I took the deep breath of the victor and smiled to myself for a while. Being Gerald just seemed at that moment so much better than not being Gerald. There was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” I asked. Grieved entered quietly.

“There are some persons to see you sir” he declared.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“They are a Mr Euan, a Mr Smith and a Mr Steve O. I am not aquatinted with their business sir.”

“Are they armed?” I asked with good reason. It is hardly surprising that a man in my position needs such information. I imagine there are literally thousands of you reading this book who ask that very question on a daily basis.

“I think not sir.”

“Then show them in Grieves” I ordered. I was rather enjoying having a butler of my own – respect was a pleasant change. Three chaps entered the room and I immediately failed to see why on earth they were with me. The first chap was tall, fat and wore baggy black clothes all over. His top bore a mildly offensive slogan and he had clearly not shaved in several days. The second fellow was at least a foot shorter, had several facial piercings and a close cut mohikan hair style. He, like his two colleagues, wore spectacles which were less spectacular (if I may use that word) than the overall impression of himself. The third was the most conventional of the three – he was tall, thin and wore a shirt and tie. The tie was borderline legal owing to the pattern but apart from that (and yes I did get the address of the person who supplied it to him) he was the sort of fellow who, with a wash and brush up, you might employ to do your photocopying.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“Chris Bellshaw” said the large chap.

“Chris Bellshaw” agreed his two colleagues.

“No – Gerald Benson” I corrected, unaware of how such a mix up could have occurred.

“It is a greeting” said the big man.

“No it isn’t – good morning is a greeting. Chris Bellshaw is a stranger to me.”

“Am I you and you me?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then you can leave me to know what I know and you merely listen to it” he told me. I preferred Grieves to these newcomers already. They were surly and he was respectful. I will take respectful over surly any day, even if respectful costs a little more and takes longer to deliver.

“Having established that” I continued “what do you actually want here?”

“Alyson – she told me she worked here.”

“Told us she worked here” corrected the short one.

“Quite right – she told us she worked here.”

“For him” chipped in the thin chappie.

“Another good point – she told us she worked here, for you” consolidated tubby.

“Well she did – but she has left.”

“Left? When, where, why and for how long?” inquired shorty.

“Look” I said, foot being put down “who are you? I demand names and…” I wanted to say numbers but I realised that this wasn’t wartime.

“This is Stevo” said the large chap, pointing at the small one.

“This is Euan” said small of thin.

“And this is Smith” thin added of large.

“Well I am Gerald Horatio Benson and not Alyson Bentworthy’s secretary. I tell you she has left me… us and that should suffice. Anyway, how do you three happen to know her?”

“We met at House of Vomit – she was so drunk that she couldn’t stop taking clothes off and Stevo lent her his jacket” explained Euan.

“That was very chivalrous” I told him.

“Not really – I just wanted to see her take it off. She totally did” said Stevo.

“Quite a sight, quite a night” said Smith.

“Be that as it may” I interrupted – foot still down, “but Alyson left my employ some weeks ago to travel.”

“She doesn’t like travelling” said Euan.

“No – you’re thinking of fish – she doesn’t like fish” said Smith.

“Why do you always think you know what I’m thinking?”

“Because it saves time. Assuming I know things is quicker than asking and listening to a reply. Since I know that Alyson doesn’t like fish it stands to reason that that might have been what you were thinking” he explained.

“Good point. But I wasn’t thinking about fish – I was thinking that Alyson doesn’t like travelling.”

“She did go to see Buzzsaw Vivisection in Munich last year.”

“With you” replied Euan.

“With me. And Stevo” admitted Smith.

“But not with me?”

“You were out.”

“When?”

“When we decided to go to Munich” said Smith.

“When was that?” asked Euan.

“Just after we had waited for you to go out.”

I watched this go back and forth for several minutes before I explained what had happened with Alyson. I left out all the me being in love with her part of course – one bad experience doesn’t stop me being British – and merely informed them that once Brandreth returned to work, she decided she didn’t want to go back to accounts and so she handed in her notice and went off round the world.

