Twenty-five years old. Cocky. Arrogant. Oh my God. If I was a few years older I could be his mother. I’m not the type to play around. A brick of guilt coagulates in my stomach. Except for my drunken kiss with Aiden. What was I doing? What was that about?

A black-suited waiter wafts towards our table with Joshua’s breakfast. Almost dancing around us as he places it in front of this overpaid wide boy, who flashes sexism and diamonds. Mashed avocado on toast with poached eggs on sourdough.

As the waiter puts the plate down I catch his eye. ‘Please could I have a large Americano with hot milk, and a spinach and ricotta smoothie.’

‘Of course, madam,’ he drools in a heavy French accent, which sounds as if it has been fragmented through a cheese grater.

The waiter retreats.

‘So,’ Joshua starts, ‘tell me why I should consider using you.’

‘Because I would deal with all the things you currently ignore, and which over the next twenty years will make you infinitely richer. You see, you probably only think about today or tomorrow or maybe next week. I think about the future. Your family’s future. I have worked in tax and trusts for years in a top magic circle firm. I know how to protect and grow your wealth. Also, I’m experienced at dealing with the routine aspects of legal need, such as conveyancing and divorce. And I specialise in pre-nuptial agreements – something I understand from the media you might be interested in before too long.’ I lean back on the pink sofa and smile at him, hoping he won’t smile back. I do not want to see his diamond-studded tooth again. ‘You get a tailored 24/7 service from me. I am always there when you need me. And you need someone like me.’

‘An attentive 24/7 service. I see.’ He says this with all the emphasis on the word service, as if he’s thinking about sex. I would like to slap him, but I swallow to push away the knots that are tightening in my stomach. I remember his portfolio. I need to be polite. To keep calm. Belgravia Private Clients need this. ‘Haven’t you been acting for Sasha Reznikovitch?’ he asks.

I sigh inside. ‘Yes.’

‘She’s not a good example of your services.’

‘Her bankruptcy is a reflection of her behaviour, not my advice. I also act for Aristos Kaladopolous, and James Shoestring.’

He emits a soft whistle. ‘They’re impressive clients. Would they provide a reference?’

‘Of course.’

49

Miles

You have driven to visit one of your two remaining clients, James Shoestring, in his country pile; a not-so-small small-holding in Hereford. He pays the local farmer to run his hobby farm for him, to keep it looking authentic for his occasional visits. The crisis this weekend, I understand, is to ascertain which tax jurisdiction should be nominated to receive the next tranche of his income.