Juvenile Behaviour and a Change in Perspective.

Max still isn't speaking to me this morning, though I'm not entirely sure how he's managed to cast me in the wrong on this one. I stick my tongue out at him as he leaves the house, and am rewarded with a reproving glance from Connie and an outrageous "how juvenile" comment from Josh.

I somehow resist the temptation to explain exactly why the frosty atmosphere is entirely down to Max, and stomp off to work instead - where I am greeted by Greg, who informs me that he is on a diet. Apparently he came to this realisation while he was watching "How to Look Good Naked" last night - which he has re-titled "Help Me, Gok - I've Eaten Too Much." He starts doing sit-ups while I make the coffee, but has to give up as soon as The Boss arrives.

Andrew greets Greg and ignores me completely. So that's still the way it is, then. Marvellous. Luckily, there are plenty of phone calls to deal with, so the silent treatment proves rather ineffective. The self-styled ruler of the Channel Islands phones up again, still demanding recognition by the British Government, though I have no idea why he has selected The Boss to be his emissary in this matter.

I put him through to Andrew as a small act of revenge. This backfires, as Andrew's sulking becomes even more conspicuous afterwards. Luckily, he has a full diary of completely unimportant appointments scheduled for this afternoon, so he leaves just after lunch.

His absence enables Greg to give me back all the cases that Andrew handed over to him earlier. My cases. I offer to let Greg keep them, but he just says,

"Mol, don't be stupid. And I'm really sorry he's being such a total idiot. I'm not encouraging him - but what can I do?"

"Oh, I don't know," I say. "Have you tried telling him that you don't believe in his ridiculous conspiracy theory either?"

"Yes," says Greg. "But he just said that I needed to step out from under your malign influence. Could we get him sectioned, do you think?"

"Doubt it," I say. "Not with how long it takes to get anyone bloody sectioned around here. Look at this!"

I pass Greg the latest letter from Angie Harrod. "It's about Sadie. Again."

"I thought she was going to be sectioned on Monday," says Greg.

"She was. Angie says she thinks that someone tipped Sadie off that they were coming. God knows who, though. Angie found her hiding up a tree after the team had given up and gone away again. And she was naked."

"Oh, for f*cksake," says Greg.

"I know. It'll take months to re-arrange, with so many people's diaries involved. Well, weeks anyway."

"Well, what the hell are we going to do in the meantime?" Greg says. "The neighbours are going to lynch her if she puts out any more poisoned sweets to entice their kids."

"Maybe we could ask The Boss what he suggests, when he gets back. Seeing as I'm so incompetent," I say.

"Oh, don't be bloody daft," says Greg. "You must be able to think of something better than that."

"I haven't got a clue, though we could always take a tip from Sadie and poison our sandwiches. If we left them lying around in a tempting fashion -"

"God, maybe Andrew's right to be paranoid," says Greg. I throw Andrew's Russian fedora at him, and we settle down to work.

So at least Greg's talking to me. And so is Johnny, or rather, he's emailing me, anyway. He is back in Moscow now, but wants me to recommend a hotel in Northwick for the Thursday after next. In the meantime, he wants more photos of my arse. And of any other parts of my anatomy that I think would be of interest. I'm not entirely sure what he means by this, but I'm sure I'll think of something.

It occurs to me that, if Johnny simply wanted to get laid, or to have some variety in his sex-life, he has a world of opportunity out there. He is away more than he's at home, stays alone in luxury hotels, and earns a bloody fortune. He could afford the most expensive call girls, and he probably has lots of young and ambitious female staff who wouldn't be averse to his attentions either.

Given the inexplicable effect that even the Boss' rather pathetic semblance of power has on almost every female he encounters, Johnny must have his pick of women, probably much younger and more attractive than me. So why on earth is he prepared to fly over here just to see me? Maybe he isn't the total shit I often assume he must be.......  I'd better start doing some sit-ups, too. With any luck I will need to look good naked in less than a fortnight.