A Saturday Afternoon Interview In Manhattan.

A Saturday Afternoon Interview In Manhattan.
——————————————————————-

Sitting in the window of Southgate near Central Park looking over the greenery and rocks of the city sanctuary; Irene seemed relaxed, sipping her coffee and perusing the excellent menu whilst talking about the most outrageous behaviour. She was primly dressed in black and fur but showing a plunging neckline and fiercely high red heels.

She had agreed to meet me when I contacted her about her latest undertaking, the purchase of land in upstate New York and up towards the Hamptons on Long Island. I really wished to inquire about her business rather than her investments but that might have been dangerous.

For me.

“You have invested in land that is not zoned for building?”

“Yes, there are a few houses and farm buildings there but nothing significant.”

“Why in such isolated locations?”

“For me the isolation is an asset not a disadvantage.” She said, sipping her coffee with pursed lips.

“But you have bought for 100 Million, so investment must be uppermost in your mind?”

Placing down the cup delicately she traced the rim with her forefinger. For a moment she seemed to be deeply considering her answer. Rings on her fingers, a flash of rainbow reflection from the diamonds.

“Investment for me is not losing value. That is I pursue my own goals and interests for my own reasons. It so happens that I have a small stake in a business venture up in the north of Long Island and I wanted to buy adjacent land to add value and privacy. As for the upstate land, well, that is a long shot, we shall see if I have judged the market right.”

I considered my options carefully. Here I was, the bogus reporter for an American Investment magazine, and there she was, a woman involved in some sort of shady dealing over the last ten years.

Why bogus?

Because I am a private detective and I can sense these things…

Normally I am involved in divorce and other sticky personal cases that require tracing, patience and impersonation as well as a talent for recording and filming.

A woman who was trying to trace the disappearance of a friend of hers had hired me. God knows, normally these cases are sorted in a few hours of searches on the web and some shoe leather being left on the sidewalk. A quick few hundred bucks and a days work. This one was not working out. Already I was out of pocket on expenses with nothing to show the client.

The only lead was Miss Irene Clearmont, a sexagenarian woman who was connected to all the right people and came out of nowhere just ten years ago. Difficult to get to talk to, impossible to trace, money in spades and privacy of impenetrable proportions.

“So tell my readers about your investments in Long Island!”

“I have part of a special farm in the north of the island. A kind of training institute. We do selective breeding, training and some very specific education. The work is somewhat secretive because we are making great strides and have to protect our methods.”

“This sounds interesting, can you give me any more clues about this fascinating business.” I felt myself leaning forward a little as if in conspiratorial mode.

Irene, on the other hand, just smiled and finished her coffee. I felt one of her shoes touch the inside of my thigh, a somewhat unexpected move from this attractive but older woman. The flat sole of her stiletto rested between my legs and gently rubbed against my erection.

With a smile that would have been coy in any other woman she opened her small clutch bag and took a lipstick. With a delicate touch she renewed her lips in plum red before she consented to continue.

“If you wish, you can join me there, but it may be a little discomforting for you. Today, before I agreed to this interview, I called your magazine only to be informed that you are not on their books as a reporter. I fact it turns out that you are a private investigator and are poking about in areas of my life that I consider to be inviolate and untouchable.”

For a moment she smacked her lips to smooth the lipstick.