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beach house. They were no doubt unused to the
dirt road that took them out of the town, winding around the back
of the sand dunes which kept each house secluded. He had known as
soon as he saw this house it was where he would live in Australia.
He couldn’t buy it; it wasn’t for sale. If it was, he would have
paid cash for it immediately. But he could lease it, and that would
have to do. He didn't know how long he would be working in
Australia, but his business interests were growing so fast, it was
hard to think of a good reason to leave. And from all accounts,
things in London were moving along nicely as well.
    This house made him
feel right at home. It wasn’t just its private location he
appreciated. The deck leading straight onto white sand dunes was
handy. The private beach beyond made him feel safe. As if he could
share his secrets with the sea and no one else. The towering glass
panelled walls, tinted to provide protection from the sun, made it
feel like a fortress. He could see out, but no one could see in.
Exactly how he liked to live. The giant, sparsely furnished living
area was at the centre of the house, the open first story gallery
making it visible from every other room. And the master bedroom was
ample space for Melissa to inhabit. She could stay out of his way,
and he could stay out of hers. As long as she wasn’t needed for
something. The house made him feel powerful and secure, which meant
it was worth its weight in gold.
    He wouldn’t let his
visitors use unfamiliarity with the location as an excuse for
lateness. All his employees quickly learnt no excuses were
tolerated. It was better just to apologise when at fault, and say
nothing more.
    When the car arrived,
he could hear it was driven in a panic. He watched through his
glass walls as it skidded to a halt, leaving a cloud of sand behind
like a rally driver throwing up dust. His visitors scurried to the
front door, and knocked quickly; he could almost feel them
quivering through vibrations in the floor. This was exactly how he
liked visitors to be; firmly on the back foot, unwilling to
contradict him. Before he got up to open the door, he yelled to
Melissa to go upstairs into their bedroom. If there was one thing
he hated it was when his visitors perved at his girlfriend. She
lived in a bikini whilst at the beach house, not by her own choice,
but by his. She was already half way up the stairs by the time he
ordered her there. She knew as soon as she heard the car he would
be having a ‘meeting’ she was not to be present at.
    He hadn’t seen these
two before. It wasn’t rare for him to have employees whom he never
met. For particular areas of his business, this was how he wanted
it to be. He didn’t bother to introduce himself because he
preferred not to know their names. They walked into the foyer like
scared school boys, ready to be caned by the head
master.
    One of them said
quickly: ‘Sorry we’re late’, and the other scuttled in, ready for a
handshake that wasn’t offered.
    ‘ Nice house, boss,
must be a nice change from freezing cold London.’
    He glared at the one
who spoke. It wasn’t his business to talk about nice houses,
weather, or where he came from. This nervous prattling was making
him feel angry, so he quickly cut to the chase.
    ‘ I like to sit out on
the deck to discuss business.’
    He led the way
through the giant glass bi-fold doors that looked out over the
beach. It was a habit of his to take this sort of meeting outside.
He knew beyond an inch of a doubt there were no recording devices
hidden in this house, but old habits were familiar and
comfortable.
    The men had
thankfully worked out silence was the best option; they sat at the
wooden outdoor seating on the deck, and waited to be spoken to.
Vince let the tension hang in the air for what must have seemed an
eternity to the men, before he turned away from the view, finished
his glass of wine, and started to speak.
    ‘ I've been told you
lads can be handy when