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I saw a new red blush in the nape of Marga Sap’s neck—obviously she hadn’t known that before either.

David’s father had a small travel agency in the Lange Hofstraat, the East-West Travel Agency. Castelen Senior himself had a deep-seated dislike of travelling, including holidays. He had come to the Netherlands because of the future of his children and, in so doing, he had used up all his wanderlust for the rest of his life.

The family home was above the travel agency, so that the life of father Castelen, who had the whole world on offer to his customers, was confined largely to an area of ten by ten by five metres.

‘I can’t understand those people,’ he said. ‘What’s the point of going to a lousy country like that? You catch diseases, the food is terrible, your daughter is attacked, and there’s nothing better to do than slump in a deckchair on the beach. It would be going too far to advise people to stay at home, I’ve got to get by but I can’t make head or tail of it. East, west, home is best, I always say.’ He thought the name of his travel agency was a good joke.