Fingernail Beach [antikvár]

OneArmidale Court stands back from Demansara Road in Kuala Lumpur, a glass-and-concrete palace rearing its twelve glittering storeys against the deep blue sky of Malaya. A row of nipah palms protects it from the road, and the stink of exhaust fumes and burning clutches is held at bay by the sharp scent of the beds of hibiscus. On this warm May evening some of their wind-blown petals lay in the road outside. I could smell them under my feet.I turned into the semicircular drive. There was a Mercedes 300SL nuzzling up to a Mark X Jaguar, both of them looking as if they were polished more than they were driven. A shallow flight of steps led up to the entrance, and as I trod on a rubber mat at the top the plate-glass doors opened automatically. Inside, the air-conditioning tasted faintly of cigar-smoke, but I wasn't going to Complain about it. I lit one of my home-made cigarettes.On my way up in the lift I smoked, and thought about Ferguson. I'd seen him, oh, maybe four or five times in the last seven years and he'd always been as superficially matey as ever, but he'd also made it pretty clear that nowadays he was far too busy faking his income tax to unbend too much to people he'd known when he was just another flight lieutenant. Ferguson had never wasted his charm on a man or a woman for whom he had no immediate use. Once again I wished I'd torn his note up, but once again curiosity got the better of me. I waited for the lift doors to open, and stepped out into the cool, wide corridor.7