‘I hope you’re not hungry,’ she says. ‘I don’t think I could make a piece of toast.’

I sit up, fuddled. My voice comes out faint and harsh at the same time, like I’ve swallowed sandpaper.

‘How did you get me home?’

‘Called Muz. He located the laundry cart just before the maid noticed you. Fireman’s carry into the lift. Bribed doorman to look the other way. Minicab. Then up the stairs. Our lift’s out of order again.’

She ticks off points in the air with the nail-varnish brush as though keeping score.

‘Muz carried me? All that way? Oh my god. I’ll have to bake him some cookies . . .’

I’m not totally clear on the relationship between Muz and O. He does jobs for her involving the hog and heavy lifting, but they are also friends. A bit like O and me, I guess.

‘About the cookies. He did hint you could stand to lose a stone. He said getting you out of the cab was like moving a dead tuna.’

‘He what?’

‘By the fourth floor he was winded. It’s a lot of stairs, darling. But don’t mention it. It’s just lucky he wasn’t working last night. I couldn’t have helped, otherwise. I’m more of a Mycroft type, really.’

O’s hand trembles as she carefully paints her little toenail. I don’t know how old she is. Wrong side of eighty, I reckon. But Mycroft? I snort at the comparison.

‘You think I jest?’ she says archly. ‘If Mycroft had lived in our time he would have been a white-hat hacker. He would have had a flat like this, and he’d have stayed in all day and solved the world’s cyber-mysteries and had lots of naps.’

‘Mycroft rebooted, with a taste for throw pillows and florals,’ I say. ‘But are you really a white-hat hacker? Because if you are, you’re too cool to be Mycroft.’

O leans over and blows on her toenails. ‘I wear many hats, darling.’

She gives me the slitted look she always gives when she thinks I’m being foolish, then lies back in the recliner and closes her eyes.

‘I know you wouldn’t have panicked over nothing, my dear. I hope you’re all right.’

I shudder. ‘You have no idea. That horrible person, Martin Elstree. It was a revenge dream, against his boss – who happens to be a woman. I don’t ever want to work with him again. Ever.’

‘I thought you might say that. He left messages on your business line.’

‘Just delete them, please.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘His dreams . . . what he wants . . . O, it’s not just kinky, it’s evil. I won’t do it, I don’t care how much he pays.’

‘I sent him your way because he pays fifteen times what Mrs Haugh-Wombaur pays.’

I cover my eyes. ‘Please. Don’t say her name right now. I’ve got a touch of Smell-O-Vision and I don’t want to be sick again.’

‘Sorry, darling. Look, fine, whatever. Only trying to help. All I’m saying is, I booked you with him because if he likes you he’ll recommend you.’