Suddenly Pauline’s legs seemed to fold under her. She stumbled, but Sophie caught her and steered her into a chair. Pauline’s body seemed to collapse into itself, her wide shoulders stooped and hunched, her chin tucked into her chest, her arms tightly folded round her. Almost at once, two fat tears splashed on to the desk in front of her. Then her body began to shudder convulsively. Lindsay mimed a shrug of uncertainty at Sophie, who waved her back before crouching down beside Pauline and placing a hand on her knee.

“It’s going to be okay, Pauline,” she said gently.

Pauline shook her head, and her body, held rigid, shook with her. “N-n-no it’s n-n-not,” she stuttered through chattering teeth. Her body began to sway from side to side.

Sophie looked up at Lindsay. “A hot drink?” she asked softly.

“I think there’s a machine upstairs,” Lindsay said, heading straight for the door. By the time she returned with two cardboard cups of what was alleged to be drinking chocolate, Pauline was clinging to Sophie and weeping quietly. Lindsay handed one of the drinks to Sophie, who shifted Pauline’s head and held the cup to her lips. She drank greedily, then found the strength to take the cup from Sophie and finish it on her own. She sniffed, then rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Pauline looked up at Lindsay, her eyes both wary and beseeching. “I’m sorry,” she said at last. Lindsay said nothing, merely handing her the second hot chocolate. Pauline drank half of it, then shook her head wonderingly. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Try the early hours of Wednesday morning,” Lindsay said, a hard edge still noticeable in her voice.

“You really think that’s where the story begins?” Pauline asked, anger and contempt in her voice.

“So begin at the beginning,” Lindsay said.

“Why should I?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to produce a special edition of Conference Chronicle telling the whole world how you killed Union Jack to get back at him for his plans to make you and your colleagues redundant,” Lindsay answered coldly.

“For God’s sake, Lindsay!” Sophie protested. “The pair of you are behaving like five-year-olds. Will you both remember you’re supposed to be friends!”

“Friends?” Lindsay scoffed. “The things she printed about me my enemies would have been hard pressed to come out with.”

“I told you, I had to say something,” Pauline said. “You think I wanted to slag you off? You think I don’t feel guilty about it? Look, do you want to hear this or not?”

Lindsay shrugged. “You’ve proved how good you are at fiction with Conference Chronicle. Let’s see how you get out of murdering Union Jack. Don’t tell me, let me guess—it was an accident.”