"Sir Sylvester Armitage?"

"I am."

"The Ambassador of England?"

"Of the United Kingdom," he corrected.

For a fleeting second the Foreign Minister himself caught his gaze over the shined head of this creature, but then the Foreign Minister raised his two hands, fingers and thumbs extended, indicating another ten minutes before the General Secretary arrived, then turned his back. His sleeve was tugged.

"Please don't do that again," he said.

"I have the honour to be, Excellency, the Political Counsellor of the Embassy of the Syrian Arab Republic."

"Do you indeed?" Extraordinary that the Australian had not cornered the wine waiter by now. And he'd have a sharp word for his private secretary for leaving him exposed to the Syrian.

"It is difficult at this time for there to be effective contact between our two governments. You would agree, Excellency?"

He could clearly see an airliner in flight. He could see rows of passengers. He could see the cabin crew moving along the aisles of the huge airliner.

"It is intended to be difficult, otherwise my government would not have severed diplomatic relations with the Syrian Arab Republic."

The political counsellor had edged closer. In a rhythm his hands clasped and unclasped. There were two heavy gold rings on his right hand fingers, one on his left.

" There were misunderstandings, Excellency.

Through a restoration of normal relations between our two governments such misunderstandings can be erased."

He could see a young woman passenger. He could see her nervousness. It was the first time she had made a long-distance air journey. He could see the bag that had been given to her by her fiance, nestled between her legs and close to the brightly decorated shell of the aircraft.

He could see the restless movement of the digital clock face of the pocket calculator resting at the base of the bag.