"Can I help you?"  The waiter looked as though he were playing hooky from school, the suggestion of a beard doing nothing to age his looks.  Despite his youth he had the supercilious look off pat.  Give him a year, thought Ess, and he would be a Maitre d' at a West End restaurant.
 
"Do you do herbal teas?" she asked.
 
The waiter pointed over his shoulder with a stylus by way of a reply.  Ess scanned the blackboard on the wall behind him.
 
"I'll have a pomegranate and ginger, please."
 
The waiter made a mark on his electronic tablet and turned to Oz.
 
"Sir?" he sneered.
 
"I'll have an instant coffee, cheers.  Bung some creamer powder into it while you're at it."
 
"A latte," repeated the waiter, ticking his tablet.
 
"Oz!  You'll have us kicked out," Ess hissed as the waiter retired.
 
"So?  Seven pound fifty for a cup of coffee and that little shit can't even be pleasant?  Five minutes we were sat here, ignored because he thought we were plebs.  Good riddance.  I'd like to see the little turd try and kick me out.  I'd snap him in two with a sneeze."
 
"Oz!"
 
Oz raised his hands.  "I know, I know.  I shall be charm incarnate to the client.  Jumped up little waiters who think they're God because they can tell a Columbian bean from a Kenyan one are fair game, though."
 
Ess looked around the coffee shop, though the title didn't seem grand enough for the surroundings.  The clientele (this place was too splendid to merely have customers) dressed with the casual scruffiness that only the rich can pull off.
 
"Let's wait until we've met him before we start any trouble."
 
"Start?  Start?  I didn't start it.  He did.  But by Odin I'll finish it.  You know I can't abide bullies, and that's all it is, bullying."
 
"What?  You bully your students all the time."
 
"That's different.  They're students.  Besides -"
 
"Hi."  They looked up at the nervous young man hovering over them.  "Ess?"
 
Ess rose and held out her hand.  "You must be Martin."
 
"Hi, hi."  He shook her hand.  "Yes, Martin.  Martin Prescott."
 
"And this is my colleague, Professor Dawkins."
 
"Professor."  He shook hands.
 
"Call me Oz, dear boy.  Only the magistrates call me Professor Dawkins."
 
"Really?  Oh, right."  He laughed, the way people do when they're not sure whether something was meant to be funny or not.  He turned to the counter.  "Nathan?"  The supercilious waiter looked up.  Martin pointed to the table and the waiter nodded.  No five minute wait and reading from the blackboard for him, apparently.
 
"Have you ordered?" he asked, dropping into an armchair.
 
"We have indeed, though we declined to take out a second mortgage for a muffin of dubious provenance," said Oz.
 
"No?  Do you want a muffin?  I can get one."  Martin twisted in his chair to attract the attention of the waiter.
 
"No, no, sorry."  Ess laid a hand on his arm.  "I'm sorry.  Oz was just joking.  His humour is, um, one of a kind."
 
"Yes?  Only I can order you anything you want."
 
"No.  What I meant was, Oz is the only one that thinks what he says is funny."  Ess shot Oz a look that could have got her ten to life.  "We're fine, honest."
 
"Okay."  Martin looked to and fro between Oz and Ess, like a man in shark-infested waters torn between the boat of cannibals and the waves crashing on ragged rocks.
 
"Mr. Prescott," said Ess, putting on her professional voice.  "Martin.  Relax.  We're here to help.  There's no need to be anxious.  You're amongst friends."
 
"Yes?  Yes.  Sorry.  Only, I've not done this sort of thing before.  I mean, who has?  Apart from you, of course."
 
The waiter arrived with a tray of cups.  He placed a cappuccino in front of the client.  "Martin."  He placed the herbal tea in front of Ess without a word.  The latte he placed in front of Oz with considerable less grace.  Oz beamed at the waiter in thanks.
 
"Anything else?" the waiter asked Martin.
 
"No, that's fine, thanks, Nathan.  Put it on my tab."
 
"Oh, if I knew it was all on you I'd have had an overpriced muffin," said Oz.
 
"A muffin?" asked Nathan.
 
"No, he's joking," said Martin.  "Um, right?"
 
"Of course."  Oz slapped his belly with both hands.  "My body is a temple, don't you know."
 
"Very droll."  Nathan turned and returned to his counter.
 
"Martin," said Ess, trying to drag the conversation back to at least spitting distance of professional.  "Why don't you tell us what the commission is?"
 
"The commission?  Right.  Yes.  Well, the thing is."  He dropped his voice and leaned closer.  "The thing is, my, um, friend is missing.  I'm worried about her.  I want you to find her."
 
"Have you tried the police?" asked Ess.
 
