Neither of them will sit down. Harri knows he is waiting for her to go first. It’s absurd; sexism, disguised as chivalry. She will not play the game—partly because by staying standing, she is able to retain what little power she has. Mostly because she has worn uncomfortable shoes, in honour of the announcement, and she needs to stay on her feet. If she sits, she may never be able to get back up again. She tips the heavy chrome chair against the big table, surreptitiously stretching a sore calf, like a runner. Will has been speaking without stopping for seven minutes now. He’s rambling, mumbling pointless professional platitudes. When will he get to the point? Why does he have to make such a ceremony out of everything? Well, because his job is dull, and his life is dull, and dullness is his MO. The first rule of media. The glamour of the company is always inversely proportional to the glamour of the person in charge of the operation. Officially, Panache is very much the jewel in Hudson’s crown. The truth is that the whole company is mostly profitable thanks to the steady, consistent demand for Construction & Scaffolding Weekly.

Will is looking at her now. What is he saying? His monotone makes it difficult to concentrate. The man is an utter charisma vacuum, ‘…long term service to the company. In recognition of your talent, and considerable ability, we think…’ Please get on with it. Harri wants to savour this moment, but she can barely concentrate. Downstairs, chaos reigns. The cover interview hasn’t been confirmed, seven suitcases of couture gowns are stuck in Customs and she has just learned that the new girl in Classifieds is taking make-up from the Beauty cupboard and selling it on eBay. She wonders whether she can sneak a look at her emails, by peering into her pocket. But she has no pockets today. She is wearing The Dress, bought the very second she felt sure of her promotion, once Rosa had assured her she was not tempting fate. Most editors wear black, black, black. But the editor-in-chief wears Erdem.