Robin Muller. That’s a blast from the past. Robin and I were at Oxford together, next door colleges. People talked about him in reverential tones as the genius of the year, though what I had in common with him was more recreational: we got our dope from the same source. The dealer was a mature student at St Anthony’s, and as neither of us much fancied the long schlep up the Woodstock Road, we took it in turns to collect. We had a friendship of convenience. Robin graduated with a First and the offer of a Fellowship at All Souls’ – at which he stuck up two fingers. In the spirit of Thatcher’s loads-a-money times, he opted for the City over ivory tower. He took a job in what was then called merchant banking, at one of the small advisory banks mostly founded by German Jews – which would soon be gobbled up by their American and Swiss rivals. We lost touch, but I’m not surprised to find out he’s now something at Schon. It’s where someone with his brains and lack of scruples would prosper. He’ll be on course to trouser tens of millions of pounds. The success of the City and Wall Street is rooted in the piratical nineteenth century. They disguise their swashbuckling with wood-panelled solemnity. But when colossal sums are at stake, they do what’s needed.

You’re all so fucking corrupt. Who are the ‘all’ to whom Clare was referring? Kendall and who? Kendall and Schon? Kendall and Muller?

I think back to what Bob Ringer said about the Chancellor. Who pays his bills? That might be interesting.

‘Did you ever have any sense that Kendall has money worries?’

‘You mean the deficit?’

‘No, not the fucking deficit,’ I laugh. ‘Does he personally seem short of money?’

Jeremy looks confused. ‘He made a good living in law before entering politics. And everyone knows that his wife, Mandy, is a supermarket heiress.’

Oh yes. But fortunes can be lost. Is that vast Cotswold estate remortgaged up to the hilt and effectively owned by the banks? I try another tack. ‘What about his campaign? There’s an election coming. Who pays for his office?’

But even while asking the question, I know it’s probably a red herring. British democracy runs on a shoestring. Last year in America, Bill Clinton spent a hundred and fifty million dollars to see off a Republican waxwork. If you add in all the congressional races as well, they spent over two billion dollars. In Britain, you can elect a whole Parliament for a few million pounds and change. This is not money to die for. Or to kill for.

‘Never mind.’ The mention of Kendall’s wife has reminded me of the other half of Ringer’s hints. Keith Kendall is a naughty boy who can’t keep his hands to himself. ‘What about his love life?’