‘What kind of bag is it?’

‘A Head sports bag. Red and white.’

She scans the steel shelves behind her. ‘This one?’

‘That’s it.’

I take the bag and my Gore-Tex jacket and put a pound coin in the saucer on the desk. My heart is pounding. This is the second time in my adult life I’ve stolen, and both crimes have been executed in the space of just a few hours. I scan left to check that Elliott isn’t looking in my direction. Jess still has him prisoner. I hurry for the stairs.

I’m one flight down when I hear the clack of heels coming down behind me. I turn, shielding the bag against the wall with my body. It’s Jess.

‘I saw what you just did. You’re insane!’

I say nothing. I don’t want to say anything incriminating where there is a risk of being overheard.

‘How was Alex?’

‘Absolute mega twat. He was trying to pull me. Can you believe it?’

‘Funnily enough, I can.’

‘He loves you, by the way. Said he’d heard you’d been locked in a padded cell, and hoped you would be permanently sectioned. Stared at my tits a bit while I pressed him about the Capital story. When he finally realised there was no way I’d ever suck his cock, he made his excuses.’ She pauses. ‘Where are we going, by the way?’

‘Somewhere private.’

At the next landing, I try one of the doors leading off the stairwell. It opens onto a corridor lined with offices and more portraits of pompous men in dark suits wearing heavy gilt chains round their necks.

Jess looks up at the ceiling. ‘What if there are cameras? What if someone finds us?’

I don’t see any cameras. ‘If anyone comes, we’ll pretend we snuck away for a quick shag.’

‘Oh yes, that would definitely rehabilitate us in the eyes of Lorimer.’

‘It’s preferable to the truth.’

At the end of the corridor, we find a small boardroom, unlocked. Orange light from the street lamps streams through the windows, giving us just enough illumination that we don’t have to turn on the overhead lights.

‘You do know we are breaking the law, again?’ she says. And then firmly takes the bag from me, before I can protest, places it on the table and unzips it.

At the top, in a plastic Waitrose carrier, are sweat-stained workout clothes. Jess removes the bag delicately, holding it away from herself as though it’s radioactive. Then there’s a Toshiba laptop, which is promising, until I turn it on and am asked for a password. Underneath, three pink cardboard files. And right at the bottom, tucked in a corner, one of those small plastic bags used by banks for storing coins that contains a small silver foil parcel.

Jess looks at me and smirks. Neither of us makes any comment.