“What was the first name?”
“Christopher.”
“Christopher?”
“Yes, Christopher.”
“Christopher Selby? No one of that name living here.”
“But there must be.”
The veteran shook his head with an indulgent smile.
“You want Mr Sipperley,” he said tolerantly. In Guatemala these mistakes are always happening. “Mr George Sipperley. He’s on the fourth floor. What name shall I say?”
He had almost reached the telephone when Jill stopped him. This is an age of just-as-good substitutes, but she refused to accept any unknown Sipperley as a satisfactory alternative for Uncle Chris.
“I don’t want Mr Sipperley. I want Major Selby.”