The next day I went to my friend Van Schoonbeke to ask for the name and address of the company as well as a reference, and that same evening I wrote a lengthy formal letter to the firm in Amsterdam, one of the best I’ve ever written. I posted it myself, because you can’t trust anyone else with a thing like that, not even your own children.

The reply came swiftly. So swiftly, in fact, that it gave me a fright. It came in a telegram which read: “Expected tomorrow eleven o’clock – head office Amsterdam – all travel expenses paid.”

Now I had to think of an excuse to stay away from the office the next day. My wife suggested a funeral. But I didn’t like the idea, because I’d already taken a day off for Mother’s burial not long before. And you can hardly miss a day at the office for some cousin or other – at least not an entire day.

“Why don’t you tell them you’re ill?” my wife suggested. “You can start preparing the ground today. There’s plenty of flu going around.”

As a result I spent my day at the office cradling my head, and tomorrow I’m off to Amsterdam to meet with Hornstra and his firm.

V

The cheese film has begun to unfold before me.

Hornstra has appointed me as his general representative for Belgium and the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. “Official representative,” he calls it, although I don’t quite understand why. He’d thrown in the Grand Duchy for good measure, as though otherwise the title lacked importance. It’s a long way from Antwerp, but at least I’ll get to see that mountainous country. And then it will be my turn to dish out names of restaurants in Echternach, Diekirch and Vianden to those chaps at Van Schoonbeke’s.

The journey was pleasant. Since Hornstra said he’d cover the expenses, I travelled second class instead of third. Afterwards it transpired they’d expected me to travel first class. I also realized too late that I could have taken a third-class ticket and pocketed the difference. But it wouldn’t have been the proper thing to do, especially not at a first meeting.