I arrive at Soho House. As I climb the stairs, I think of the years I’ve wasted, dreaming of what it would be like to come here for an important meeting with an editor. Past Imogen was an idiot. The receptionist tells me to ‘go on through’, indicating a 270 degree radius, and I worry that I’m doomed to a Sisyphean search, trawling the endless luxury lounges, the Great Firing hanging over my head for ever. But I see Harri as soon as I walk through the doorway. I’m also delighted to see that she has made a cosy nest amidst the mid century objets d’art. The Coat is half rolled, half thrown over a velvet banquet. She’s chewing a cheap Biro. A second Biro is behind her ear.

‘Imogen, thank God! Can you help me find my pen? I don’t know what I’ve done with it.’

‘Uh, have you tried your…ear? And hand?’

She looks down, and sighs softly. ‘Anyway, glad you’re here. What I’m about to ask you might seem like it’s coming out of the blue, but I really hope…’

‘Are you going to fire me? Please don’t fire me.’

‘What?’ Her pen falls from her hand, into her coffee cup.

‘Naked speed dating. I don’t know if Tabitha told you but I didn’t go. I lied. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to make any excuses about what I did. It was unforgivable. But I really hope I can persuade you to give me another chance.’ I scrabble for my notebook. It would be so nice if I could reach into the air and pull out, say, a pie chart, or a compelling power point presentation. ‘I put some figures together, and it turns out I’m responsible for 75 per cent of all thirds…no, sorry, that’s wrong…’

‘Imogen, what are you talking about?’

I hang my head. ‘I know you probably need to fire me. But I was hoping that you might be able to consider it in…in the context of my…my…’ Shit. I really didn’t want to cry.

‘Oh, Imogen. It’s OK. I know you didn’t go. And I understand. You fucked up. And I put you under so much stress that it was probably inevitable. Thank you for apologising. I’m really sorry too. But that’s not why I invited you out to lunch.’

‘Then…what have I done?’ I must have done something. My heart starts to pound faster. This is even worse than I thought.

But Harri doesn’t look as though she’s about to tell me off. She seems nervous, vulnerable. Hopeful. ‘I want to leave Hudson and set up my own women’s website. And I’m hoping you’ll come with me.’