He sometimes lies awake desperate to enquire where the money went. Not a banking question, of course, more an existential matter. But the money simply imploded. It no longer exists. Nobody can explain it. The fucking Gaussian bell curve – the formula is branded on his brain – proclaimed that this was impossible. Even now he feels himself drenched with the shame as he remembers briefing financial managers in smug confidence, all of them eager to learn how the risk could be taken out of investing. And now by borrowing from the family trust, by depositing Koopman’s money in the bank, and by hiding the transactions in a blizzard of paper, he has saved the bank and the clients who invested and the bank will go safely where it belongs, into the haven of a vast commercial bank. The topcoats, the directors’ apartment, the stocks of old port, the bored portraits – the higher boredom – the handwritten ledgers, the free lunches – will all be history–history in the American sense, meaning gone and forgotten, an ornament, but not a prescription.

And he may finally be able to shake off the rumour that his father’s donation to the Finch-Kerr Institute eased him into Cambridge. Oh, of course, there’s always a way for these rich boys to get in, they said. As long as the candidate isn’t completely useless a place can be found at some impoverished college that was once a hall for the sons of clergymen and where the qualifications for admission remain, as with religion, subjective.

It’s time to call Cy. He uses another unregistered and encrypted mobile. Cy is in Palm Beach. As soon as Cy gets there from New York he changes out of his suit – lapels a little boxy – and slips on shorts, white Gucci loafers and a cap, and he assumes a maritime air. His cap has the word ‘Captain’ stitched on to it; it’s the sort of thing George W. Bush wore when he proclaimed Mission accomplished. Julian likes Cy. Cy treats him with the deference his eleven generations demand, as a member of banking royalty, but neither of them is under any illusion about their relative importance. Cy wants to buy the bank. Even now, when he has taken a few hits like everybody else, acquiring Tubal’s is a very small investment.

‘Cy, morning. Julian here. Not too early for you?’

‘No, I’m just about to take the boat out for the first time. How’s your lovely old tub?’

‘Great. New engines, complete refit. I took her out a couple of days ago.’

‘You ready to sell?’

‘The boat?’

‘Duh. No, Julio, the business. That’s why you’re calling.’

‘At the right price.’

‘That’s the tricky part. Always. Can I have my guys look at the latest balance sheets?’

‘Of course.’

‘Can you get them to me by the end of the week?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘How’s your old man?’

‘He’s very ill.’