It didn’t take long. Just after the starter, she saw Bantham push back his chair. At once, Casey was on her feet, strolling down the restaurant, smoothing her expensive suit, with its charcoal pencil skirt.

‘Gabriel Bantham?’ As they passed, Casey held out her hand with a smile. She watched him fumble for her name. ‘Katie Faraday. We met in London, a few years ago now.’

Katie was a favourite name. Same first syllable, enough to make Casey’s head turn. But it could be Catherine or Catrina, Katherine or Kathryn. Katja, even, at a push. Katie turned an easy research trawl into a lengthy challenge.

‘Of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘How lovely to see you again, Katie.’

‘And I see you’re here with Ali Dalgleish,’ Casey glanced across at the table of MPs. ‘I bumped into her at Congress yesterday.’

Because Alicia Dalgleish, tipped for promotion in the next reshuffle, would have met a hundred people in a couple of hours, and would nod automatically at the mention of a Katie.

‘She enjoyed her day there,’ agreed Bantham, a flex of American in his voice.

‘And now you’re based at the embassy in DC?’ Casey spoke with a smile, halfway between business and flirtation. He reflected it.

‘Yes.’ Bantham was unsuspicious. ‘I’ve been there for a few months now. It’s a fantastic city.’

‘You know’ – a careful pause – ‘that could be interesting to my client. He’s having a slight problem with his UK citizenship at the moment.’ A brief smile. ‘We like to get things right for the client.’

The client. Definite article. One man, anonymous, who could monopolise a whole team. The family office, the private office: those were for the truly astronomical fortunes, and everybody knew it.

‘Might you be free for lunch soon?’ Casey went on. ‘It could be so helpful to have a chat.’

As she spoke, she handed over the business card. Heavy cream card, embossed in gold.

Bantham handed over his own card, without even thinking about it.

‘Great,’ she said: always be the one to break the contact. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

And he watched her strut away across the restaurant.

The next day, she was waiting in the palatial restaurant of the Four Seasons, poised in one of the big comfortable chairs.

‘The Four Seasons?’ Dash had asked. ‘Really? The editor is kicking up about expenses already.’

‘It’s what Bantham would expect.’ Casey was firm. ‘And it’s got carpet to blot out noise, and nice big gaps between the tables so no one else can overhear anything. It’s perfect.’

I’m so sorry to bother you with such a bizarre request about carpets of all the wretched things, she had summoned the same voice from Lord Gidleigh’s office, but I am trying to find a restaurant to take my mother for lunch. She’s very deaf these days, and I was worrying about the sound levels.