And perhaps it was. As he watched the camera dive down to fly along one of the main boulevards leading to the centre of the metropolis, Sandy felt a dispiriting sense of failure, suspecting that though they had designed a vast and efficient beehive, they had utterly failed to grasp the possibilities of a city for two million human souls. And this feeling was immediately followed by a flash of anger. If only Charles had contributed a little more, set the team ablaze as only he could, things might have been different.

Fourteen minutes later there was still no sign of Verge, and Clarke was breathing deeply, maintaining his control. He saw Jennifer Mathieson’s red hair at the glass door of the theatre. She was behind the audience, whose faces were fixed on the screen, and Clarke half rose from his seat, trying to make out what she was doing. She seemed to be signalling to him, waving her hand, but he made no move to go to her. Then something behind her must have distracted her; she half turned and the lights outside caught her face. Clarke was startled by its appearance. It was so white, eyes unnaturally wide, lips drawn back from her teeth, as if she’d had some terrible shock.

But the film was suddenly over, the room lights coming on to the sound of polite clapping from the guests, and Clarke rose to his feet. He invited questions, and it was clear that the party had prepared a list. One by one their questions were laboriously translated and then answered by either Clarke himself or one of the specialist team members. Traffic projections, construction methods, environmental concerns, pedestrian networks, densities, surface water management, each topic was worked over. Finally Mr Cheong spoke what sounded like a rehearsed line.

‘I assume your fee proposal is negotiable.’ Then he paused and said something in Mandarin to the interpreter, who translated: ‘But Mr Cheong prefers to discuss this in person with Mr Verge, when he is available.’