‘Here she is, folks!’ the editor said. ‘Come and get her while she’s hot.’

The joke landed badly. No one laughed. Someone coughed. A chair scraped the floor as someone stood up to make themself a cup of tea. The editor blushed as he comprehended many things at once, none of them good.

‘It’s great to be back,’ Saskia said, rescuing the situation.

‘And it is great to have you back after your … after your,’ the editor blundered.

‘My visit to the funny farm,’ Saskia said matter-of-factly.

There were a few laughs in response to that, and Saskia decided it was best not to examine what lay behind them too closely.

‘I think I’ll head over to The Organisation and see if I can get a start on that story that I was telling you about,’ Saskia said to the editor.

‘So soon?’ the editor said, not quite able to hide his alarm. ‘I thought you would want to take a week at least. Settle in. Find your feet.’

‘It was not my feet that I lost,’ Saskia said, smiling to assure him that all was well. ‘No time like the present. I’ll settle in later.’

‘I had really thought … hoped this would go a lot better,’ the editor whispered apologetically.

‘I know,’ Saskia said, gesturing towards the cake and balloons. ‘Share a slice when I get back?’

‘That would be nice,’ the editor said with a grateful smile.

Once out in the City of Kings, Saskia felt invigorated by her brisk walk to The Tower, The Organisation of Domestic Affairs’ headquarters. At the front desk she showed her press credentials, and lied, claiming she was going to visit the archives. Instead of going to the eighth floor, she got off the lift on the sixth floor. Emil Coetzee’s office was at the end of the hall. She stopped by the WC facilities, which, given their state, were evidently only used by men, and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing an army jacket, khaki shorts, a white tank top and hiking boots. At thirty-six she could easily pass for twenty-six. Her beauty was not something that ever went unnoticed, but for added measure she removed her bra and threw it into her rucksack. She made a point of carelessly throwing her rucksack over her right shoulder to give the false impression that she did not take herself or her job too seriously. Undetected, she walked out of the WC, down the hallway, and knocked softly on Emil Coetzee’s office door. She entered before he told her to do so because she wanted to catch him off guard.

Saskia had definitely taken Emil Coetzee by surprise; she could tell from the way his hands fidgeted with the things on his desk when he saw her enter his office. Even though he was doing an admirable job of feigning disinterest, she saw him give her body a full appraisal, and took a secret delight in it. Men were so predictable, and Emil Coetzee was perhaps the most predictable man of them all.