‘Yes … ’ and not knowing what to call him I added the word ‘sir’. Then, as he silently evaluated that response, I asked, ‘What about Mr Greenberg?’

‘Greenberg’s a daisy, the prom queen of the desk jockeys. He doesn’t count for shit so don’t you give him a second thought. You think that when Charlie starts flooding down Highway One Greenberg’ll be the man to stand in his way?’

‘No.’

‘Damn right he won’t, and when the shit hits the fan, and believe me it’s going to hit it pretty soon, you won’t see the likes of Nathaniel Greenberg for considerable dust. So the Service, your country, needs whatever skills you claim to have and needs you to stand up straight. Straight and true. You understand?’

I said I did without having any grasp of what I was needed for, and too intimidated to ask openly, and for a moment wondered if he had got me confused with someone else and hadn’t realised by aptitude and nature I was nothing more than a desk jock. But the best I could venture was, ‘I work a desk, basically. Sometimes a bit of translation.’

‘I know what you do. You’re not getting parachuted into Hanoi – I just need your services from time to time and a little back-watching, a little bag-carrying. That’s all. When I need you, you’ll hear from me, and in the meantime don’t discuss this conversation with anyone. And when Greenberg asks you, just tell him that you’re needed to offer some unspecific additional support. Got it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You’re not on parade, Mikey. If you have to call me anything, you can address me as Mr Donovan. Most people call me Iggy but you’re not most people yet. Hopefully you will be once I see you shape up.’

He paid our bill and I had a brief glimpse of a photograph in his wallet – a dark-haired woman with her arms round two small children. When we emerged from the shadows of the café into the light of the morning I blinked and raised my hand to shade my eyes, so for a second it must have looked like I was saluting him. Then, without any elaborate farewell, he was gone and I was left to make my journey back to my desk and when, as he had predicted, Greenberg gently enquired about the meeting, I responded in the way I had been instructed. I could see that this response wasn’t very satisfactory to him but he didn’t probe any further and instead turned on his heels with the air of a man who had been snubbed, leaving me to ponder what ‘back-watching’ would entail. Nor did I have any glimmer of awareness about the role that Donovan would subsequently come to play in my life. Perhaps if I had, things might have followed a different course.

That same night I received my second summons. This time it was from Madame Binh, who intercepted my arrival back at the apartment block with a wordless gesture to follow her through her open door. The first thing I registered was the smell of incense that lent everywhere a sickly scent. The room we stood in was furnished with mostly heavily lacquered pieces and the couch was covered with a kind of thick cellophane as if it was being kept good. An ornately carved screen with white cranes flying across it designated the separation of living space and kitchen. Still without speaking, she offered me a glass of a clear liquid she had already poured and, when I hesitated, said, ‘Yes, yes,’ and set me an example by draining her own.