‘It’s…yeah. I am really sorry, I will try to pay attention, but—I’ve never been this tired in my life. In fact, the best thing about this lunch, other than seeing your fabulous face,’ she says, quickly, ‘is that when I sat down, I could say “oooof!” Every single bit of my body just wants to scream “oooof”, all day long, and I can’t get away with that in there. They would all laugh at me. I’m starting to worry I’m not…relevant, any more. I feel as though I’ve aged ten years this week.’

‘But you’re putting the oooof in yoof!’ smiles Giles.

‘I’m doing about nine jobs. It makes Panache feel like a fortnight in a spa. Usually, I could control the drama at Panache, because it would be about the actual magazine. Now, all day long, I hear “Is ibuprofen better than paracetamol for period pains?’ “What can the bank actually do once you’ve gone over your overdraft limit?” “I think I’ve got thrush, but maybe it’s an STI, can I show you?” I feel like a teacher at a tiny boarding school for the bright-but-wayward. Miss Jean Br-overshare.’

‘That reminds me,’ says Giles. ‘I think I spotted your fashion editor in the lift the other day. Unless you were hosting a panel for Comic-Con. Is that my competition? She made me feel about a thousand years old.’

Harri has been trying to work out what, if anything, to do about Tabitha. ‘Today, she’s in short shorts—black vinyl lederhosen and a matching harness over a silver sports bra. Obviously, she looks amazing. But not for the office. Certainly not before the leaves have returned to the trees, and the clocks have gone forward.’

‘Did you take a picture?’

‘Did I take a picture? Sure, creepshots of junior employees—totally normal.’ Giles looks deflated, so Harri checks Tabitha’s Instagram account. Sure enough, she’s posted her #ootd. Harri holds her phone up, and Giles snatches it from her.

‘Yowsa yowsa! That girl is going places. Naked places.’

Harri picks at a cuticle. ‘It’s not just me? It seems a little much—or rather, not enough. But The Know cannot be in the business of policing young women’s bodies.’

Giles thinks for a minute. ‘Just turn the heating off. Say the boiler’s broken. That will get her clothes back on. Now, have you had your audience yet with she who must not be named?’

‘This afternoon,’ says Harri. She’d love a glass of wine—or methylated spirits—but she suspects it’s best to keep a clear head. ‘I’m not too worried, it can’t be worse than having Lily and Katie hovering around and getting in the way all day long.’