I stood up. I like to be on my feet when I’m being submissive. It doesn’t feel quite as bad. ‘I can do the job,’ I said. ‘Three assignations should be enough, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll talk to your secretary about my cheque. See you in court.’

‘I trust not.’

I stopped short of the door. ‘So it’s a bluff? She wants to lead him by the balls to your gentle negotiating table?’

The cigar, re-lit, was waved imperiously. ‘You have your instructions, Mister Hardy.’

All square. Two sets each. Fifty up and both on the black. I renewed my acquaintance with the queen of the outer office, a severe-suited dragon named Mrs Collins. I signed something I didn’t read and got a cheque for $150-a retainer against my fees of $40 a day expenses sheet to be submitted on conclusion of commission. Wealth! Prospects! I walked out into a sunny Martin Place and took off my tie. I loosened the top shirt button and opened the suit jacket. Lightweight suit, my one and only. I rolled up the tie and stuffed it in my pocket. I don’t know why, but I’ve always associated neckties with nooses. Comes of watching too many matinee Westerns at the Maroubra Odeon, maybe.

As I strolled among the lunchtime crowd, employed myself, a semi-professional like a lot of them, I reflected on the chain of events that had got me to this point. After a stint in the army I’d gone into insurance investigation. I met Cyn when I came to sniff around about a fire that had almost destroyed her Glebe studio. I reported that the fire was entirely accidental and that the claim should be paid in full. I’d have said the same if I’d found kerosene tins and wood shavings in every room. Cynthia Lee bowled me over and we went to bed on our second meeting and were married a few months later.

Cut to our first infidelities, both guilty, and within a year. Apologies, forgiveness, recommitment and more of the same.