The first paragraph:
The heavy blue notepaper crackled as the man signed his name. The signature was an actor’s: a dashing autograph, bigger by far than any of the text. It began well, rushing forward boldly before halting suddenly enough to split the supply of ink. Then it retreated to strangle itself in loops. The surname began gently but then that too became a complex of arcades so that the whole name was all but deleted by well-considered decorative scrolls. The signature was a diagram of the man.Close-up was a departure of Deighton’s mainline work of spy and suspense fiction and it is more satirical than thriller, but it’s a must read for Deighton enthusiasts.