“Is he indeed? I’m so glad.” Maugham placed a monocle in his eye, looked directly at me, and smiled a rictus smile. “We d-don’t see n-nearly enough G-Germans. It’s a good sign that you’re returning to the Riviera. It augurs well for the future that Germans can afford to come here again.”

“I’m afraid you’ve got me wrong, sir. I’m not here for the season. I work at the Grand Hôtel. I’m the concierge.”

“You’re very welcome all the same. So, you play bridge. The most entertaining game that the art of man has devised, is it not?”

“Yes, sir. I certainly think so.”

“Robin, you’d better tell Annette that we have an extra guest for dinner.”

“There’s always plenty of food, Uncle.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I thought we could make a four with Alan, later.”

“Excellent,” said Maugham.

While Robin went to speak to the cook, Maugham himself took me by the arm and into the dark green Baroque drawing room, where a butler wearing a white linen jacket materialized as if from thin air and proceeded to make me a gimlet to my exact instructions and then a martini for the old man, with a dash of absinthe.

“I dislike a man who’s not precise about what he wants to drink,” said Maugham. “You can’t rely on a fellow who’s vague about his favorite tipple. If he’s not precise about something he’s going to drink then it’s clear he’s not going to be precise about anything.”

We sat down and Maugham offered me a cigarette from the box on the table. I shook my head and lit one of my own, which drew yet more of his approval, only now he spoke German—albeit with a slight stammer, the way he spoke English—probably just to show that he could do it, but given it was probably a while since he’d done it, I was still impressed.

“I also like a man who prefers to smoke his own cigarettes rather than mine. Smoking is something you have to take seriously. It’s not a matter for experiment. I myself could no more smoke another brand of cigarette than I could take up marathon running. Tell me, Herr Wolf, do you like being the concierge at the Grand Hôtel?”

“Like?” I grinned. “That’s a luxury I simply can’t afford, Herr Maugham. It’s a job, that’s all. After the war, jobs in Germany weren’t so easy to come by. The hours are regular and the hotel’s a nice place. But the only reason I’m doing it is for the money. The day they stop paying me is the day I check out.”