She got up and left, and went through the tables to the front, to join her father, who was with his own small group of favoured men. He introduced her, king-like.

‘This is my daughter – you all know her. Bea.’

They greeted her, and made space.

‘She hates me,’ said Griff. ‘Don’t you, darling?’ He was slightly drunk.

‘I can’t bear you,’ said Bea.

‘Surely not,’ said one man. Alex’s godfather, Rupert somebody. In shipping, she remembered.

‘I’m sure you set a good example,’ said another, who owned a private bank, laughing.

‘Bea doesn’t think so. She’s a truth-teller. Or a-sayer, or a-seer, whichever word it is.’

‘I’m a psychotherapist,’ said Bea.

‘Oh, marvellous,’ said the godfather.

‘Well done you,’ said the banker.

‘What job did you offer Dan?’ she asked him. ‘Why?’

As one, the men turned away, to give them privacy, but Griff addressed them.

‘She’s angry with me.’

The men gave the impression they were part of the conversation, waiting to see what Griff wanted them to say, and if his daughter was going to make a scene they could talk about, later on.

‘I told him,’ Griff said, ‘I said: the world is drowning, and I’m offering you a place on the lifeboat.’

‘Your analogy is paranoid,’ said Bea. ‘You’re confusing survival with greed.’

‘Here we go, lecture me,’ said Griff.

‘Why aren’t your opinions lectures, only mine?’ said Bea. ‘Your “survival” has turned London into a super-condo.’

‘Oh yes, I’m Godzilla, aren’t I?’

‘That wasn’t me, Dad, that was the Daily Mirror.’

‘I don’t make the rules. Nurses and teachers are never going to live in Belgravia, Bea – get over it. Vast amounts of revenue flow through this city, from the banks and property. Vast.’

‘What does it do for anyone? You and this lot are the only ones who benefit.’

‘Not just me, love,’ he said. ‘You too, Trust Fund Beatrice. I hear you want to access your capital, as Dan put it. You’ll have to drop the bleeding-heart socialist crap now, won’t you?’

He saw how shocked she was. He looked away from her face, and stared up to the sky, terrace heaters reflected in his eyes, tawny orange, chimney red.

‘That boy must have you on the ropes,’ he said. ‘You must be terrified, to abandon your principles after all this time.’

The music stopped. Lights came up on the stage. Everyone turned to look.

‘Good evening,’ said Will into the microphone. ‘I’m Will, Alex’s friend, and this is my band. Liv asked us to play a few songs.’