Siobhan giggled. “Nice one. Anyway, last night, she finally cracked it. They left the bar together about one, and they were last seen canoodling in the lift. End of scene one. Scene two. About half an hour later, Paul wakes up to the sound of someone banging on his door.” Siobhan gestured with her head in the direction of their delegation leader, branch chairman Paul Horne, the thirtysomething social policy editor of The Watchman, who was one of the handful absorbed in the debate.

“So he gets up and opens the door,” Siobhan paused for effect.

“Yeah?” Lindsay urged her.

“And there, wearing nothing but a parka, is Jess. ‘I went for a pee and now I can’t remember what room Rory’s in,’ she wails and marches past Paul into his room. He’s completely bewildered by this apparition and by the time he gets his head together and follows her into the room, she’s helped herself to his bed, the parka’s on the floor and she’s telling him he’s got the choice of climbing in beside her or finding Rory.”

Lindsay’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding!”

“It gets better, believe me. It turns out she’s not even had a legover with the man of her dreams so she’s in an absolutely filthy mood. Poor Paul ends up getting dressed, going down to reception, finding out what room Rory’s in, trekking back up there and knocking on Rory’s door. Rory, of course, is spark out in a drunken stupor by this time, so he doesn’t answer his door. And by the time Paul gets back to his room, Jess is comatose in his bed. He can’t even go and take over Jess’s room because, of course, her keys are in her handbag in Rory’s room. So poor old Paul ends up spending the night in his armchair while Jess snores in his bed.”

“She doesn’t snore, does she?” Lindsay asked, glancing over at the Magazine Branch table where Jess sat, immaculate in a sweater so baggy and shapeless it had to have a designer label, black leggings and ankle boots. “I bet she’s even more pissed off about people knowing that than she is about missing a legover with the fabulous Finlayson.”

Siobhan giggled again. Lindsay had a feeling she was going to become very fed up of that giggle by the end of the week. “You’re not kidding. By the way, how’s Ian? Has he recovered from discovering the new love of Laura’s life?”

While she enjoyed the sharp savour of gossip about people she either disliked or knew only by reputation, Lindsay was less keen to dissect the private life of a friend as close as Ian. “He seems fine,” she said stiffly.