The result is vampish and, like all good theatrical costumes, it’s doing its job, wrapping around the real Marlowe like the best kind of armour.

I just hope it arms me enough to convince Camille that I am capable of handling the very specific challenges that come with this role.

Camille is everything Athena said she would be: groomed in a glossy, borderline severe kind of way; raven-black hair parted in the centre and scraped back; red lips immaculate. She’s no-nonsense, with a warmth that’s faint but enough to take the slightest edge off my nerves.

Tabby, Tabby, Tabby, I chant to myself.

Nothing else matters.

I have a job to do.

I will not let my daughter down.

I am willing to do whatever it takes.

And no one, particularly not this woman sitting across from me, will rob me of my opportunity to give Tabby the dazzling, healthy, normal future she so thoroughly deserves.

We start with the business stuff. Camille asks me about my CV, most notably the fact that my three-year degree took four years.

‘I took a year out when my daughter was born,’ I explain. ‘Kings let me rejoin the course a year later.’

‘I understand. And you’ve been working and single parenting ever since?’

There’s something shining in her eyes: something, I think, between pity and admiration. Usually, it would bother me, because Tabby is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The idea that anyone could think otherwise would make me baulk. But today, I’ll take whatever emotions my circumstances throw up for her, if only to get her to root for me hard enough to take a chance on me.

We move through my CV, even though my success in this job will depend on a set of skills about which I’m waaay less confident. After fifteen minutes of shooting work-related questions at me, Camille sits back in her chair in this sleek glass-walled office we’re in and surveys me through eyes that I think are narrowed more in thought and less in judgement.

‘I’ll be honest with you. Your qualifications are fine. More than fine—I’m sure you’d do an admirable job. It’s clear to me that you’re level-headed, efficient and resilient. And, apropos the requirements of this particular agency, your looks are stellar. You’re an incredibly beautiful woman, Marlowe. I could get you a dozen interviews just like that.’

She pauses to blow out a breath, and it’s the most ruffled I’ve seen her. ‘Here’s the thing, though. Nothing I’ve seen or heard tells me you’re truly ready—or emotionally equipped—for the rigours this job entails, and that’s a major, major problem for me.’

Our eyes are locked, and my ability to take anything but the most shallow breaths evades me.