“But she doesn’t like the world” said Euan and the other two just looked at him.

I had no alternative but to call for Crispin Bentworthy. These three persons (I could think of no politer term) were annoying me.

“There seem to be two of us talking at once” said Smith as I used the intercom to summon Crispin. “We shall have to see who tires first” and he carried on a diatribe about the decline in manners amongst people less intelligent than himself.

“The way I see it” he continued “is that black people are born black, gay people are born gay, bald people are born bald…”

“Though they do complicate matters with temporary hair” interrupted Euan.

“They do indeed and stupid people are born stupid.”

“Everyone is born stupid – this propaganda about clever children is put about by turkey- chokers” said Stevo.

“Turkey-chokers the lot of them. But some of us gain intelligence as we grow older and others don’t. People who can't read simple instructions not to park outside my house for example. How big is the sign I erected?” asked Smith.

“Three feet” answered Euan.

“And how many threats does it contain?”

“Nine” replied Stevo.

“And how many people, per day, on average, ignore it?”

“Four” they both chipped in. I suspected this wasn’t fresh material for my benefit. He had long since stopped addressing me of course – people tend to do that – and was talking to the room as a whole. Crispin Bentworthy temporarily stopped his flow by entering the office, accompanied by Grieves.

“See Bee” said Smith.

“Crispin Bentworthy is making welcomage” replied Crispin.

“What the Norman Tebbit are you doing in a feeble-zone like this? A refuge for dull chicken-sniffers if ever I saw one” said Smith, charming as ever.

“Crispin Bentworthy considers it a fine place to make workage.”

“Looking for sister – Brian here tells us she’s gone round the world.”

“My name isn’t Brian” I told him sharply. I have been accused of many things but never of being called Brian.

“And who gave you that name?” asked Smith.

“My parents of course.”

“And what makes you think I approve of their choice? If they came along and called me Philip, would I blindly accept it?”

“I wouldn’t think so” I said, falling into his twisted trap.

“So why do you think that I would accept their name for you? Do you have so low an opinion of yourself that what isn’t good enough for me is good enough for you? My therapist would have a field day with you.”

“No I wouldn’t” said Euan.

“Is he your therapist?” I asked, surprised.

“No – he just thinks he is. So I shall call you Brian until further notice. People should change their names as often as they like. You don’t think I was born Smith do you?”

“I hadn’t really given it any thought” I confessed.

“And that surprises me not in the least. First time I met you I said to myself ‘there is a man who does not think very much about the important things in life’.”

“Who are they?” I asked Crispin Bentworthy while Smith went off on another tangent. Crispin explained that they were indeed friends of his and Alyson (Crispin Bentworthy’s sister for those who haven’t read volume three). They worked as consultants for a television company called DTV and it was their job to come up with ideas for new programmes. Crispin seemed to think they were regarded as hot stuff in their field. He explained that they didn’t actually make, write or direct shows – they were purely ideas men. This was, apparently, the station’s idea as it minimised their contact with the three. They went under the collective title of “The Three”. Each had degrees from the top draw, each had been courted by multinational companies and each had chosen to hang around with the others, causing trouble and making a fortune devising television series. They had an interesting sideline as problem solvers – taking no monetary fee, preferring to be paid in kind. They insisted on the ‘Intellectual Property Rights’ in not only their solution but also the original problem. This, it appears, meant that they were legally able to sell the format to a broadcaster if it could be given public appeal. It all sounded rather far-fetched to me but Crispin Bentworthy swore blind that he was telling the truth, the whole truth and, as he put it, was “not with any untruthage”. Smith had been talking the whole time and finally noticed that I had diverted my attention away from him.

“Popes” he said suddenly, winning back my concentration.

“Popes?” I queried.

“If you had been listening, you would know that we – the majority is the room – are debating who would be the most unlikely Pope we could think of. My thinking was Mr T from the A-Team.”

“I thought Mick Jagger” said Stevo.

“No – definitely Eric Cantona” insisted Euan.

“What does this have to do with anything?” I asked. I considered myself to have a fairly flexible mind but these fellows were stretching even my superior powers of focus.

