He had a fairly full timetable today, and he took the lift up to the third floor, striding through yet more busy offices (damn open plan) and finally reaching his own (enclosed). He shut the door. He hadn’t been inside two minutes when his secretary poked her head in asking if he’d like his coffee. He’d attended enough meetings on equal rights, the gender pay gap and throwing jobs at anyone not male, over forty and white that he could recite every policy going. But his secretary still made him coffee in the morning. Gone were the days when he could pat her bottom for it, but all good things came to an end eventually.

‘PUS is pissed and after your head,’ she said, and went to make the coffee.

Christopher realised that Charlotte must have seen Philip and grassed him up to his boss, Robyn Hastings. Being a non-executive director of several companies had its uses. If one wanted to gather sensitive information and sit on it, one could make a tidy fortune. As a NED over ten years ago to The World Cares, a children’s charitable organisation in Nairobi, he’d met Charlotte Cross, then a young thruster hoping to get her hands on a decoration or three. Kids’ charities were the easiest screens to hide behind, especially in countries like Kenya, where money flooded in and disappeared. Charlotte’s world was catching up with her. He chuckled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see Robyn’s face.

He turned on his computer and waited for the shit to hit the fan. He was untouchable. They couldn’t sack him: he knew too much.

He creased his brow. When he was at the office, he made a point of only attending to DEFRA business. He had his own Mac at home, and any other affairs were dealt with there. So he was puzzled, and a little perturbed, that the Colonel had emailed his work address. He sighed and forwarded the message to his home email.

After opening various drawers, arranging pens and switching on his iPad, he settled down to read. Most of his work here was spent looking for the devil in the detail. That was what caught everyone out. Whole departments were employed to sift through millions of pages of information looking for mistakes, liabilities and inaccuracies. His background as CEO of a large multinational made him perfect for the job, and it was a way to keep his mind active, as well as get away from his wife and pop into London occasionally. His reputation meant that he was a NED for three different departments.

Another new email from the Colonel popped into his inbox, and he tutted. He forwarded that one too and contemplated calling his friend. Then he considered that it might be important. Once was a mistake; twice was a warning. He retrieved the message and opened it. It read, simply: Dinner venue located.