‘Deadly? You got that right. Have you seen it?’ I was surprised.

‘I watched the show every day for a week once a long time ago when I was going up for a part as a talk-show compere. A Spike Jonze film – a kind of post-modern take on the evils of television. It’s kind of addictive, isn’t it? Your show, I mean.’

‘Is it?’ I said miserably.

‘Don’t look so sad.’ He smiled at me again. I flushed once more as he checked his watch. ‘God, is that the time? I’d better get going. It was nice seeing you.’ He held out his hand, then changed his mind, kissing me on the cheek at the exact moment Joseph Blake stepped out of the lift.

‘Maggie!’ Joseph’s voice was high-pitched and querulous. I turned, a little irritated.

‘Yeah, all right, Joseph, thanks. I’m just coming.’

‘So, take care, won’t you?’ Seb headed toward the doors and I swung my bag onto my shoulder. Joseph was beside me now, holding something in his hand.

‘Maggie –’ he started to say as Seb turned back.

‘Look, Maggie, I don’t suppose you –’ His shirt was very white against his tanned skin, unbuttoned to exactly the right point, his dark eyes bright. He really was stunning. ‘Do you fancy dinner one night?’

I smiled shyly, surprised. ‘Oh!’ Oh God – a date. I took a deep breath before I could think any more. ‘Yes, thank you. That’d be nice.’

Seb gave me a card. ‘Here’s my number. Give me a call when you’re free.’

I was always free these days. ‘I will. Thanks, Seb.’

And then he was gone, outside, whistling for a taxi. I turned to Joseph, who looked even more sullen than usual.

‘Let’s go, shall we?’ I said, glancing down. Joseph was clutching a shiny white oblong: my missing pass. The pass I was sure I’d pocketed last thing on Friday.

Joseph swore blind that he’d just found my security pass on my desk after I’d rung from downstairs – but I had an uneasy feeling. In fact, I felt constantly uneasy about Joseph these days. The truth was that things just weren’t working out – there was only so long I could keep him on, doing a not very good job. The girls were still frosty with him; he’d made little effort to fit in despite our best efforts. Worst of all, his research was slapdash and poor, his work not up to standard in an industry where people were queuing round the block for jobs.

‘They still don’t trust Joseph,’ Sally said that afternoon, handing me the guest-list for tomorrow’s show like the efficient head-girl that she was, ‘though I’m not exactly sure why. Goodness, what’s this?’