“I find you bourgeois obsession with linear conversation to be rather offensive” said Smith, taking the highest ground he could find. “Answer the question, donkey-tugger”. I rose to his bait, for my sins.

“What about Unbelievable Adrian” I said.

“That’s more like it” said Smith, warming to me as if I cared. “But Stevo suggested him last week and repetition isn’t allowed in this game. You lose – sorry but that’s life. Some of you are losers and some of us are winners. Crisp – remind me of Alyson’s e-mail address. I’ll send her a missive as soon as I can find some one who can be dragged away from internet porn long enough to let me use their computer.”

“Crispin Bentworthy will be writing it down” he said and scribbled something on a piece of handy paper. Say what you will about the Service but we always have pieces of paper to hand. Even if they are for the benefit of people like Smith. Euan had broken from the pack and was going through the filing cabinet. I didn’t really mind – those files had never interested me and I usually had an instinct for useful information. Almost ten years of stationary requisitions and a decade of budgetary analysis was hardly the formula for Coca Cola. It was only when he dropped a match into the cabinet that I sprang into action.

“B – get some water” I said, actions being at the forefront of my mind. I rushed over to the door and headed for the fire escape.

“Hey spank-junkie” said Smith as I was about to escape from the potential inferno.

“What?” I snapped.

“Were you just going to leave us to burn to death Brian?”

“Stop calling me Brian and yes I was. You have legs don’t you?”

“You know, that’s a more interesting question than you realise. Euan believes that since nothing can possibly exist beyond our own eyes and ears, that our legs must, by definition, also not exist. I told him that if we didn’t have legs then our eyes and ears wouldn’t be able to move about as they clearly do.”

“And what did he say?” I asked.

“He said that movement is also an illusion created by shoe companies.”

“Why would he think that shoe companies exist if nothing else does?”

“Because he had shoes on – are you thick or something Brian?” said Smith contemptuously. I decided to let them fry and I made my way to the fire escape. Unfortunately I collided with the water bearing B in my haste and the entire contents of his bucket went all over me.

“B” I yelped as the ice cold liquid engulfed me.

“You’re all wet Brian” said Smith as I came back into the office.

“Yes thank you” I said sarcastically. I dripped water all over the papers on my desk – luckily they were to do with Twittington so they weren’t very important.

“Stevo believes that water is also an illusion” Smith said without prompting.

“I never said that” protested Stevo “all I said was that I was thirsty and the tap was broken. I didn’t say that all the taps everywhere were broken.”

“But if everything is an illusion, who fixes the taps?” asked Smith.

“My theory falls down on that one point I grant you. But all great thinking has holes in it – look at Einstein. E=MC2 ? If he had remembered Z, we might have been spared a century of lies.”

“What is Z?” I asked, still not knowing whether I actually cared or it was an hallucination brought on by what was now pneumonia.

“Exactly – why weren’t you there when Albert was around? We might not have ended up with the atomic bomb.” Stevo made his final remark and sat down on the floor to read. He got out a moth eaten volume and it flopped open at one particular page. It was called ‘Suicide is a Lifestyle Choice’ and I recalled it as the book I had once bought in error and binned shortly afterwards. I suddenly realised that what I took to be pretentious drivel was precisely the sort of thing that would appeal to a person like Stevo.

“Does he like that book?” I asked.

“Like it? He wrote it” said Smith. “It’s the one thing he’s ever done that got him out of bed before lunch.”

“It is before lunch now” I told him.

“And that is because he hasn’t been to bed yet” explained Smith as though I were eight years old.

I finally managed to get rid of The Three but only after they had given me their business card.

“Ring that number and ask for Wilson” explained Smith.

“Is that some kind of code?” I asked.

“No – it’s my next door neighbour’s number and I don’t like him. Only ring at times when he is likely to be asleep and don’t let him know your name.” Stevo had pocketed his book, Euan had doused the flaming cabinet with B’s jacket and the trinity left me alone at last.

“Odd people” I said to no one in particular. They didn’t answer.