‘I’d like to talk business, Brian. Not bar charts that no one but you can see. Thank you.’

Like a petulant, albeit balding, child, Brian casts his device aside. He begins to pick at his fingernails. Joanna turns her attention on us.

‘Ladies, let’s distil the points raised so far. Television is a hit-driven business. If you don’t have a hit, you don’t have any business in television. You understand this, of course?’

I nod my head, perhaps too vigorously.

‘So what is interesting to me is that cookery shows are, for now, very much a hit. You Brits set up your big-top and carry on about “soggy bottoms” and “icing-horns” and everyone tunes in.’ Joanna sniffs a little laugh. ‘It’s all ever so politely tongue-in-cheek. What’s not to love?’

‘Bake Off was a wonderful show,’ I enthuse, trying to bond.

Joanna narrows her gaze towards our table. ‘Indeed. So tell me: what can you deliver to give me my culinary hit?’ Joanna fixes her dark eyes on me. ‘I must be clear, I find your current format – I’m sorry to say – rather stale…’

Joanna looks far from sorry as she forms another neat smile. Timothy is leering at her chest. But this slight curling of her burgundy lips is for me. I’m pretty sure I’m losing my job here.

There is a long pause that Timothy fills. ‘Some studies suggest cookery shows, in general, may have had their day,’ he says, I suspect to soften the blow. ‘Channel 4 might well agree,’ he chortles, but not unkindly.

I turn to Faith, my colour draining.

Faith rises. In her stunning outfit of silk and chiffon, she strides towards the top table. ‘Excellent,’ she announces, parading boldly up the front. ‘In which case, we’ll dispense with our argument that cookery programmes, in general, don’t appeal any more. Stale? Absolutely.’ Faith beams back at me. I force a smile. ‘So what’s fresh? What’s fun? What do people want to watch?’ Pushing a stray lock of blonde hair from her face, she continues in her I’m-here-to-do-business voice. ‘We believe, something like a late-night edition of Jamie’s Naked Chef.’ Faith laughs heartily. ‘Or a really naughty Nigella.’

I’m not sure where she’s going with this. But Faith isn’t looking to me for approval. Joanna’s eyes narrow, I think pleasantly.

‘Go on,’ she says. ‘I’m listening.’

I sink into my chair.

‘Why not a cookery show that’s a little more steamy, that whets all sorts of hungry. Shall I be bold and say, something more cock and bush than croquembouche?’ my best friend, as my agent, suggests. For all intents and purposes, on my behalf.

My mouth drops.

Timothy’s mouth drops.

Brian looks up from where he’s been ripping at his nailbeds.

Joanna’s eyes twinkle.

There’s no stopping Faith now.