The old waiter arrived with their veal and began pouring their wine. Bannerman checked the time. They would have to make this quick. The funeral service began in less than twenty minutes. Tait took a mouthful of wine and they ate in silence. The old man watched them from behind the bar and wondered at two men sharing a meal together and saying nothing. Especially when they had been so animated just a few minutes earlier.

Tait finished first and emptied his glass. He lit another cigarette and looked coldly at Bannerman. ‘I want you off the story,’ he said quietly. ‘Whatever I might think as a newspaperman, as an editor there are other things I have to consider.’

Bannerman ate on without looking up. When finally he washed down the last mouthful with the remains of his wine he leaned back without a trace of emotion and said, ‘If you are prepared to allow other considerations to take priority over the basic principles of good journalism, then in my very humble opinion that makes you a pretty shit editor.’

Tait angrily stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and stood up. ‘I don’t have to take that kind of crap from you, Bannerman. I’m telling you now, you’re finished here. There is no story. You’ll fly back to Edinburgh tonight.’

‘I won’t,’ Bannerman said, his face still impassive.

‘You’ll do what I fucking tell you!’

Bannerman shook his head. ‘I don’t work for you any more.’

‘Like hell you don’t.’

‘I just resigned.’

Tait’s laughter lacked any trace of humour. ‘You’ve got a contract of employment, Bannerman. Requiring you to give me three months’ notice.’

‘Fine. Let’s take it to an employment tribunal. See how you feel when I start explaining in open court just why I quit.’

Tait’s face had lost all its colour now. His hands were trembling at his sides. The old waiter watched them with interest, although he had no idea what they were saying. A couple of workmen at a nearby table turned their heads. Tait became suddenly self-conscious and sat down again.

Bannerman leaned forward and said in a low voice. ‘Here’s the thing, Mister Tait. I’ve never taken shit off anybody, and I’m not about to take any off you. Whatever Slater may or may not have done, however that might tarnish the image of the Post, it’s going to look a hell of a lot better for the paper if it comes out with it first. Make no mistake, if you force me out, it’s not going to stop me. And when I break the story, you can be sure the Post will be the last paper on this earth to get it.’