“Yes, we have,” I said. “We met in a lift at the Television Centre last week.”

“Oh, really? Is that all? I had an impression that I knew you . . . .”

I did not reply to that: I was watching him closely. He was wearing a jacket that he still has, a navy blue, short, lumpy jacket. He looked like an actor, he had all the air of self-projection, of slightly extra physical delineation that I associate with actors. Even the stubby roughness of him was not mere roughness: it was roughness that amounted in itself to gloss.

“Are you an actress?” was his next question. “I’m sure I have seen your face somewhere before. Before that lift, I mean.”

“Certainly I am not an actress,” I said, “though I’m quite well aware that you’re an actor, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh?” he said. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” I said, “I assumed that your curiosity about myself amounted to nothing more than a stimulation to my curiosity about you. That you were giving me a lead-in, as it were.”

He took that very well. We could always make each other run.

“You’re wrong about that,” he said, “but since you’ve broached the subject, I gather that you do know who I am.”

“Certainly I know who you are. I saw you last Sunday night. David Evans, I believe.”

“Now,” he said, “you will have to tell me how good you thought I was. If you do, I’ll give you a cigarette.”

And he produced a packet from his pocket.

“I don’t smoke tipped,” I said, inspecting his bargain.

“Don’t you? I thought you would. I’ve got some Gauloises somewhere.” He hunted around in his pocket and offered me a crumpled-looking packet with only two left. Just as I reached out my hand to take one he withdrew it and said:

“No, no, you haven’t told me how good I was yet, you can’t have one till you do.”

“How do you know I saw the whole programme? How do you know I didn’t switch off after the first ten minutes? How do you know I wasn’t doing something else far more important at the same time?”

“Such as what?”

“There are a lot of things that one can do with the television on.”

“All right then,” he said, putting the packet away. “No flattery, no cigarettes.”

We stared at each other, both a little grimly smiling, having established in a few quick minutes the very essence of provocation and bargaining for domination that was to characterize our curious conjunction. We are so alike that it alarms me.