There was only one time when I caught a brief glimpse of another, more vulnerable and perhaps more real person rather than that ideal. I had been to La Porte Bleue with Donovan for a meeting with someone he hoped would be useful. If anything he was more tetchy than usual, his irritation with me undisguised, as if I was guilty of some failure even though I had no idea what it was I was supposed to have done, but then I saw that he was on edge with everyone who came near him. He was also drinking more than usual and with a frequency that spoke of a darkening mood. Once when he had finished a beer he rattled the bottle noisily on the table to summon service and when Tuyen brought him another he never looked at her or offered thanks. A few minutes later he told me to go and keep an eye on the car – there was obviously some part of his conversation he didn’t want me to hear and when he spoke to me his tone was dismissive, edged with disdain. As if he was speaking to a minion. I could happily have told him to find someone else to mind his car, but I didn’t, glad to be out of his presence. And that was something I already understood about Donovan – he had the power to make you feel negatively about yourself, about whatever he supposed your momentary inadequacy was, and it often smarted like a paper cut to your pride and the sense of your own dignity, even if you were eventually able to salve the cut and restore your self-respect. Turn the feelings into a renewed resentment towards him.

I stood just outside the entrance and it was a few seconds before I saw Tuyen huddled in a closed doorway nearby. The smoke from her cigarette lifted itself lazily into the night. Out on the river small boats made mysterious journeys, with solitary yellow lights warning other craft of their presence. A group of men sitting on packing cases and in white shirts were playing a dice game under the spreading branches of a tree. From time to time their voices rose in cheers or what sounded like curses. When I approached her I saw that she was crying and I didn’t know whether to speak to her or respect her privacy, but she offered me a cigarette and, even though I must have been one of the very few who had come through adolescence without ever smoking, I accepted. Accepted, then made a fool of myself by spluttering and almost choking, but at least it served momentarily to distract from whatever it was Tuyen was upset about, because she smiled at my discomfort. When I recovered some composure I asked her if she was OK and in reply she simply nodded. I was about to leave her and return to my car-watching duty when she flicked her cigarette into the shadows and told me I was very kind. I knew she meant kind in comparison to Donovan, who I guessed was the cause of her discomfort. But I never really believed that I would ever be the bestower of anything other than minor kindness or the recipient of more than casual conversation.