existence in rural Mallorca. The finca had been a complete wreck and so for five years we journeyed back and forth, gradually restoring it with the help of a local builder. When the house was just about habitable, we took the plunge and relocated to the island, although I continued to hop back and forth to London to run my Mayfair based PR company.
  I am rudely interrupted from my reverie by the trilling mobile in my pocket. It's past lunchtime and it's a London number so that must mean trouble. I mean, who other than Rachel, my super efficient managing director, or worse still, a client, would call during siesta hour unless it was something urgent? And indeed, it is she.
  'What's up?'
  'I've got great news.' There's a pause. 'You remember that pitch document we did for Miller Magic Interiors in New York?'
  'That was ages ago. Didn't Bryan recommend us?'
  Bryan Patterson, president of The Aphrodite Corporation in New York, is a mover and shaker in the fragrance business, and one of our clients.
  'That's right. He and the owner, Daniella Popescu-Miller, are great mates.'
  'What of it?'
  'Well, Daniella's assistant has just called to offer us their PR account in the UK.'
  'You're kidding? Without even seeing us?'
  'Actually, Daniella is coming to London next month and wants to meet up. You have to be there.'
  'Why?'
  'Because she's insisted.'
  'I don't like the sound of that. You know I'm a magnet for nutters.'
  'Come on, she's a close friend of Bryan's â and he's normal.'
  'He sleeps with a rabbit.'
  'Leave poor Tootsie out of this. I can think of worse crimes,' says Rachel.
  I give a snort. 'Anything else I should know about her?'
  'There is something. She's married to a Hollywood actor.'
  I dredge up some mild, voyeuristic enthusiasm. 'Oh, and who's that?'
  The name tumbles out in a flurry. Not one that would immediately jog the old memory bank, but the genuine article none the less.
  Rachel's tone is brisk. 'It makes sense for you to work on our client portfolio in New York. You've already got Bryan and Greedy George.'
  George Myers is a long-standing, insatiably acquisitive and demanding client of mine, known endearingly in the business as Greedy George. It just so happened that no sooner had I moved to Mallorca, than George decided to expand his brand, Havana Leather, in the States. He urged me to sell up my PR company and become his new head of communications, commuting between New York, London and Mallorca. On the surface, the idea of working long hours in order to earn a substantial salary appealed greatly â until I thought about it. After all, the very reason we'd moved to Mallorca was to escape the grind. There was still the old chestnut of having to earn a living so I handed over the reins of my PR company to Rachel, agreeing, in the short term, to continue working with her on our more challenging clients. Greedy George was one of them. My game plan, in time, was to develop some modest business enterprise of my own on the island.
  Rachel rattles on like an unstoppable highway express. 'By the way, it looks as if Greedy George is in London at the same time as Daniella so we can kill two birds. We also need to hook up with H Hotels when you're over.'
  H Hotels. What kind of a name is that? Manuel Ramirez, its founder, is a Panamanian multi-millionaire who has recently signed us up to handle his publicity. Rachel conveniently got me to negotiate with him on account of my vaguely acceptable spoken Spanish.
  'Let's hope he doesn't bring his gun to the meeting.'
  'What gun?' she exclaims.
  'The gold Kalashnikov I told you about.'
  'Oh God, how could I forget? The one he keeps above his desk in Panama City?'
  'The same.'
  'What did he say again?'
  'I asked him if the gun
  I am rudely interrupted from my reverie by the trilling mobile in my pocket. It's past lunchtime and it's a London number so that must mean trouble. I mean, who other than Rachel, my super efficient managing director, or worse still, a client, would call during siesta hour unless it was something urgent? And indeed, it is she.
  'What's up?'
  'I've got great news.' There's a pause. 'You remember that pitch document we did for Miller Magic Interiors in New York?'
  'That was ages ago. Didn't Bryan recommend us?'
  Bryan Patterson, president of The Aphrodite Corporation in New York, is a mover and shaker in the fragrance business, and one of our clients.
  'That's right. He and the owner, Daniella Popescu-Miller, are great mates.'
  'What of it?'
  'Well, Daniella's assistant has just called to offer us their PR account in the UK.'
  'You're kidding? Without even seeing us?'
  'Actually, Daniella is coming to London next month and wants to meet up. You have to be there.'
  'Why?'
  'Because she's insisted.'
  'I don't like the sound of that. You know I'm a magnet for nutters.'
  'Come on, she's a close friend of Bryan's â and he's normal.'
  'He sleeps with a rabbit.'
  'Leave poor Tootsie out of this. I can think of worse crimes,' says Rachel.
  I give a snort. 'Anything else I should know about her?'
  'There is something. She's married to a Hollywood actor.'
  I dredge up some mild, voyeuristic enthusiasm. 'Oh, and who's that?'
  The name tumbles out in a flurry. Not one that would immediately jog the old memory bank, but the genuine article none the less.
  Rachel's tone is brisk. 'It makes sense for you to work on our client portfolio in New York. You've already got Bryan and Greedy George.'
  George Myers is a long-standing, insatiably acquisitive and demanding client of mine, known endearingly in the business as Greedy George. It just so happened that no sooner had I moved to Mallorca, than George decided to expand his brand, Havana Leather, in the States. He urged me to sell up my PR company and become his new head of communications, commuting between New York, London and Mallorca. On the surface, the idea of working long hours in order to earn a substantial salary appealed greatly â until I thought about it. After all, the very reason we'd moved to Mallorca was to escape the grind. There was still the old chestnut of having to earn a living so I handed over the reins of my PR company to Rachel, agreeing, in the short term, to continue working with her on our more challenging clients. Greedy George was one of them. My game plan, in time, was to develop some modest business enterprise of my own on the island.
  Rachel rattles on like an unstoppable highway express. 'By the way, it looks as if Greedy George is in London at the same time as Daniella so we can kill two birds. We also need to hook up with H Hotels when you're over.'
  H Hotels. What kind of a name is that? Manuel Ramirez, its founder, is a Panamanian multi-millionaire who has recently signed us up to handle his publicity. Rachel conveniently got me to negotiate with him on account of my vaguely acceptable spoken Spanish.
  'Let's hope he doesn't bring his gun to the meeting.'
  'What gun?' she exclaims.
  'The gold Kalashnikov I told you about.'
  'Oh God, how could I forget? The one he keeps above his desk in Panama City?'
  'The same.'
  'What did he say again?'
  'I asked him if the gun
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