I chase Alex out of my flat and along Warwick Avenue, threatening to pierce him with the pointed end of my umbrella. For the pursuit, I’m still in my spy-like outfit, trilby hat and all. The rain is blinding and he escapes me – just. Darting into a side street, he hurls himself down a set of slippery stairs and disappears into the garden behind a mansion block.

When I return home, soaking wet and out of breath, Jordan has gathered all of his clothes in bin bags at the front door in preparation to flee. He tells me he’s had enough and proceeds to list my misdemeanours.

After agreeing to keep him out of the spotlight, I invited a gossip magazine journalist into our home. My home, I counter. There is also the embarrassment of being caught eating pet food – I try to question how exactly I’m to blame for this and ask Jordan exactly why he was doing so, but Jordan is on a roll. What pushes him over the edge is that the sum of everything may have compromised his entire career. He shouts at me that Pussy Paws cat food contains a ground-breaking, flea-control ingredient and he signed a non-disclosure agreement not to divulge this top-secret innovation until the marketing launch next month. ‘It’s on the bloody label.’ Jordan brandishes the can of Pussy Paws, then hurls it into his rucksack. ‘If that picture goes anywhere near the papers, I’m done. No one will ever work with me again.’

‘It’s no bloody picnic for me,’ I scream back, finally getting a word in. ‘I’m a celebrity chef and you’re sat in my kitchen eating cat food.’

Bin bags in hand, Jordan’s parting shot is that nobody is supposed to know who he is anyway.

‘Get out of my flat. And don’t come back. I’m changing the locks,’ I scream before the door slams shut.

Which is a decent plan. Except, when I check downstairs, boxes are still in the basement and I very much want them gone, too.

I call Faith straight after Jordan leaves. Her phone goes to voicemail. I remember she’s at the theatre with her venture capital colleagues.

I could call my mother, but it would only be to vent. She won’t know how to help me and it will only worry her, which I don’t want to do. She’d taken the news of my relationship demise in her stride. I suspect my parents saw things going nowhere with Jordan long before I accepted the inevitability.

Harry will know what to do. And, as my agent, he has a vested interest. He’d warned me to watch my back with Alex. Only, the prospect of Harry cleaning up a mess I’ve created with Jordan is mortifying.