‘Just tell Eric to remind them that Sir Harry’s dictum has stood the bank in very good stead: one third leverage to two thirds assets.’

‘Or thereabouts,’ says Nigel. ‘Will do. They love a dollop of Sir H.’s philosophy. I’ve primed my old pal Clive at the FT with the good news.’

They only speak on encrypted phones these days.

‘Well done. I’m going straight home. And I’ve got that Guildhall bash tomorrow. Are you coming?’

‘I’ll be at your side, Boss, bidding for a week’s paragliding in Bulgaria, and hoping with all my heart I don’t get it.’

Julian is dying to see the children. It’s only been three days, but it is everything he loathes about corporate life – the meetings, the legal documents, the stale air on flights, the churning anxiety, the oppressive sense of importance, the dead coffee in insulated flasks, the portraits of all those crooks on the walls, the dull conversational conventions, the wilting sandwiches and above all – way above – the insistent belief that this money production is a superior form of activity and that those who deal in it are superior people. More and more he sees that these people have pulled a gigantic con trick on the rest of humanity. And now they believe their own myths. The Tubals have always had money since old Moses Tubal set himself up at the sign of the Leathern Bottle by Bread Street in 1671, and the family have carefully cultivated money for three hundred and fifty years. But these other people, who sliced and diced derivatives and recklessly lent money, believed that they too were entitled to millions. And the reason was that they thought they could make money appear from nowhere. Even Tubal’s fell for it – we fell for it – and that is why the bank now owns – although ‘owns’ is not the exact word for this new class of debt – so many toxic assets. We don’t even know which bits of these assets we own. Nobody does. And that is why he is selling the bank, and that is why his father, without knowing it, has given him power of attorney to get the job done quickly and cleanly. Legally, his father is now a child. Julian has to remind himself constantly of the rationale behind what he is doing.

Len asks him a few questions about the trip. He wants to know how Sir Harry is getting on – ‘They don’t make them like him no more’ – true, and Julian is grateful for that. Len is glancing eagerly at the rear mirror, hoping to have a good chinwag on the way back to the house.

‘He’s not well, Len, but he seems pretty happy. His doctor is going out to see him. I’ve got to make a few calls, Len, but thanks for asking about Dad.’