Mr Faraday took Jerry and the other team managers out to lunch; everyone else bought sandwiches as usual and congregated in the meeting room. People were all talking about the visit, but Sol seemed to be the only one who'd actually enjoyed it.

"Believe it or not, he seemed genuinely interested." he was telling Beth, "Not only that, he also seemed to know what he was talking about. He must've read up on it beforehand."

"You're obviously the rising star of the company. Just promise me one thing; you won't forget us when you're rich and powerful."

"I think you're jumping the gun a bit there. He was interested in the work, that was all."

"Isabelle reckon's it was because he's looking to fire you." was Ted's contribution.

"No I do not!"

"That's what you said. 'They're just trying to work out what he does so they can decide whether or not to fire him."

"It was a joke! Don't listen to him, Sol."

"I'm not worried. In any case, I'll have company in the dole queue; he was talking to Ted for quite a while as well."

"Good point," conceded Ted. "Know anywhere that's hiring?"

As they were going back to work, Isabelle caught Sol by the arm.

"Can I have a word?"

"What is it?"

"I've been asked out to dinner."

"Oh." Sol was slightly baffled by this announcement. "Good?"

"Not really. Do you know a guy called Sherwood?"

"Don't think so. Who is he?"

"He's a client. In fact, he was one of the big targets for WorldPulse. Anyway, he says he wants to ask something about the reports."

She paused.

"Erm, you wouldn't come with me, would you?"

"Why? I'm not very good with clients."

"It'd just be nice to have some backup. I don't really know much beyond the sales pitch, so if he asks anything technical I'm screwed. Also, he said it was purely business, but in case it's not, it'd be good to have you there."

"OK," said Sol, after a short while, "but it all sounds a bit weird."

"It is. I've no idea what he wants."

"He's not complained about something, then?"

Isabelle paused, then a sheepish look came over her face.

"It never occurred to me to check. I'll go and have a look now - I can get to the feedback from my account."

She started out towards the door. As she left, she turned around and said, "Thanks for this Sol. You're a star."

She turned at Sol's house earlier than expected. When he answered the door, her heart fell.

"Hi," he said, "What's wrong?"

"You're not wearing that, are you?"

He looked at her for a few seconds.

"Apparently not."

She squeezed past him into the hall, looking at her watch. "We've got a bit of time. Lets see what we can do."

Sol nervously followed her into his bedroom. On the plus side, the trepidation he was feeling about the meeting paled into insignificance when compared to the prospect of Isabelle picking out his clothes.

By the time he'd caught up with her, she was already going through his wardrobe, looking at his shirts with a critical eye. (It was amazing how she homed in on it; she'd never been inside the house before, and yet there she was, straight up the stairs and to the bedroom, rifling through his clothes before he'd even closed the front door.)

"Is this really," Sol began.

"Necessary? Yes. Have you looked at that outfit in a mirror." She pause, and then looked around the room. "You do have a mirror, don't you?"

Sol gestured towards a picture-sized mirror hanging on the wall.

"I mean a full length mirror. Please tell me there's one inside here or something." She opened the other wardrobe door and looked on the back; nothing. "Well, I know what I'm getting you for your birthday. When is that, by the way?"

"Monday."

She stopped going through the shirts and turned to face him.

"You daft thing, Why didn't you say anything? What've you got planned?"

"Nothing, really. I don't like to make a big fuss."

"Bullshit. We'll organise something for you. Anyway," she picked out a shirt and passed it to him, "Put this on; it'll go a lot better with those trousers. And don't tuck it in; it's not that formal a place."

When they pulled up to the restaurant, it turned out that it was what Sol would have considered a fairly formal place. It was a large, beautiful country hotel, with myriad windows that had glittered in the night as they approached. Isabelle's car looked small and shabby next to the Jaguars and Mercedes. It was still quite early, so couples and knots of people were still arriving and wandering in.

"Well, I guess this is it." said Isabelle as she turned off the engine. "Any last requests?"

"That sounds final." said Sol, finally. "Let's go."

They walked up to the large front door, and Sol held it open for Isabelle. "Where are we meant to meet him?"

"In the bar," she said, craning her neck and looking around. "I can't see him yet."

"Do you want to go in and have a look round? I'll take the coats."

When Sol returned from checking their coats, he saw her sat at the bar, being talked to by a man a fair few years her senior. He was leaning in and talking confidentially; she was sitting up ramrod straight and nodding politely.

Sol stopped in his tracks in the doorway, unsure of what to do. As he watched, the man passed her something. Was this meant ot be happening? Maybe he should leave her to it; she seemed to be doing O.K.