Martin shook his head.  "No.  I mean, my, um, friend's an adult, right?  They'd just take her details and wait to see if she turns up in the morgue.  Anyway, she's not exactly the sort of person the police are equipped to look for, if you get my drift."
 
"Sorry?"
 
"You know."  He looked to and fro, searching their faces.  "They said you were good at that sort of thing.  Looking for those sort of people.  Right?"
 
"When you say, that sort of people, what exactly do you mean?"
 
"You know.  Other people.  People who aren't exactly run of the mill."  He leant forward even more.  "People who aren't exactly human," he whispered.
 
"Are you human?" asked Oz.  "Exactly?"
 
"Me?  Of course I am."
 
"What does her husband say?"
 
"Sorry?"
 
"You called her your um-friend.  Not your friend, your um-friend.  In my experience, um-friend means one of two things: a gay lover or a married one.  You called your um-friend 'she'.  So either you're a bloody good male impersonator or she's married."
 
"No.  No!  She's not married.  And I'm not - not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm just not."
 
"Then why the um?  Why not girlfriend?  What?" Oz shrugged at Ess as she glared at him.  "We need to know, don't we?  Honesty and trust.  Got to have that with a client."
 
"Look, it's nothing like that."  Martin turned the cup in its saucer, staring at the leaf pattern on the coffee froth.  "It's just her dad, okay?  And her brothers.  Basically, it's her family.  They're a bit traditional.  They wouldn't approve, not with someone like me.  So we sort of keep it under wraps, okay?  I mean, if it was down to me I'd shout it from the treetops.  I'd take out a full page ad in the Times.  I'd post it on Twitter.  Her too.  Only we can't, not yet, not with her family.  So I'm pretty much screwed, you see?  I can't just jump up and down and ask where she is.  I can't go to the authorities, even if they cared.  I can't bang heads together and all that.  Because her and me, basically, we're just nodding acquaintances, publically."  He looked at Oz.  "Um-friends."
 
"Nothing wrong with that," said Oz, uncharacteristically gentle.  "Been there myself.  Mind you, in my case they were married, but I get it.  So you want us to bang heads on your behalf."
 
"Yes.  No.  Well, not bang heads.  Only she's in trouble, I know she is.  She'd get in touch if she could.  So she's being held somewhere.  She can't get a message out, and no one's seen her.  So she's in trouble, and I need to find her.  You need to find her."
 
Ess and Oz looked at each other.  Oz shrugged.
 
"Martin, I don't know what you've heard," said Ess.  "We've had a little success, but we're not anyone special, you understand?  I can't guarantee a happy ending, or any sort of result at all.  Maybe we can't find her.  Maybe she doesn't want to be found.  Maybe she can't be found.  You understand?  And maybe the police are the best people to talk to."
 
"You won't take the case?"  Martin's face was a picture of misery.
 
"I'm not saying that.  I'm just saying we might not get anywhere.  Or maybe we'll get an answer you don't want to hear.  What I'm saying is, don't get your hopes up."
 
"Ha!"  He stirred his coffee, destroying the work of art floating on top.  "Like they could be any lower.  Hope?  You have no idea.  So, are you going to take the case?"
 
"Perhaps.  Who is she, your friend?"
 
"Daisy."
 
"Daisy who?"
 
Martin shrugged.  "Just Daisy."
 
"Just Daisy?  She doesn't have a last name?  Wait.  You mean Daisy?"
 
"Yes."
 
"Daisy Daisy?  The Daisy?"
 
Martin looked down at his coffee and nodded.
 
Ess looked at Oz.  "He's talking about Daisy."
 
"My God!  Really?"  Oz sat back in his chair.  "Daisy?  You mean, the Daisy you both know about but about whom I have absolutely no idea?  That Daisy?"
 
"You can't be serious.  You don't know about Daisy?"
 
"Does she ride a bicycle made for two?"
 
"Dear Mother, Oz, how can you be so educated and so ignorant?  Daisy, the model."
 
"The model what?"
 
"The fashion model.  The glamour girl.  The... "  Ess twirled her hand as if to roll out the right phrase that Oz would understand.  "The 'It' girl.  She's in all the fashion magazines."
 
"Oh, that Daisy.  The one in all the fashion magazines I subscribe to."
 
Ess shook her head and turned back to Martin.
 
"And you say she's from the Otherworld?"
 
"The Otherworld?  Is that what it's called?  I guess so."
 
"So she's specifically what?  I mean, if she's not exactly human?"
 
Martin looked to and from.  "I said I'd never tell."
 
"You can tell us in complete confidence, Martin.  I swear to you no one will hear from us."
 
He finally took a draught from his coffee, then placed the cup on the saucer, staring at the foam.
 
"She's a fairy," he whispered.