‘I shut the door – you should have seen his face – and told him to tell his bitch of a wife to stop sending me messages, that if I got one more text or email from her I was going to have him up for sexual harassment. I mean, older, rich man, impressionable young woman made to believe that if she didn’t respond to his advances she’d be fired . . . I’d definitely have a case.’

‘Fucking hell,’ I said.

‘Sorry,’ Charlie said. She was standing over us. ‘I couldn’t help but overhear. I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘What?’ Sasha said, her mouth staying open.

‘It will be your reputation that suffers if you do that. A friend of mine in Manchester went through the same thing. The guy ended up looking like a hero, everyone thinking he was a big stud, his wife standing by him, and the girl was made to look like an idiot. This boss of yours sounds like a disgusting creep, but perhaps you should put it down to experience and move on.’

Sasha blinked at Charlie like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. I expected an outburst, but she said, ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, but it’s none of your business.’

‘I know. I just wouldn’t want you to make a mistake.’

‘It does sound like it would end badly,’ I said, trying to work out how quickly I could end this conversation. ‘Even though he would deserve it. What did he say, anyway?’

‘He said that I should stop making threats. Then he walked out.’

Charlie had gone back over to the kitchen.

‘Maybe you should look for another job,’ I said.

Sasha shook her head vehemently. ‘No way. Why should I be the one who loses out? I’m lucky it’s so hard to get rid of employees in this country. He knows he can’t fire me without ending up in court.’

Over dinner – which was excellent as always; even Sasha admitted as much – things calmed down. We talked about safe topics: our favourite box sets, the redevelopments in Herne Hill, the price of property in London.

We talked about a film we’d all watched recently, in which a woman murdered her husband and covered it up, getting away with it in the end.

‘The perfect murder,’ Charlie said. ‘What would you do, Sasha, if you wanted to murder someone? Like your boss, for example.’

Sasha grinned. ‘Hmm . . . I don’t know. I think you’d have to make it look like a suicide. Get them to write a note at knife-point.’

‘I reckon if you wanted to murder someone, the best way to do it would be to make it look like a drug overdose,’ Charlie said. ‘Death by misadventure.’

‘You two!’ I said. ‘You’re terrible.’