9
In the big sitting room at Sandy Ridge Steve and Chas were anxiously waiting for Steve's private detective to get in touch. Steve poured himself a neat Jim Beam. Chas stared from the window.
"It's hard without my own spread," Chas complained. "Sometimes I feel I don't exist."
Steve tried, as always, to reassure his friend. "You'll get your spread. That hillbilly Greg Swales'll go down. We'll have the land and the water."
Chas was still far from happy. "We haven't heard a word from Abe Creed – we still don't know how much there is. Our idea of a water sports venue might not happen."
"Abe'll get here. It's a forty-five minute drive from Golden Square. You know that. He can't just walk off the site without a reason. We don't want to arouse anyone's suspicion, do we? The more work those
