Harri has fetishised the floral dresses, ever since she saw Alexandra Shulman wearing one to the Vogue anniversary party. Harri is usually careful with her clothes. She is a pragmatic dresser and her outfit choices are dictated by necessity before aesthetics. She is required to move through the world at twice the speed of everyone else. But when all of your dreams come true, you can justify a dream of a dress to match. The birds of paradise and hot house flower print make Harri yearn for the tropical, the botanical, a land of warm nights and soft breezes, free from all cares and MacBooks. Now, Harri wishes her warm thoughts would provide some actual heat. She feels shivery, exposed, angry with herself for every ‘right to bare arms’ pun she has ever let the subeditors sign off. The Regent Street Christmas decorations have just gone up. What was she thinking?

‘So we’re pleased to offer you an exciting new challenge,’ says Will, who is now staring at the table, not making eye contact.

Harri smiles. She has known Will for over ten years, and he has never become any more open, any less awkward. ‘Well, it’s not too new. I know Panache inside out. You’re in very good hands.’ She laughs, because she knows how to play the game, make nice. Come on, Will. Please wrap this up. Let me get back to my magazine.

‘Hnnnnnn,’ says Will, clasping his hands in front of him, like a little boy on a school trip, anxious about straying from the crocodile formation. ‘That’s the thing. We think you need a change. We’ve run the numbers and decided we want to go ahead with the new product idea. The online magazine, for younger women. Everyone was very impressed with the research you did last year. We want you to be at the helm of the new launch.’

‘Right. Right.’ Harri can feel the cogs and cells of her brain whirring, expanding, trying to absorb this information. ‘So—a lot of work. Exciting work! But how would that fit with my role at Panache? Because I have so many ideas and ongoing projects that I was working on with Rosa, and as an editor-in-chief I’d expect to—’

‘Harri,’ Will cuts her off, with something akin to tenderness. ‘You’re not the new editor-in-chief of Panache.’