After some years it became apparent that the carpets were not looking as spotless as they used to. We very tentatively raised the matter with the resident member of the Calton family. After the first wobbly had abated (we had to give a thousand reassurances that there was no personal criticism) the finger of blame was pointed at our elderly upright carpet sweeper which sounded like a GT hatchback with the silencer removed.
"That" said Mr Calton "is buggered. What you need is a Henry."
Communication was not always the strong point between us and the Caltons and it soon became my turn to take umbrage. I started to say that I already had a wife and two children thank you very much.
When eventually it emerged that Mr Calton was not inviting me to strike up some sort of relationship with one of his lonelier cousins, the partners decided to focus on an agenda item not budgeted for: the acquisition of one Henry vacuum cleaner.
Henry arrived one sultry evening in 1989, a friendly orange vacuum cleaner with a smile, two eyes and, in case anyone should forget, the word "Henry" printed across where his forehead should have been.
I would not say we exactly became fond of Henry, but as vacuum cleaners go, he seemed to do his job well, and he faithfully followed the Caltons around the office, sucking up building society cheques, vital attendance notes and the apple cores which would always surround my vegetarian partner on completion days.
We moved to our new offices. Henry came too, but sadly there were not enough Caltons to take on the new premises. Instead we did what everyone now does - from the Government down to small businesses: we contracted out our cleaning.
The new cleaners arrived, noted we had a Henry and pronounced him virile and capable. Every night hummed to the tune of Henry, looking a little sad without the conscientious Calton care. And all went well until.....
.....we decided to dispense with the contractors' services. Faster than the present government, we discovered that sub-contracting is not always the best solution.
But the contractors (who did think they were the best solution) were not well pleased. When they arrived to remove their equipment (during the office Christmas party) they also started to make off with Henry. To their chagrin we were not yet too drunk to notice.
"Would you mind putting him down", politely requested my vegetarian partner. He did not need to add "or I'll stuff this leek up your nostril". The point was taken.
But not for long. After Christmas the contractor came back to gather the rest of his gear. Sensing danger we hid Henry, but we were outsmarted. The contractor had become familiar with our office and knew the places where we hid from unwanted clients. For Henry there was no hiding place.
After the contractor left, we went to retrieve Henry. But all that remained was a small circle of dust: he had obviously put up a good struggle.
The sinister truth dawned: Henry had been vacnapped.
" 'S mine" said the contractor when we asked for him back.
" 'S not" was our quick response.
The contractor claimed that he had dozens of Henrys, and each one had been specially marked. There was no doubt in the contractor's mind that the Henry he had, was his Henry.
This worried us. If the Henry the contractor had been using had been his Henry, then what had happened to ours? Had he committed suicide at the demise of the Caltons? Had a Henry thief broken into the office earlier and removed him?
Even in Norfolk there is not much of a black market for vacuum cleaners. Besides, Henry was there when the contractors started, and surely they would have said something if one day he went walkabout.
We therefore said "we want Henry back or else". And we had some clout. The contractor's final bill had not been paid. We dug our toes in. "No Henry, no money" was our message (though I confess it took me a page and a half to say so).
The contractor was equally adamant. "Pay up or we sue" said his solicitors (in about three quarters of a page).
"Okay, sue" (half a page)
"Will you accept service?" (a quarter of a page).
"Of course we will, we're solicitors aren't we? By the way we shall insist on full discovery of documents in relation to each of your alleged Henrys and we shall demand that they are all brought to court. Our Henry can be easily identified in any parade by Mrs Calton" (back to a page and a half).
Only fairy tales have happy endings. My vision of a three day trial in the county court (with the last three rows of the courtroom occupied by several dozen Henrys) never happened. And nor did we see Henry again - or pay the final bill.
Our offices are now kept spotlessly clean by a cheerful trio called Noreen, Judy and Hazel, who are greatly assisted by a YELLOW Henry which snakes into our rooms gulping greens from beneath my vegetarian partner's desk, munching meaty morsels from down under mine, and bolting building society cheques from almost everywhere.
Every night the replacement Henry is carefully concealed where no contractor will find him. I go there too sometimes to hide from my more tenacious clients.

This article first appeared in Solicitors Journal in February 1996