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case of Barbara and Rupert, the
casus belli
was the ownership of the Notting Hill flat Fatty Porter had sold years ago to Gregory Ragg. According to Rupert, this sale had only gone through because Fatty believed that Gregory wanted the flat for himself; but in the end, after living there for only a year or so, Gregory had retired to the country and passed the flat to his daughter. Had Fatty known that this would happen, Rupert maintained, he would never have sold the flat in the first place, and he—Rupert—would now be comfortably ensconced in it. As it was, Barbara lived in it and enjoyed the advantages of its substantial drawing room, which was very much larger than that which Rupert and his wife had in their own, markedly inferior flat.
    The disagreement between Ecuador and Peru had resulted in a state of armed tension between the two countries. Every so often, in the
war season
, as it became known, when the weather allowed for good flying, this would flare up into an exchange of actual hostilities, during which the Ecuadorians would shoot down a few Peruvian MiG fighters, and vice versa. Eventually better sense prevailed and the issue was resolved by the World Court—largely in favour of Peru, a decision that did not meet with wide support in Ecuador. (It is still possible to engage the taxi drivers of Quito in discussion of this matter, making the Ecuadorian capital one of the few cities in the world where taxi drivers are prepared to discuss the jurisprudence of the World Court. London taxi drivers, although opinionated in some areas, are not known for the strength of their views on the decisions of the Hague court.)
    There had never been open hostilities between Barbara and Rupert, who restricted themselves to the occasional slightly needling remark—just enough to keep the matter alive but not sufficient to lead to actual conflict. There was one such exchange thatmorning, as Rupert came into the meeting room at the Ragg Porter Agency to find Barbara flicking through an unsolicited manuscript, a look of amusement on her face.
    “I see you’re enjoying that,” Rupert observed. “I took a manuscript home last night and left it there, I’m afraid. There’s so much clutter in my study in the flat, you see—not quite enough room. The manuscript disappeared under a pile of papers.”
    Barbara picked up the inference immediately. What Rupert was saying here was that her flat—to which he did not think her entitled—was much roomier; had he lived in the flat to which he was morally entitled (hers) he would not mislay manuscripts.
    So she looked up and replied: “You really should think about moving some time, Rupert. I hear that this is a good time to buy. There are quite a few for sale signs in our street, you know. Not that I would ever think of moving myself.”
    Rupert, of course, understood perfectly what this meant, which was: You should forget the past and stop moaning about things that happened a long time ago. You should find a larger flat because I’m never going to move out of the flat that you think is yours, so just forget it and shut up. So there.
    Rupert pursed his lips. The subject would not be discussed further now, and possibly not again that entire week, but it would not be dropped. Oh no. When one was as certain of the rectitude of one’s cause as he was it would take more than a cheap salvo about moving and for sale signs to take the subject off the agenda altogether. But for now there was business to be done.
    He sat down. The directors usually spent half an hour or so talking about agency affairs before the firm’s three other agents, who were not on the board, joined the meeting. This gave them an opportunity to catch up on who was doing what, and also to exchange odd bits of publishing gossip that might be useful in negotiations on their clients’ behalf.
    “Your man, Great … What’s his name again?” said Rupert.
    “Greatorex. Errol Greatorex.”
    “Yes, him. Where are we?