The receptionist dragged her attention away from something behind the desk that Lindsay couldn’t see. “Is she expecting you?” she asked, her voice a disappointing nasal south London whine.

“I don’t have an appointment. But I’d really appreciate it if she could spare me a few minutes.” She smiled ingratiatingly.

“Can you tell me your name and what it’s in connection with?” was the bored reply as the eyes strayed back beneath the counter top.

“My name is Lindsay Gordon and it’s in connection with Penny Varnavides. I’m representing Meredith Miller.”

That got Lauren’s undivided attention. “Right,” she said, her voice approving and interested. “Let’s see what we can do, eh?” Her hand appeared above the counter clutching a phone and she keyed in a number. “Susan? It’s Lauren at the front desk. Someone here for Baz . . . No, but I think Baz will want to see her . . . Penny Varnavides . . . No, she’s not press, she says she’s representing . . .” her voice trailed off and she looked questioningly at Lindsay.

“Meredith Miller.”

“A Meredith Miller . . . Right.” She replaced the phone and gave Lindsay a friendly smile. “Ms. Burton’s assistant is going to check if she can see you.”

“Thanks.” Lindsay strolled over to a wall display of book jackets, her eyes automatically seeking out Penny’s titles. A phone rang and Lauren answered it. “Monarch Press, how may I help you . . . You want to leave a message for. . .. Certainly. And you are . . .? Could you spell that . . .? T-a-v-a-r-e? Fine, Mr. Tavare, I’ll see he gets the message.”

As the phone went down, a scarlet-faced woman with a disturbing resemblance to a hamster marched round the end of a partition and into the reception area. “How many times do I have to tell you?” she hissed at the receptionist. If it was meant to be out of Lindsay’s earshot, she’d failed. “People who arrive without an appointment get shown the door. You do not buzz through and put Susan on the spot, is that clear?”

Lauren flushed. “But Baz . . .”

“I don’t want to hear buts. It’s a simple enough procedure, surely you can manage it? Or do I have to talk to Danny?”

Lauren, who had clearly learned her lesson from the Princess of Wales, dropped her head and looked up at Baz from under her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, Baz, okay?”

“And while I’m on the subject of simple procedures, how come an urgent set of proofs that gets biked round to me yesterday morning doesn’t make it on to my desk till ten minutes ago?” The woman’s voice rose in pitch and volume. “Do you know what the word urgent means, or do I have to buy you a bloody dictionary?”

Before Lauren could answer, Lindsay jumped in. “Excuse me, but am I in the wrong place? I thought this was a publishing house, not a casualty ward. I mean, how urgent can a set of proofs be? You know, every time you get wound up like that, it takes days off your potential life span.” She smiled disarmingly. “I’m Lindsay Gordon. You must be Baz Burton.”