‘OK. Before I get the department involved, Julian, this is our plan. You must announce the sale to First Federal. We will say we favour it. And later we will, if there’s any more trouble, announce an enquiry into certain deposits over which some doubts have been raised. The FSA and the BOE will also want a look-in, but I will speak to them. They understand the national interest and the risk to the banking system. If required, our enquiry will anyway take precedence. With any luck you can get the sale away in a few weeks, you can sort out your accounts and we will enquire away for months if we have to. Kicked into touch, is the phrase the commentators like to use. Easy for them. Are we – broadly speaking – on the same page?’

For two hours they go over the plan. Which ultimately has only one aim, to keep the lid on this until the election is over. Nobody wants to see, as Goldstone says – almost without irony – an English bank, small but iconic, going down at this particular time. Of course the sale will be going through the department, but he will make sure the Permanent Undersecretary understands what’s at stake. The government may even be able to offer First Federal some special conditions.

Goldstone prides himself on a sharp understanding of the City, but also on having a very clear idea of how to confront political problems.

‘Julian, we don’t want any surprises. Ring me urgently if anything comes out of the cupboard.’

Strange phrase, Julian thinks. It’s almost as if Goldstone likes to flirt with danger.

‘What if you lose the election? Then where do we stand?’

‘I don’t think the other lot will want you to sink. Anyway, you were at school with them. Have a chat if the time comes.’

‘You and I were at Cambridge together.’

‘There’s Cambridge and Cambridge.’

‘True.’

‘Now, on with the bicycle clips and off into the night.’

‘Where’s your security?’

‘I gave them the night off.’

‘On what excuse?’

‘I am having ballroom dancing lessons. Everyone’s doing it. But keep it under your hat: it’s a little frivolous for a minister of the Crown. Love to Kimberly. You’re a lucky chappie.’

Goldstone places his cycle helmet on his head, dons some yellow cycling glasses, zips up his jacket, and he’s off, out through the side entrance which leads to the garages around the corner.

Lucky chappie. Does he mean lucky to have Kim, or does he mean to have the Rt. Hon. Oliver Goldstone, QC, MP on his side, pro tem, as these legal chappies say?

Julian goes up to see the children sleeping in the gently revolving light, which is said to be soothing, but may be inducing narcolepsy. He blesses them silently. Their faces appear to be underwater.

Chapter 25

Chapter 25