It was late November one Ramzan when Governor Asadullah came to tea. Winter was drawing in, and the Hindu Kush was shrouded by Kabul’s smog. At the end of fasting, we sat by the fire in the old hospital compound, and sipping tea.We talked of the insecurity in his province, Ghazni, forty miles south, and of his relatives kidnapped by Taliban demanding the release of insurgents from Ghazni jail. There had been death threats and negotiations were difficult. Before leaving, he invited me for a meal at his residence in Ghazni the following Friday. I had not visited the city for a year.

I was still planning to visit Ghazni when on Tuesday an unavoidable commitment arose in Mazar-i-Sharif, where I had to mediate in disarmament talks between Dostum and the northern warlords. At that point news filtered in that a UN worker had been attacked in Ghazni. It emerged that a young woman from UNHCR had been shot by two Taliban motorcyclists while walking in the city. Bettina Goislard was 29 and had been two years in Ghazni. Her killers were chased by locals and beaten senseless. Relatives of one had a house in Ghazni, and Asadullah had to prevent crowds from burning it down. The two said they’d been paid by someone in Kandahar to kill foreign aid workers.

President Ahmed Karzai spoke to Bettina’s mother in France. Asadullah, too, spoke to the family, before bringing the remaining UNHCR staff to Kabul; the UN closed the office because of the threat. Asadullah joined me in the Old Embassy and we sat gloomily by the fire. He then told me a strange tale. Ten days earlier, Bettina had said she wanted to be buried in Ghazni, much to Asadullah’s surprise. He told her she was too young to talk of funerals. Bettina replied that she knew Asadullah was to visit France and England shortly and that she would not be around when he returned. Asadullah had thought no more of her words.

At the funeral colleagues spoke of Bettina’s humour and courage. More ominously, a sentence was read from a holiday postcard she had written: ‘I am going back to my work in in Ghazni in a couple of weeks’ time. God knows what awaits me in Afghanistan.’ We buried Bettina that afternoon in Kabul’s old British Cemetery, an ancient walled compound with mulberry trees.