‘So this is where you’re hiding, Mayhood, you sly devil.’ Now the big bronze doors were opening and Fred Cort stood upon the entrance steps, shielding his head with a newspaper. ‘Ibbot had a bet with me that you’d gone straight back to the office. Easy money, it turns out.’

Arthur stared across the street, into the spray of traffic. ‘How’d you know I hadn’t?’

‘Because you’ve got a lovely girl to spend your nights with, haven’t you? Unlike our dear Ibbot, who’s afraid to speak to one in daylight.’ Cort shut the doors, came closer. ‘I’ll tell you this much: if he’s serious about the navy when it all gets started, then I’m trying for the air force.’

‘I’ve known plenty worse than him, believe me.’

‘You don’t have to share a table with him every day. The man’s a perfect bloody misery.’ The rain was battering the Telegraph above Cort’s head – it was saturated, limp. ‘Is there a reason you can’t smoke inside?’

‘Quieter out here,’ he said. ‘A bit of rain won’t hurt me.’

‘Well, I’m getting drenched.’

He eyed the ground. ‘I didn’t ask you to come out, Fred.’

His colleague seemed to take offence at this. He stood there with his mouth ajar, his tongue working the ridges of his teeth. ‘I was hoping you’d stayed on, that’s all. I wanted your opinion on the talk, but it can wait till Monday.’

‘My opinion?’

‘Yes. Is that so strange? I can’t decide if he’s a genius or a raving loony. Possibly a bit of both. You see? I’m terribly conflicted, and I hate to be conflicted. But you always seem so sure of everything, I thought you’d have a view on it.’

‘Sorry, Fred. I’ve come out here for peace and quiet. I’m not really in the mood for a debriefing.’ In truth, he’d tuned out several times during the lecture. His mind had kept on skipping backwards to Wright’s colour film instead. He couldn’t stop his thoughts returning to it. He was thinking of it now.

‘Perhaps on Monday, then.’ Cort ditched the newspaper and let the rain attack his scalp. Again, he seemed a little stung. ‘Look, Mayhood, I’m not sure we’ve really got to know each other since you joined the firm. I’d hate to think you see me as a rival.’

‘Why should I think that?’

‘No reason. I’m just trying to say, we’re not in competition.’

‘Something tells me Ibbot doesn’t feel the same.’

‘God, no. He’d trample on your grave to fetch a paperclip for Mr Furnish.’

‘Oh, I’d bet he would.’ At least Cort had a sense of humour – that was one mark in his favour. Water was now beading at the fella’s earlobes, too, but there he was, still trying to engage him in a conversation. Either it was hardiness or plain stupidity. ‘You ought to go back in before you catch pneumonia.’

Cort just sniffed. ‘So are you waiting for your girl out here – is that why you’re so keen to brush me off?’