‘The same.’

‘And how old at the time?’

‘Fifteen.’ He found that Cort was looking back at him with something like esteem – his lower lip thrust out, his nostrils flared.

‘Nine years? Blimey, that’s a turnaround. It took me five to get through Ulysses.’ And then he leaned in, blinking. ‘You’re a bit of an enigma, Mayhood. Do the partners know about all this?’

‘Well, it was in my covering letter. I could hardly keep it secret.’

‘No, of course, I didn’t mean to –’

‘It’s all right. The truth is, half the firms in London wouldn’t even interview me. But Stack Furnish wrote straight back.’

‘Fair play to them. I wouldn’t have expected it of Mr Furnish.’

‘I suppose it helped that two of his old pals were my instructors and they recommended me.’

‘He trained at Liverpool as well?’

‘Yes, under Reilly.’

‘That explains a lot about his style. Am I the only fool who didn’t go there?’

‘You and Ibbot.’

‘Damn.’ Cort arched his back to vent the fumes over his shoulder, laughing. ‘I think I’m getting used to these. They’re not so awful.’

‘Everyone surrenders in the end. You’ll be on ten a day before you know it.’

His colleague drained the last few inches of his mild and put his glass down. ‘Well –’ He burped into his fist. ‘The partners didn’t bother showing up again, I noticed. That’s three lectures in a row they’ve missed.’

‘It’s odd, to say the least.’ There was a dampness still to Arthur’s clothes, but he was warmer now and more at ease. His spirits had been lifted, seeing the honesty of Cort’s reaction. There’d been some surprise when he’d first mentioned borstal, as expected, and a bit of idle curiosity. But not much pressure to explain himself. No pity. And then – done. As though what he’d revealed was no more consequential than the landlord’s prattle at the bar, the conversation had moved on to other matters.

‘I know for sure that Mr Furnish was invited,’ Cort went on. ‘I asked his secretary. But I can’t imagine they’re on board with Wright’s ideas. Organic this, organic that. A million miles from their approach now, isn’t it?’

‘I find them so frustrating,’ he replied. ‘They’re clearly in a rut, but it’s so comfortable for them they haven’t noticed.’

‘Absolutely, I agree. And it’s a great relief to hear you say it. I’ve been going slowly mad.’

In fact, a general dissatisfaction with the projects at Stack Furnish had been festering in Arthur for a while now. But he couldn’t tell if this was caused by apathy towards the low-risk style the partners were inured to, or if it was because he was still cleaving to his happy memories of architecture school – those dream-drunk days he used to share with Florence. It was just over a year ago that they were living a short tram-ride from each other, existing in a heedless syncopation, going from his lodgings to her halls of residence and back again, making plans out loud. Liverpool was much too small for their ambitions; London was the next place on the list. The world seemed braced for them to conquer. He missed those years with her so deeply he relived them every night inside his head on a despairing loop.