“No more than they did into you in this morning’s edition. Now you seem to be in the clear, I suppose they’ve got to find someone else to sling their mud at. And who better than the one man who stands to gain most,” Sophie said.

“Well, he does and he doesn’t,” Lindsay said. “He’ll only take over the top job on a temporary basis, till they can organize an election for a new general secretary. And there’s no guarantee he’ll win. Union Jack beat him last time, but even if he does do a good job as caretaker, there will be a lot of people who see him as being tarred with the brush of Tom Jack’s appalling administration. I’ll obviously need to talk to him, though. Maybe I can collar him this evening in the bar.”

They turned into the office. Most of the harried staff didn’t even look up as they entered. Eyes were focused on word processors, duplicating machines and photocopiers as AMWU’s administrative staff struggled to generate the mountains of paperwork that had to be reprinted because of the disruption Tom Jack’s death had brought to the agenda. Brian Robinson from the Standing Orders Sub-Committee stood by one of the word processors, dictating an order-paper to a clerk who looked as if he would have sold his soul to the Employment Minister in exchange for half a dozen hours of sleep. Brian sketched a cheery half-wave in the direction of the two women, before returning to his dictation. He’d already abandoned his black leather waistcoat for a more flamboyant paisley-patterned one.

Lindsay spotted Pauline threading a stencil on to the drum of a duplicating machine and crossed the room to her. Sophie dawdled behind, as always fascinated by other people’s worlds, glancing idly at the computer screens as she passed.

Pauline snapped the metal strip over the bottom of the stencil and turned away to start the machine running. She jumped at the touch of Lindsay’s hand on her arm.

“God, Lindsay,” she gasped. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Sign of a guilty conscience,” Lindsay teased.

“You’re not wrong,” Pauline replied, managing a tired smile. “This stuff should have been ready half an hour ago. I completely forgot about it with all the aggro that’s been going on. I thought you were the long arm of the SOS come to give me a bollocking for taking so long. What’re you after this time? It can’t be my body, now Sophie’s here,” she added in a half-hearted attempt at their usual banter.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Lindsay said. “I just need a bit of information. Can you tell me what Jed Thomas’s room number is? He’s with London Broadcasting Journalists’ Branch, if that helps.”