Harri responds gently. ‘Panache is very expensive to run. It’s always been a prestige title—ten years ago, the ad revenue was enormous, but the profit margins were narrow. The awful thing is that we made it easy for them. The company culture at Hudson has always been bleak, management constantly demanding the impossible, and when you deliver, demanding that you deliver doubly the next day. When Rosa announced she was leaving, I think Will saw his big chance. It’s like Jenga. They’re sneakily sliding the magazines out, one by one.’

It’s hard to get my head around. ‘The Know only just launched. It can’t cost that much to run,’ I say, thinking of my paltry pay.

Harri shrugs. ‘If they can set it up to fail, they can use it as evidence that their consumer titles are struggling and ditch them quietly. In the meantime, they can force everyone out, and hope to make conditions so unbearable that everyone quits. I don’t get redundancy because I’ve signed a brand new contract. None of you get redundancy because you’ve been here for less than a year. I know it’s a lot to get your head around, but it’s not uncommon. I’ve seen it happen with other publishers. That’s why I want to set up on my own—and bring you with me! If you’ll have me.’

I have been so naive. I’ve always understood that, on some level, glossy magazines are full of nonsense. But solid gold, million dollar, all powerful nonsense. I didn’t know that Hudson is all flimsy facade, cheap people in cheap suits running numbers, and finding them wanting. I’ve spent so many years watching Harri, wanting to be her, believing that with just enough hard work, I could belong in her shiny Technicolor world. Now she’s pulled back the curtain and I feel disorientated. It’s one thing to work, and worry, and never get what you want. It’s another to realise you’ve been worrying and working for a lie.

‘Why did you stay here? Why didn’t you set up on your own before, or work for another magazine?’

Harri looks thoughtful. ‘I’m starting to wish I’d done it a long, long time ago. I came close, a couple of times. But then Andy—my husband—died.’

Of course.

Because I was the indentured work experience at Panache. The most junior, least important person in the office, forced to pretend to know nothing. But I saw everything.

And I remember Harri, subdued, paler than usual, the whispering, ‘she’s come back too early,’ Giles protective, tender, defending her from all real and imaginary threats. Agonising over what to say, and never saying anything. Accidentally wiping the information from my own memory, for fear of intruding on hers. Doing nothing, and doing it wrong.