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when she had another one of those fucking boyfriends who’d give me a clout whatever I did. I’m not saying you had it easy, but I did protect you a fair bit. Maybe that’s why you feel more forgiving about it all than I do now.’ Lucien yawned and stretched his arms. ‘Anyway, I can’t be bothered to have this conversation again. We’re never going to agree on this stuff. Let’s get going, these pills aren’t going to sell themselves.’ He stood up and pulled a dirty cotton vest on over his bronzed shoulders, only partially obscuring a recently-acquired tattoo of a Chinese dragon, snarling face reaching over his collarbone and tail running halfway down his back.  ‘Full moon party, here we come.’

Chapter 5
Docklands, July 1998
    T HE OBELISK TOWERS of Canary Wharf, gleaming monuments to financial might, flashed bright semaphores in the morning sun as Eva walked towards them from the station, the block heels of her smart new court shoes clicking satisfyingly against the concrete. Almost a year into her new job she still experienced a frisson of excitement as she stepped into the cavernous lobby of the Morton Brothers building and swiped her security pass at the turnstile before striding towards the lifts. Her internal monologue was still that of an imposter: tee hee, look where I am, do they really think I belong here? But the pass that got her into the building and onto the trading floor said otherwise; she was an insider, and today would be her first day as a realinsider now that she had been promoted to a seat on a proper trading desk and was no longer a graduate trainee on a boring government bonds book.
    The lift doors glided open at the thirty-second floor and at 6.52am Eva stepped out and walked along the aisle past the banks of flickering screens. There were three seats in her new section and only one was occupied, with the ample form of a gently steaming derivatives trader. As she drew closer she realised the steam was actually rising from the enormous mug of coffee he was clutching, but even so the alcohol fumes rolling off his body seemed render the air around him as watery as the inch of air above the tarmac on a very hot road.
    Eva knew exactly who he was: Paul Costanzo, one of the two other members of her new team, whose legendary reputation in the market preceded him mostly in the form of tales of his nighttime exploits. On his desk she could see a framed photo of a younger version of him in a yellow-and-black striped blazer, looking for all the world like a disgruntled bumblebee. This was no doubt an intentional reminder to those around him that he had been working in the financial markets since the days of the old open-outcry exchanges where garishly-jacketed traders had screamed orders for runners to fill with paper tickets, before electronic trading had ushered in a quieter and more efficient era.
    Eva drew to a halt by his desk, plastered a friendly but businesslike smile onto her face, and stuck out a hand. ‘Hi. I’m Eva Andrews.’
    The disheveled bulk turned slowly towards her. ‘Oh. Right,’ he said, ignoring her outstretched hand and reaching for his coffee instead. ‘No one told me the new minion was arriving today.’ He peered at her through bleary eyes. ‘Let alone one of the female persuasion.’
    Eva glared at him, annoyance overriding expedience. ‘Is that going to be a problem for you?’
    ‘No need to get feisty now.’ He perked up a little, apparently cheered by the hint of combat. ‘It’s no problem for me. I’m a feminist, you see.’ Then, catching her sceptical look, added, ‘You got a problem with that?’
    She smiled despite herself. ‘Not me, fella.’
    ‘Good. So. Let’s do the introductions properly. I’m Big Paul, so called to distinguish me from Little Paul, that short-arse three desks over who, incidentally, will have a fucking coronary if you actually call him Little Paul to his face. Yeah, that’s you I’m talking about, small fry,’ he called