‘You know, Bill,’ said Hunter, ‘there are a hell of a lot of professors crowding this little planet of ours, and I could have landed a meteor of money in any one of their backyards and watched them fall to their knees to thank me for saving their children from eating another can of dog food for dinner, but I chose you, because Saul assured me that you were the guy with a database we could turn into a great company. And yet all you can think of doing is to insult my intelligence. Well, guess what, Professor? I bought half the fucking company! Don’t patronise the patron, Bill. In fact, read the contract. You didn’t want me to have more than fifty per cent, but as CEO of Digitas I control YouGenetics and since you can’t monetarise the data, I’ve given it to Lucy to run.’

Hunter seemed to calm down after his explosion and began again in a gentler tone, albeit with a frighteningly accurate impersonation of a pompous English accent.

‘Now, if you want to wait for the next “tranche” of spare change to come in from your publishers, be their guest. But if you want to be my guest,’ he went on, returning to his own voice, while waving at the waiter to bring the bill, ‘learn some fucking manners!’

‘I will not be spoken to like that,’ said Moorhead vehemently.

‘What do you mean you “will not be spoken to like that”? You just were spoken to “like that”. Don’t they teach you logic in this place?’

Hunter burst out laughing and slapped Moorhead on the back.

‘You can always buy the shares back, but then you’d have to sell Little Pisswell Manor, or whatever your Cotswold idyll is called. You wouldn’t get the Stamp Duty back and you’ve taken the roof off, so it’s not looking as imposing as when you bought it. Besides, your wife is knee deep in swatches; it’s her compensation for decades of humiliating infidelity. So why don’t you just make the company profitable, Brains?’

As they hit the pavement outside the Randolph Hotel, Hunter appeared to be in a thoroughly cheerful mood.

‘He can add some PTSD to his dumpster of PhDs,’ he chuckled. ‘Was I too harsh on him, Lucy? Be honest with me.’

‘Not at all,’ said Lucy, ‘he was insufferably condescending.’ Lucy had unobtrusively taken a second Xanax while the two men locked antlers over breakfast. She would have given the same answer even if Hunter had plunged a fork into the back of Moorhead’s hand.