Another flashing light on the handset reminds me that Jess’s still holding for me. I fill her in.

‘So basically you made up a tale about Media Corp putting the squeeze on the Chancellor, and the fire alarm went off in the building?’

‘I was trying to sell her a background analysis. Nothing sensational. Maybe I got a bit carried away.’

‘You know Breitner has one of his London offices on the tenth floor?’

‘If you want to reassure me, you can do better than that.’

‘You’d better not keep them waiting. I’ll see you at 6.45.’

‘If I still have a job.’

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

THE TENTH FLOOR HAS ITS own reception desk, guarded by a stern woman with cropped grey hair. She fixes me with a stare that implies she thinks I’m lost and have exited the lift on the wrong floor.

‘Can I help?’

‘Nigel Sands is expecting me.’

She changes her expression to one of sympathy. She murmurs my name into her headset. ‘He’ll be right down to collect you.’

A couple of minutes later a rhinoceros of a man, with a crooked nose that looks as if it was smashed in a rugby scrummage, comes stomping down the corridor.

‘Gil, Gil, what a treat.’ He is florid and beaming. ‘Thanks so much for popping up. I’m such a fan of your work.’

I purr like a cat that’s having its chin stroked. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

‘What can we get you?’ he says, as he leads me back up the corridor. ‘Tea? Coffee? Bit early for a beer – well, for me – but do say if you’d like one. I know what you journos are like.’

‘Nothing, thanks. I’m fine.’

Sands ushers me into his corner office. South London is a vast patchwork quilt below us, through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

‘On a good day you can see Croydon,’ he says cheerfully, flinging himself into a dark blue sofa by the window. A matching sofa faces it. ‘Take a pew, squire.’

Before I can sit down, there’s a bang at the door. ‘Come,’ Sands barks, although the door is already opening. ‘Ah, Jock. Just the man. I presume you two know each other.’ He cocks an eyebrow at me. ‘Gil Peck, Jock Streatham. Absolute legends, both of you.’

As Sands says, Streatham is a bona fide legend in my industry. Breitner installed him as editor of the Globe the moment he bought it and Streatham repaid the faith by turning it from a shrinking left-leaning broadsheet into the UK’s biggest selling, no-holds-barred tabloid. He stepped down three years ago to become ‘senior vice president’ of Media Corp, a title that confers power though no precise responsibilities. When he’s interviewed on TV, they caption him ‘former tabloid editor’, but that’s not correct. A fixer or mob consigliere would be nearer the mark.