‘Come and sit down,’ I said, leading him over to a high-benched seat at the table where my coffee was waiting, ‘Have some coffee.’ ‘No, thank you,’ said Gerstenbacker, ‘He says you do not approach a very great man in the right way at all. If Doctor Criminale’s story is ever told, it will not be like this.’ ‘Could you take a message back to Professor Codicil?’ I asked, ‘Would you tell him the programme goes ahead, with his help or without it?’ ‘He is a very important man, a very famous professor,’ said Gerstenbacker, ‘He has much influence with the government. He knows all the lawyers, he is a friend of Waldheim . . .’ ‘If he was Tsar of all the Russians we’d still go ahead,’ I said. ‘He means a formal protest to your Ambassador, who I think will stop it,’ said Gerstenbacker, ‘Professor Codicil was once the President of the Anglo-Austrian Friendship Society.’ ‘Oh, yes?’ I said, ‘Well, even if it means turning it into the Anglo-Austrian Enmity Society, the programme will still go on,’ I said, ‘In my country things don’t work like that. At least I hope they don’t.’

Gerstenbacker stared at me for a moment or so, as if impressed. Then he said, ‘Perhaps I will have a little coffee, if only half a cup. This of course is not my fault. You know I am only his assistant. I have no power over his mind.’ ‘I know,’ I said, ‘I don’t blame you at all.’ ‘Nada Productions must be a very powerful company,’ Gerstenbacker said, slowly pouring cream into his coffee. ‘Very powerful,’ I said. ‘So you could still perhaps bring me to Britain?’ ‘I’ll talk to the producer today,’ I said, ‘In Britain she’s considered a very big lady. In fact, she is everywhere.’ Gerstenbacker thought for a moment, then felt in the inner pocket of his black jacket. ‘I brought you this,’ he said, taking out a sealed envelope. I took and opened it. Inside was simply a file card, with on it a single name – Sandor Hollo – and an obscure address. ‘What’s this?’ I asked, ‘Who is Sandor Hollo?’ ‘He was Codicil’s research assistant five years ago,’ said Gerstenbacker, ‘I went into the faculty office early this morning and looked up him in the file.’

I looked at the card. ‘You mean this is the man who wrote the book on Criminale?’ I asked. ‘Yes, I believe so,’ said Gerstenbacker, ‘Also you see he comes from Budapest. So also did Criminale.’ ‘So this address is in Budapest?’ I asked. ‘That man is Hungarian,’ said Gerstenbacker, ‘He was assistant here for a time, and then went back. Budapest is quite a long way, but if you go there I think perhaps he can tell you all you like to know about Criminale. You will learn nothing here.’ I glanced again at the address and telephone number, and put the card in my pocket. ‘You’re wonderful, Gerstenbacker,’ I said, ‘You’re what in England we call a real mate. Cheers.’ ‘My name is Franz-Josef,’ said Gerstenbacker, blushing red, ‘What is that, a real mate?’ ‘A good pal,’ I said, ‘I really hope you make it to Castle Howard.’ ‘I also,’ said Gerstenbacker, taking up a menu and writing something on the back of it, ‘Now here is my address also. If you can help me, and I hope so, please never write to the faculty. Only to this, my apartment. Remember, you cannot ever trust this pig Codicil. He is a man who forgets nothing and forgives no one. He is not a nice enemy and his contacts are everywhere. Now I must go and work for him.’

In case you are wondering, I never did get to see the opera in Vienna. As soon as Gerstenbacker had gone on his way, back to do Codicil’s bidding, as any good assistant should, I called Lavinia in her suite at the Hotel de France. ‘I’m just having coffee and hot rolls in bed,’ she said, ‘Listen, I found this wonderful exhibition at the Hermes villa called “Eroticism, Amorous Advances”. I’ve got two tickets. Come on over and we’ll try it.’ ‘Maybe I should pass up on eroticism today,’ I said, ‘Something interesting just came up.’ And I told her the story of Codicil and his strange little assistant. ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Lavinia, ‘You mean old Codicil doesn’t even write his own books?’ ‘Apparently it’s an old European custom,’ I said, ‘You remember School of Rembrandt.’ ‘You mean, so it’s really Dante’s assistant’s Divine Comedy? Goethe’s pupil’s Faust? That’s it,’ I said, ‘What’s more, Codicil claims he doesn’t remember a thing. Nobody remembers a thing. They all prefer not to.’ ‘I know, they have a name for it here, Waldheimer’s Disease,’ said Lavinia, ‘This is getting interesting, Francis.’

‘So what do I do now?’ I asked, ‘Codicil was the only lead.’ ‘Leave it to me,’ said Lavinia, ‘I can dump Eroticism for one day. I’ll cable London, call the travel agent, get down to the bank for some more cash. What’s the good of being a producer if you don’t produce?’ And to give her due credit, Lavinia certainly produced. She produced money, rickets, hotel arrangements, everything the occasion called for. Not much later, with the morning still quite young, I found myself standing on the platform at one of Vienna’s several railway stations, next to the coaches of the Salieri Express – one of those great European trains that adds and multiplies, subtracts and divides, this coach, going off to Brug or Altona, that one to Brigenza or Tallinn. I stood beside the coach marked Budapest, waiting for Lavinia, who had still not arrived. It was just as the train doors were about to close that I saw her, running heavily down the platform, yet another travel wallet waving in her hand.

‘There we are, that should cover everything,’ she said, ‘Now remember your treatment, don’t forget your plot. A man of many lives and loves.’ ‘Well, maybe,’ I said, ‘That was just how it looked to me at the time.’ ‘Find them, Francis, we’re talking television,’ said Lavinia, ‘And remember, when you get to this man Hollo, nestle in his bosom like a viper.’ ‘Do I gather you’re not coming?’ I asked. ‘Far too much to do in Vienna, darling, I’m afraid,’ said Lavinia. ‘But there’s nothing here,’ I said. ‘Oh, yes, atmosphere and background,’ said Lavinia, ‘What a shame. I was really looking forward to taking you to the opera. And to the champers after.’ ‘Never mind, Lavinia,’ I said, ‘I expect you’ll find someone to share it with.’ ‘Yes, I expect I will,’ admitted Lavinia. ‘Oh, and don’t forget to do something about young Gerstenbacker,’ I said, ‘He made all this happen.’ I’ll get in touch and find him a treat of some kind, don’t worry,’ said Lavinia.

Along the platform, the guard began whistling and waving his baton; I climbed up the steps of the Budapest coach. ‘Such a pity, darling,’ said Lavinia, reaching up to give me a very large kiss, ‘When one thinks of the things that might have been. But usually never are, of course.’ ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Well, bye, darling, must go, I’ve a lunch date at Sacher,’ said Lavinia, ‘Do good, and remember this. In fact say it every night before you go to sleep. Very tight budget.’ ‘Yes, Lavinia,’ I said, as the train doors hissed shut in front of me. A few minutes later, signs saying MELKA and MINOLTA, BAUHAUS and BP, SPAR and WANG were flying past the window of my second-class carriage, and I was once more rushing across Europe, looking, again, for Doctor Bazlo Criminale.