Faith tries calling and Alex doesn’t pick up for her either. ‘Do we think it’s time we brought in Harry? Or Joanna? Someone who can help?’ she suggests.

I don’t want to be back in Joanna’s bad books.

I really don’t want to bring Harry into this, but I agree I’ll talk to him after the recording. This isn’t just my career at risk, it’s the entire show.

Faith and Poppy busy themselves rifling through a rack of complimentary clothes from a boutique in Notting Hill.

‘Darling, look. This top matches your eyes perfectly.’ Trying to boost my mood, Faith passes me a pretty, blue handkerchief with straps.

It doesn’t work. ‘And would maybe cover one of my nipples?’ I pitch the top onto the expanding pile of not-big-enough-for-me garments.

Over her sufficiently ample chest, Faith tries on an even skimpier piece that fits her like a glove. Poppy discovers an enormous, orange kaftan with purple and blue tassels. It looks like some sort of beachwear garment and on top of being enormous, it’s hideous.

‘How about this then, Miss Gracie?’ She grins cheekily.

‘Poppy, I’m not in the mood,’ I grumble.

Faith retrieves the handkerchief-top and tosses it back to me. ‘Try it on. It may fit. And don’t be in a mood. Alex may have no intention of doing anything with these alleged pictures – you don’t know. Perhaps his phone is switched off because he’s sleeping. Or waiting for you to calm down.’

‘They’re not alleged, Faith. I saw him take them.’

‘You may have broken his camera while you were jabbing at him with your umbrella.’ Faith chuckles. ‘I can only imagine the scene!’

‘Alex called the shots gold and it wasn’t funny, Faith.’

Not at the time. And not now. Although one day, I’m sure I’ll look back and laugh. Maybe.

‘Gracie, Alex isn’t so stupid as to bite the hand that feeds him. He won’t risk crossing Joanna. And it’s not like it was Jamie Oliver sprung eating pet food. We kind of all make fun of ourselves on our show. Right?’

I hadn’t considered how I’ve become a joke chef for television – I don’t think I mentioned it earlier, but we made spaghetti bolognaise with sauce out of a can for that Love Island hottie.

More importantly, I’d riled Alex with my crack about kowtowing to Joanna. If I get her involved, he might publish the pictures just to prove me wrong.

I scan another newspaper. Nothing. I check my mobile for any new texts, any threats from Alex. None. I google for anything online. Nada.

Wearing a beautiful new floral-print dress, Faith appraises herself in the mirror. Her mobile bleeps.

‘Bugger,’ she says. ‘Christophe’s pulled out. I don’t have a date!’