As the board members began to disperse, Tony Tolomei beckoned Henry Lund over.

“I’m going to stay here for a little while and reminisce, but something occurred to me. Maria da Silva is taking her holiday next week. When she comes back, perhaps you should ask her to become your secretary.”

Although the sentence was phrased as a suggestion, it did not sound like one.

“Well, I already have…” Lund began, but Tony Tolomei cut him off.

“I know, you have a secretary. But Maria da Silva has been here a long time, and she knows so much that Miss Pinot cannot even begin to imagine.”

Lund realised that this was not about saving the old secretary’s job. It was a personal gift from the old director.

“Have you spoken to her about it?”

“No. Matt said he’d make sure Mrs da Silva was taken care of, but I think this is better. Da Silva can decide for herself, but tell her I recommended her.”

“I understand. I expect my responsibilities will grow considerably over the coming year, so I may well need a second secretary.”

They looked at each other for a moment.

Tony Tolomei raised his glass.

“I’ll finish this and say goodbye to the rooms on my own.”

“All the best,” Lund said. “If I ever need your advice…”

“If you really need it, leave word for me. Don’t send an email. I won’t answer.”

The men shook hands, and Tony Tolomei was left alone in the board dining room.

He felt a surge of emotion, though the tears had more to do with the pain than with Lund.

Tony Tolomei took an enamelled silver pillbox from his waistcoat pocket, took out a pill, and washed it down with whisky.

Then he picked up a fork and walked into the boardroom men’s lavatory.

The lavatory had been designed by his father, although it had not been completed until after his death. Gilded rings and screw heads set into the black marble formed the letter T everywhere—the Tolomei emblem. His father had one mausoleum in the cemetery and another here.

Tony Tolomei pissed for a long time into the black stone urinal.

Then he took the fork and scratched his message into the white marble.

FUCKING CLOWNS

He continued.

GO FUCK YOURSELVES

Tony dipped his hand into the basin and dragged his bloodied hand across the wall. Where the fork had broken through the surface, the letters glowed red.