“I’m fine,” said Seb.

“I like the sound of Mr. Swann. Perhaps it would be wise to keep him on your side.”

“Cedric agrees with you. And if we pull off the deal, we’ll probably end up having to build his school a concert hall,” Seb added as they entered the outskirts of the city.

“I assume we’re staying at the Amstel?” said Sam as the deluxe five-star hotel overlooking the Amstel river loomed up in front of them.

“Not this time, that will have to wait until I’m chairman of the bank. But until then, it’s the Pension De Kanaal, a well-known one-star guest house frequented by the up-and-coming.”

Sam smiled as the taxi drew up outside a little guest house wedged between a greengrocer and an Indonesian restaurant. “Far better than the Amstel,” she declared as they walked into the cramped lobby. Once they’d checked in, Seb lugged their bags up to the top floor, as the pension didn’t have a lift or a porter. He unlocked the door of their room and switched on the light.

“Palatial,” Sam declared.

Seb couldn’t believe how small the room was. There was only just enough space for them to stand on each side of the double bed. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I wanted this weekend to be just perfect.”

Sam took him in her arms. “You are a silly thing at times. This is perfect. I prefer being up-and-coming. Gives us something to look forward to.”

Seb fell back on the bed. “I know what I’m looking forward to.”

“A visit to the Rijksmuseum?” suggested Sam.

* * *

“You wanted to see me?” said Sloane, as he marched into the chairman’s office. He didn’t wait to be offered a seat.

Cedric looked up at the head of his property division, but didn’t smile. “I’ve just finished reading your monthly report.”

“Up two point two percent on last month,” Sloane reminded him.

“Very impressive. But I wonder if you might have done even better if…”

“If what, chairman?” said Sloane abruptly.

“If Shifnal Farm had also been included in your report,” said Cedric, picking up a brochure from his desk.

“Shifnal Farm? Are you sure that’s one of my properties, and not Clifton’s?” said Sloane, nervously touching the knot of his tie.

“I’m absolutely certain it’s one of your properties, Sloane. What I can’t be sure about is whether it’s one of the bank’s.”

“What are you getting at?” said Sloane, suddenly on the defensive.

“When I called Ralph Vaughan, the senior partner of Savills, a few moments ago, he confirmed that you’d put in a bid of one point six million pounds for the property, with the bank acting as guarantor.”

Sloane shifted uneasily in his chair. “You’re quite right, chairman, but as the deal hasn’t finally been closed, you won’t have all the details until I send you next month’s report.”

“One of the details that will take some explaining is why the account is registered to a client in Zurich.”