On the other hand, she did ask him to come, and he was meant to be there to back her up. Decided, he walked towards them. He was about halfway there when Isabelle turned and saw him. She waved, and the man got up from his bar stool, said a few final words to Isabelle, and wandered off with his drink.

"Who was that?" Sol asked when he arrived.

"Oh, I don't know. Some guy. He gave me his card." She brandished a glossy, overly designed business card, and then casually dumped it in the ash tray. "So, are you going to buy me a drink then?"

"I thought tonight was your treat." She took him seriously, and was reaching into her bag right up until the point he leaned over behind her and ordered drinks (he got her's right; must have been a lucky guess), then moved around and sat on the bar stool facing her.

"So, does that happen a lot?"

"Does what happen?"

"Strange men coming up to you in bars."

"Occasionally. It's never anyone interesting, although they're usually trying to be; they think of a witty line, then don't realise that they don't have any more conversation until it's too late. It's sort of like wandering into the OK Corral with only one bullet, and then firing it into the ceiling to get everyone's attention. Everyone's staring up at you from behind upturned tables, the outlaws are pulling out their six-shooters, and you've just realized that you left all your ammo in your other gun. It's painful to watch people squirm like that."

Something seemed to occur to her.

"Doesn't that ever happen to you? With women, I mean?"

"Not been known to, no. I reckon it's probably the mis-coordinated shirts; when you buy me that mirror, I'll be fighting them off with a stick."

"I'll tell Beth to buy you a stick, then. Seriously, though, people never approach you? I can't believe that."

"Trust me; I've put in the field work. School, University, my life to date, I've observed thousands and thousands of strange women not hitting on me. Which is a shame, because I never have the confidence to approach anyone myself. The few relationships I've had started more by accident than by design."

"I'm sure there was design on someone's part," she smiled, "maybe you just didn't notice."

It was at this moment that Mr Sherwood arrived.

Sol was half-expecting Mr Sherwood to resent his presence, but it seemed to him that nothing could be further from the truth. Once he found out that Sol worked in analysis, he started pumping him for information. Sol, of course, had signed a particularly vicious and labyrinthine Non Disclosure Agreement when he started at Jupiter, so couldn't say anything of any significance about his methods, but the old man seemed to be very interested in the little bits that he could reveal.

The conversation wasn't entirely about work, however. Mr Sherwood seemed determined to make this a social occasion as well, and was achieving a fair amount of success. He talked about his brother's kids, who had apparently been round that weekend, asked Isabelle how she was settling into her new flat (she'd moved a few weeks ago), and sundry other matters. It was pleasantly diverting, and it wasn't until he'd nearly finished his main course (duck in ginger and orange; very nice) that he realized that they still had no idea why they were here yet - Isabelle hadn't found any complaints, and Sherwood hadn't mentioned anything.

He didn't feel it was his place to mention this; after all, Isabelle was the one that had been invited. He was here to make up the numbers. However, it seemed strange that Isabelle hadn't asked yet. He looked at her pointedly, but she didn't even seem to notice, let alone understand what he was trying to communicate.

By the end of dessert, she still hadn't said anything, so he decided to speak up.

"Mr Sherwood, I don't mean to be rude, but I got the impression that this wasn't merely a social occasion. Was there something you wanted to ask?"

Isabelle looked daggers at him, but Mr. Sherwood simply shrugged. "There was something, but from what you've said about your contract you wouldn't be able to tell me anyway. Don't worry about it; enjoy the coffee."

"There might be something we could tell you; it wouldn't hurt to ask." suggested Isabelle.

Mr. Sherwood paused momentarily, then leaned forwards. "Very well; as you say, it can't hurt. A couple of weeks ago, there was a report that highlighted the effects that the arrest of the Columbian Minister for the Interior would have on the global markets."

Isabelle glanced over at Sol, who had put down his coffee and started to listen very, very intently.

"The thing by which I am confused is this; the Minister was only arrested four days ago. I was simply curious as to how you knew about these events more than a week before they happened."

He sat back and watched their reactions. Isabelle looked at Sol, who for a long time didn't say anything. Eventually, he looked at Mr. Sherwood and said, "I'm afraid that we must protect our sources, especially in areas like Columbia. I'm sure you understand. There isn't much more I can say; however, if anything more comes up, I'll be sure to pass it on to you."

Sherwood studied his expression; "I understand. Well, as we said, there was no harm in asking. I suggest that we move off the subject and enjoy what remains of the meal."