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Which do you call him?”
    â€œYes. He is. Ben is. What is this?”
    â€œSo when did you last hear from him?” Personnel repeated, shoving aside a pile of letters from my girlfriend of the time. “Does he ring you? How do you keep in touch?”
    â€œI had a postcard from him a week ago. Why?”
    â€œWhere is it?”
    â€œI don’t know. I destroyed it. If it isn’t in the desk. Will you kindly tell me what’s going on?”
    â€œDestroyed it?”
    â€œThrew it away.”
    â€œ Destroy sounds deliberate, doesn’t it? What did it look like?” Personnel said, pulling out another drawer. “Stay where you are.”
    â€œIt had a picture of a girl on one side and a couple of lines from Ben on the other. What does it matter what it had on it? Please get out of here.”
    â€œSaying?”
    â€œNothing. It said, this is my latest acquisition. “Dear Ned, this is my new catch, so glad you’re not here. Love, Ben.” Now get out!”
    â€œWhat did he mean by that?”—pulling out another drawer.
    â€œGlad I wouldn’t cut him out with the girl, I suppose. It was a joke.”
    â€œDo you usually cut him out with his women?”
    â€œWe’ve no women in common. We never have had.”
    â€œWhat do you have in common?”
    â€œFriendship,” I said angrily. “What the hell are you looking for actually? I think you’d better leave at once. Both of you.”
    â€œI can’t find it,” Personnel complained to his fat companion as he tossed aside another wad of my private letters. “No postcard of any kind. You’re not lying, are you, Ned?”
    The owlish man had not taken his eyes off me He continued to regard me with a wretched empathy, as if to say it comes to all of us and there’s nothing we can do. “How was the postcard delivered, Ned?” he asked. His voice, like his demeanour, was tentative and regretful.
    â€œBy post, how else?” I replied rudely.
    â€œThe open mail, you mean?” the owlish man suggested sadly.
    â€œNot by Service bag, for instance?”
    â€œBy Forces mail,” I replied. “Field Post Office. Posted Berlin with a British stamp on it. Delivered by the local postman.”
    â€œDo you remember the Field Post Office number, by any chance, Ned?” the owlish man enquired with enormous diffidence. “On the postmark, I mean?”
    â€œIt was the ordinary Berlin number, I imagine,” I retorted, struggling to keep up my indignation in the face of someone so exquisitely deferential. “Forty, I think. Why’s it so important? I’ve had enough of this.”
    â€œBut you’d say it was definitely posted in Berlin anyway? I mean, that was your impression at the time? So far as you recall it now? The Berlin number—you’re sure?”
    â€œIt looked exactly like the others he’d sent me. I didn’t submit it to a minute examination,” I said, my anger rising again as I saw Personnel yank yet another drawer from my desk and tip out its contents.
    A pin-up sort of girl, Ned?” the owlish man enquired, with a hangdog smile, which was evidently intended to apologise for Personnel as well as for himself.
    â€œA nude, yes. A tart, I assume, looking over her bare backside. That’s why. I threw it away. Because of my cleaning lady.”
    â€œOh, so you remember now!” Personnel cried, swinging round to face me. “I threw it away.” Pity you didn’t bloody say so at once!”
    â€œOh, I don’t know, Rex,” said the owlish man placatingly. “Ned was very confused when he came in. Who wouldn’t be?” His worried gaze settled once more upon myself. “You’re doing a stint with the watchers, isn’t that right? Monty says you’re rather good. Was she in colour, by the way? Your nude?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid he always send postcards, or