Vincent turned to him, and Quill found himself being sized up. ‘Something with no relation at all to the subject matter: Herb Alpert. People will ask exactly that question. Again, it’ll stick in their heads, but that effect fades quickly. If we kept doing adverts with that attached, it’d stop being jarring and start just being our tune. These days anything can come to mean anything. Sorry, you must be … no, don’t tell me – James, yes, I recall. And you are a … police officer, are you not? A detective. Right, hence the question. It’s your job to sort through a huge number of signifiers, many different people and events, and work out which of them means anything to you.’

‘I suppose,’ said Quill, slightly dreading what might come next, and already tired by how fast this man spoke. He hoped that at no point would Vincent ask him to give him the inside track on anything. Although this bloke was supposed to be the only newspaper proprietor who didn’t do stuff like that, he was obviously a bit of a shit, and probably guilty of something. But then Quill thought that about most of the general public.

‘What I like about the Met,’ said Vincent, ‘is that it’s still a meritocracy.’

Quill suppressed a cynical laugh, and managed a tilt of the head that he hoped indicated nothing in particular.

Vincent seemed to notice the half-heartedness of the gesture. ‘Well, that’s what senior officers always tell me. I started out as a copy boy; I’ve been an editor all my life. Oh, here’s another one.’

He looked back to the screen and started to narrate what he saw in this next advert. ‘Handsome young chap, smart suit but not expensive, down-to-earth London accent but not faux Jamaican youth accent, more the sort of voice kept alive by soap operas, so he’s doing what the audience want to do and could actually do, leading them into thinking that if they copy him and buy the paper, they’ll be free and happy like him…’ Quill noticed that the finely ironed copy of the Herald the man flapped open had the same headline as in the last advert. ‘He’s our aspirational cheerleader figure, he’s in all the rest of these, which will actually get on telly and push the brand along in the spotlight.’

‘Interesting,’ said Quill.

‘We’re really in the same job, James. You notice meaning, I try to make it.’

Quill wanted to ask if a newspaperman’s job shouldn’t be to report the news, but, aware of Sarah’s tight-lipped smile, contented himself with a chummy laugh.

‘Well, I must go,’ said Vincent, ‘if those above you ever grind you down…’ He took another card from his pocket and placed it in Quill’s palm.