I registered this as I drove past looking for a spot for my more modest vehicle. I found one further down the street, unshipped the camera and came back to take up a position behind a plane tree across from the flats which carried the name ‘Lapstone’. The house Cyn and I bought in Glebe was called ‘Waterloo’. Cyn took the name plate down, saying that it was twee. I’d quite liked it and as things were shaping, it was appropriate. I took a sighting on ‘Lapstone’. Despite daylight saving, which had just been introduced that month, the light was starting to fade under an overcast sky. The light in the street was poor but there were bright coachman’s lanterns mounted over the door to the flats. I had a fast film and a fast lens; the developer would have to push a bit to get good definition, but I felt pretty confident I could get a reasonable shot of Charles and his companion as they came through the door and a series as they made their way to the car.

If they came. I suddenly realised that I was making an assumption. It was a mild night, late spring with an evening breeze. The wife was away. Surely they’d go out to eat, get a slight buzz on before coming back to commit the offence of adultery. Charles looked like a man who didn’t stint on his pleasures. But what if I was wrong? What if his girlfriend had everything set up for fun and games inside? Candles and champagne and silk sheets. I took another look at the block of flats. A bastard to breach. I didn’t even know which flat he was in. Unless they came out onto a balcony and canoodled in the open air, I was stymied.