Two weeks after the photographs had landed on his desk, a call had come from Sleder’s office, not from Sleder himself but from his personal assistant, saying that Mr Sleder would very much like to see Mr Slan. Mr Slan replied that he would very much like to see Mr Sleder. The assistant sounded perfectly charming – she always did, whoever she spoke to; that was the way Sleder liked his company to sound.

So the plane was laid on, as was a vehicle to collect Slan from his home and transport him to Columbus Airport, as was a limousine at La Guardia to transport him to Sleder’s Manhattan headquarters. If it wasn’t for his silly carelessness in sending souvenir photographs, thought Slan, through his pleasant haze of vintage champagne – if it was him who had sent the photographs – one could get to like Deke Sleder and his way of life one hell of a lot.

He walked slightly unsteadily towards the receptionist. From across the room, she looked to him like a knockout. As he got close up to her, he realized she was a knockout, and he felt a surge of animal lust for her which surprised even him. She wore a loose black dress that hung, as if suspended by air, half-way down her otherwise totally exposed and very firm breasts. As she leaned forward to stub out a cigarette in the ashtray, and greet him with a rich, wanton smile, he too leaned forward, and could see her nipples as her breasts lifted back from the dress; he could see her firm white stomach below her breasts, and, he wasn’t quite sure, but he thought he could see beyond that.

‘Good morning,’ she said.

‘I – er – I – er – I’m Harry Slan. I have an appointment – eleven o’clock, with Mr Sleder.’ He realized she was watching him look down the front of her dress; what surprised him was that she smiled.

‘Yes, Mr Slan. Mr Sleder is expecting you. I’ll tell him you’re here.’

Slan opened his mouth to say thank you, but nothing came out. Her perfume had just hit him, and it drove him mad with desire; he was in love with her. He had to get back to Adamsville by this evening; it was his wife Myrtle’s birthday, and they were having a party. The Jonklins and the Ormsbys were coming round, and he had promised Myrtle faithfully that he would not be late back. ‘Would you care to join me for dinner tonight?’ he asked.