Julian sees, too, that like his father he is surrounding himself with uncritical stooges, who in private probably blame him for what has happened. In his heart, he knew that the Gaussian bell curve was nonsense and he knew that credit swaps and diced mortgages were chimeras, but he did nothing about it because everybody said that there were huge amounts of money to be made. But how? These derivatives related to no assets, to no worth, to no human endeavour. They turned out to be imaginary. It’s almost beyond belief that a huge industry was in thrall to fables.

‘Come on, Julian. Let’s finish them off.’

‘Whose serve is it?’

I have always lived in these private spaces separated from the world by money. Simon is out in Botswana with his canoes in a real wilderness. He’s hiding in the great expanses because he hated life here.

They go back on court but lose the deciding set when Julian’s backhand flies off the frame up towards the warming, hazy sun, and lands finally in a clump of roses, just coming into bud. As they disperse with bonhomie into the late morning, Nigel holds Julian’s elbow for a moment.

‘Boris’s cash for the boat has cleared. I’ve just had a message from Vaduz.’

‘A chimera, Nigel, is a mythical beast made of the bits of mythical animals. That’s what we are paying for: something which never existed.’

‘Too deep for me. I banged my head against the wall too often at the old school.’

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Amanda Stapleton doesn’t often need to leave her office; the clients come to her as if to the shrine of an oracle. But for the Trevelyan-Tubals she will emerge. She arrives promptly at five minutes to four outside Mulgrave House and tells the driver to come back for her at five minutes to five.

Fleur lets her in and they kiss without warmth on both cheeks. Amanda is handsome but vulpine. She is dressed to kill, while Fleur is still in her tracksuit with the youthful pink trainers. They sit in Harry’s library, because Fleur believes it will add some necessary gravitas to their conversation. Beneath the cold charm, Amanda has a barely concealed impatience, the fox eyeing the chicken-run. Fleur’s voice is soft and uncertain.

‘Amanda, thank you so much, darling, for coming; as you know Harry’s not doing well. I have never talked to him about a will or anything like that. I just felt so safe with him.’

‘And you are worried now, for obvious reasons.’

‘I am. Very worried, not so much about money, but about my position.’

Before she can explain, coffee is brought in by the Filipina housekeeper.

‘Great coffee,’ says Amanda, sipping. ‘I’m an addict. It goes with the territory. You were saying?’