‘Hmmm, more or less anything?’ Breitner echoes. The room lightens as outside the sun emerges from behind a cloud. ‘But when he wins, won’t he be the puppet of the trade unions?’

I consider for a moment. ‘That is a risk. But it’s unlikely. Don’t forget, they’ve been beaten up by Tory governments for almost two decades. If he wins big, they’ll be so euphoric they’ll let him do whatever he wants. At least for a while.’

‘Maybe,’ says Streatham. It’s unnerving, having his interjections from over my shoulder. ‘But as the man said, “gratitude has a short half-life”.’

I turn to face him. ‘Even if you are right, Johnny will use whatever time he has to reinforce his control of the party machine. Perhaps I should have mentioned: he is ruthless.’

Breitner smiles. He turns and looks at the Rottweiler. I’m reminded of Harry Truman’s famous line: If you want a friend in politics, get a dog.

‘What Mr Breitner wants to know is whether Mr Todd is someone we should be trying to do business with,’ Streatham says. ‘Ramsey has turned out to be a prize arsehole. Unfortunately, he’s our arsehole, because if the Globe hadn’t backed him in 1992 the socialists – and they were socialists then – would probably have won. It’s hard for the Globe not to stick with Ramsey. But what if we didn’t? What if we supported Todd?’

‘Honestly, I’m not sure what you would have to lose.’ It’s not something I planned to say, but as I do, I realise quite how true it is. ‘He’s going to win anyway. So what would you gain from backing the losers?’

‘And you think he has the balls to face down the unions?’

‘He came into Parliament in 1987, just as the tide was turning against the hard left. And he has dedicated much of his career to lessening the party’s financial dependence on the unions. But they’re always going to have a big role. The clue’s in the name, after all. But he’s got big balls.’

Breitner looks at Streatham and both roar with laughter. What have I said that’s so funny? Before I have time to consider, Breitner is standing and Streatham has wandered over to escort me out.

‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Peck,’ says Breitner, looking at my full glass. ‘My whisky doesn’t meet your standards?’

I say something about not drinking before six.

‘Drink up, laddie,’ says Streatham. Fuck you, Streatham. I ostentatiously put down the tumbler, untouched.

‘I value the work done by loyal colleagues,’ Breitner says, with the stress on loyal. ‘Loyalty is everything with me.’ He turns again to look at Nelson’s portrait. “Take care, young man”. I am on warning.

Streatham walks with me back to the landing outside. ‘That was very educational. Mr Breitner has taken a shine to you.’