui I employed for her?”

“Actually, I might take a rain check on the Feng Shui. But some things you’ve said have aroused my curiosity. You say you’re a businessman. Can you tell me a little more about your line of business?”

For the first time in our meeting, the smile slipped from the Devil’s face, but it didn’t make the room any warmer.

“I’m afraid that is out of the question. I’ve worked hard to build up my business, and I can’t go around giving away my secrets just like that. If any of my competitors were to find out, I would be ruined. Please understand, it’s nothing personal. Just the requirements of commercial confidentiality. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a yoga class to run.” The Devil motioned towards the door.

I took the hint and stood up. But as I was about to leave the office, the Devil called me back and handed over an envelope.

“I don’t want you to consider me rude, Mr Clarenden. Please use this to avail yourself of the pleasures of Hell.”

I looked inside the envelope. It contained a thick wad of large, red notes, each of which featured Sid’s grinning visage.

“Local currency?” I said, swishing the notes through my fingers. It felt good to have that feeling of cold, hard cash in my hands.

“Ten thousand diablos,” said the Devil. “If you want the best, you’ve got to pay for it. And here in Hell, we’re proud to offer the very best in all forms of entertainment. I’m sure you’re aware that most of the finest performers lived thoroughly sinful lives. If it’s great actors, artists, or musicians you’re after, you’re sure to find them here.”

I thanked the Devil. Then I departed the office, walked back through the gothic hall and out the front door of the castle.

* * *

On the road back into the centre of Hell, I considered the Devil’s claims that he was a businessman. Although he wouldn’t tell me what business he was in, I had a pretty good idea it wasn’t boiled lollies.

Still, there were things that puzzled me. The Devil had said he was afraid of information falling into the hands of his competitors. Which competitors did he mean? Who in their right mind would set themselves up in competition with the Prince of Darkness? And what of his claim that he’d been giving Sally home renovation tips? If his presence in her house had been that innocuous, why had Sally been so determined to keep me out? Surely it wasn’t because she was afraid a second opinion would complicate things.

I didn’t have long to ponder these questions before I found myself back on the main strip. If anything, Hell seemed to have gotten even busier. The neon signs glowed brighter, the crowds rushed past at a maniacal pace, and the music booming out of the clubs was bordering on ear-splitting. I looked at the billboard above the nearest door. Hottest Sounds in Hell it screamed back at me. Unsolved dilemmas could wait. It was time to see how much of the Devil’s money I could spend.

I placed myself at the end of the line stretching out from the nightclub door and I waited. The line wasn’t long, and there seemed to be plenty of comings and goings through the door ahead, but after a while I couldn’t help noticing I wasn’t getting any closer to the front. The longer I stood there, the further away I seemed to be from that door. After about half an hour, I tired of waiting. Besides, my stomach was growling like a pack of wild dogs in an echo chamber. I needed something to eat.

I detached myself from the line and approached a hot dog vendor standing by the nightclub door.

“One hot dog,” I said, waving one of the strange looking notes.

The vendor looked at the note I was holding. “If that’s what you’re offering, all I can give you is a couple of sesame seeds,” he replied smartly.

I took two more notes from my pocket. He shook his head again. I continued taking out notes, and when I was holding fifteen of them he finally nodded.