Cityboy is back, and this time he’s wading into the thriller genre. Cityboy is in fact one Geraint Anderson, a former City utilities analyst turned newspaper columnist, turned novelist. His first book, Cityboy: Beer and Loathing in The Square Mile sold 200,000 copies off the back of its merciless derision towards bankers and their nefarious deeds, and off the success of Anderson’s pseudonymous column in thelondonpaper.

Cityboy was largely semi-autobiographical, and Just Business reprises that approach from the outset. Steve Jones, also a utilities analyst, also a columnist for thelondonpaper, and also filled with revulsion for the City and its denizens, is keen to struggle on in the face of the soul-destroying horror of his job for long enough to take one last obscene bonus and flee the Square Mile forever. After an intense feeling of paranoia during a board meeting, a clandestine investigation by Jones into his boss’ emails unearths some disturbing but useful information. Planning on using this for blackmail, Jones instead is forced to flee with his long-term girlfriend when the plan goes awry and the boss shows up dead.
The opening chapters are brimming with utter disdain for City types and their vacuous, coke-fuelled machismo; friendship consists of little more than extended baiting and one-upmanship, the ignorant shareholders are royally shafted by the expense-account draining gluttony of the high-fliers, and misogyny is rampant. In terms of subtlety it ranks alongside smashing windows at Fortnum and Mason, but it provides a good few laughs in a swaggering, lads‘-mag style.

The story itself is a protracted chase sequence, with Jones and his girlfriend fleeing ever further to escape their pursuers. Jones is by no means a master of survival or counter-surveillance, but acquits himself surprisingly well in the face of trained professionals intent on harming him. While Anderson stretches the boundaries of feasibility in allowing a weedy-financier type to outwit marauding psychopaths so regularly, he at least does the reader the courtesy of finding realistic ways for the pinstriped protagonist to triumph. As a character, Jones will no doubt be divisive. Much of the criticism of Anderson’s previous book centred on whether or not the author’s post-City penitence was disingenuous. In a work with such autobiographical leanings, there will be those who reject Just Business based solely on their feelings towards the author. For this reviewer, whether or not Anderson is a true pentito is immaterial. Just Business is avowedly critical of the whole edifice of the Square Mile, but at heart it is a thriller, not a polemic, and those capable of disengaging their mistrust long enough to read it will be rewarded.

The City of London is just one of the locations used by Anderson. As the couple flee from place to place, Anderson captures a flavour of his various sun-drenched hotspots with great skill.  While naming them directly would compromise the reader’s enjoyment, rest assured the distinct character of each location is briefly but lucidly depicted. For this reason, as a holiday read Just Business is spot-on.

• Read a quick Q&A with Geraint Anderson on Bookdagger

Overall, Just Business is a fine debut thriller. It is ribald, bloodthirsty and disdainful, and rattles along at the kind of pace that is ideal in a book that will no doubt be read on beaches across the globe this summer.

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