Not that she couldn't be all grace and politeness if she had to, she just couldn't maintain the charade if her heart wasn't in it. Any client who entered her world on their own pedestal of self-importance, because of wealth or power or other related misconceptions of worth, would discover pretty bloody quickly that any kind of attitude would be ignored. After they'd signed her contract, of course. She'd give any rich bastard a chance, but expectations of more for less would be given short shrift; they'd get no more time or effort than she ever gave Joan Pinter, the pensioner next door, who regularly hired Kit to track down her no-good son.

      All that being thought, she was prepared to behave herself for Enzo's benefit. She looked down at her bottle-green silk shirt, black trousers and sensible leather shoes, and was therefore rather glad she'd decided not to challenge the old-fashioned sensibilities of the regular Windsor patrons - this client-one in particular - by wearing her purple leather pants and runners.

      "Ah, Kit," Enzo said, standing as she approached. He took her hand in his, kissed each cheek and then turned back to Mrs Skinny-Nose to make the introductions. "Sarah Boyes-Lang this is my dear friend and," he lowered his voice, "private investigator, Kit O'Malley."

      Sarah Boyes-Lang, who didn't stand for the hand shake, stretched her mouth into something that looked a little less like a cat's bum and said: "This is quite something. I've never met a private eye before."

      Kit smiled politely. At least Mrs Beaky - behave O'Malley - hadn't added the dreaded gender-specific adjective, she thought.

      "There can't be many of you in town," Mrs B-L continued. "Women, I mean."

      Oh-kay! Kit raised her eyebrows. "You'd be surprised," she said. "I actually know quite a few women in town."

      Shut up, O'Malley!

      Too late. Sometimes knowing stuff about someone before you meet them is really not a good thing. Especially because Kit knew she was just as prone as anyone to forming opinions based on cliché, rumour and her own prejudices which, like it or not, she did have despite several DYI exorcisms.

      But, honestly! Sarah Boyes-Lang could be mounted and exhibited as the cliché of affluent clichés. She was obscenely wealthy, without having done a day's work in her life; had disinherited her son for becoming an actor instead of a lawyer; had divorced three husbands because she was bored with them; had been a highly-financial member of the political disaster known as the TrueBlue Party; was a founder of the Diana Club, a bunch of tally-ho women who routinely chased foxes to death; and belonged to the Wilma Foundation - a group of nutty, filthy rich women whose idea of 'community work' included thousand-dollar-a-plate dinners to raise money for the foundation's own spa and health resort in Daylesford.

      The head of the Boyes-Lang family was only fifty-six-years-old which, in this century, was way too young to be dressing, as she did, like a stitched-up vicar's wife. Mind you there was the pig's ear and silk purse thing to consider because, to paraphrase dear Brigit, this woman was singularly unattractive and, oh, talking to her...

      "What would you like to drink, Miss O'Malley?

      A slippery nipple, Kit thought. "A single malt would be lovely," she said taking a seat. "And please, Sarah, call me Katherine."

      Kit smiled. She always kept a smidgen of politeness in reserve; mostly so as not to embarrass other people like the now relieved-looking Enzo McAllister, but only friends and humans got to call her Kit. She shrugged, grinned at Enzo and waited patiently to be filled in. After a lot of very-small talk while they waited for the drinks, Sarah Boyes-Lang finally switched from her superficially-chatty face to her serious business face, seemingly just by stretching her neck and squinting, whereon Enzo sat forward and clasped his hands between his knees.

      "Sarah would like to hire your services Kit, Katherine," he began, "if you think they are appropriate for a rather delicate issue."

      Sarah nodded.

      "If I think they're appropriate?" Kit repeated.

      Sarah nodded again. "If you think you can help."

      "Oh. Okay," Kit smiled. Get on with it, she thought.

      "Sarah's daughter, Vanessa, has been seeing an American who claims he's a descendant of the Russian royal family," Enzo explained.

      Kit raised her eyebrows. "Do you mean seeing as in he's imaginary?"

      "No dear, he's quite real," Sarah said. "We're just not sure about his lineage."

      "Who's we?" Kit asked, somehow knowing it didn't include Vanessa.

      "Lorenzo is checking his background for me."

      Ah, the royal we, Kit thought. "Oh, Enzo, he's not saying he's related to Anastasia."

      "No," Enzo laughed. "Says he's the great-nephew of a minor Russian duchess, who emigrated to America in 1917."

      "Good timing. So this guy is, what, American of Russian descent with possible blue-blood? I don't understand why you need me."

      "Vanessa met Gregor while in Greece on her way to England two months ago," Sarah explained. "He was, he said, travelling the world before returning to New York to finish the studies he'd begun in Moscow, where he'd been living for six years. Nessa brought him home to Melbourne and they've been partying like there's no tomorrow ever since."

      "Is that bad?" Kit asked.

      "Good or bad is not the issue," Sarah stated, waggling her head until she stopped suddenly, as if a thought had entered it. "Oh my! Unless they're doing recreational drugs or..." She threw up her hands. "Oh, but that's not the issue either. What I want to know is what a thirty-seven-year-old foreigner would see in my twenty-four year-old daughter."

      Kit laughed. She couldn't help herself. "You mean apart from the obvious?"

      "Ah! You mean my money," Sarah agreed, pleased that Kit understood.

      You selfish old tart, Kit thought. "I meant that Vanessa is an exceptionally good-looking young woman," she smiled. And she wasn't just being polite. Nor was she guessing that even a fifty per cent improvement on Mother B-L, had to at least put daughter on the plain side of good-looking. Kit had, in fact, seen a photo of Vanessa Boyes-Lang at Enzo and Alex's place on the weekend, before any mention of this possible job had come up.

      "Well, yes, she is pretty, but..."

      "But you're worried about her nonetheless," Kit said, catching sight of the frown that was controlling Enzo's amusement.

      "I am. There's the age difference, the fact that he is foreigner and, yes, I don't mind admitting there is also the gold-digger aspect to their whirlwind romance."

      "Maybe it will blow over. Holiday romances quite often do," Kit said, giving a passing thought to Genevieve and Firenze and the rain and Genevieve and the passion and...

      "They plan to announce their engagement next month," Enzo said, bringing her back to the Windsor and up to date.

      "Oh," Kit said thoughtfully. "Why am I here?"

      "I wish to ascertain whether he is genuine."

      "Um," Kit shook her head, "I don't do fidelity tests."

      "I wasn't expecting you to," Sarah looked confused. "I didn't know you could."

      "I can't. I mean I don't," Kit stated categorically.

      Sarah raised her hands. "I meant, Katherine, that I didn't know there was such a service. I simply want to know if Gregor Tereshenko is the genuine article. If he is who he says he is, then I suppose I will have to believe that he loves my daughter."

      Yeah right. Kit could almost see Sarah's cogs slipping around trying to figure out how one goes about fidelity-testing a potential in-law.

      "Does he have money?" Kit asked her.

      "He seems to."

      "Could he be royal Russian offspring?" she asked Enzo.

      "Possibly. I'm still