Her career has been remarkable. The estate agents in Epsom barely managed to hold on to her for eleven months before she was poached by a branch in Croydon. Croydon couldn’t keep her before Bermondsey grabbed her, shuffling her on to the River Thames with a cry of “Talent like that shouldn’t be wasted!”

Kensington and Chelsea made bigger sales more reliably, but Bermondsey was where the youth were, the fashionable, the beautiful ones, speaking a language of technology and modern finishes, while the West Londoners were still set in their Victorian railings and quiet gardens with lovely rosebushes.

Harmony Meads is beautiful, successful and fits in perfectly. Everyone in the Bermondsey office was upgraded in one way or another. Even Jazzy, a little older, a little wiser, sexy and more ballsy than any of the men, who could have got away with being a naturalist if she’d worked at it, had gone down the upgrade road.

“I could go authentic,” she mused, slipping her long, black hair back into a ponytail and pushing her round, scarlet lips towards the mirror in the lady’s loo. “But there’s just not enough hours in the day to really make it work. I have chosen a certain lifestyle, and I like my life, and I’m damned if I’m going to sacrifice it for the effort needed to really commit to the naturalist’s look.”

Harmony, hiding her awe behind the gentle daubing of a cotton pad to her flawless, poreless cheeks, nodded agreement. Only a few models and actresses could pull off the naturalist’s look these days, and even then most fashion magazines tended to agree that while it was all very impressive and that, it wasn’t the choice of the true superstar. The trend-setting idols were the ones who were getting custom nanos programmed directly by the health product designers; from the rock stars with the shimmer of scaled snakeskin translucence on their skin, through to the eagle-eyed, black-tongued bad boys of the studios, programmed to shock, surprise or just to have the perfect build for their next explosive blockbuster.

Such things were, Jazzy felt, a little vulgar, but that didn’t stop the boys – and two girls – of the office getting pissed together on a Friday night and holding forth on what they were going to next do to their bodies, what they loved, what they despised.

Everyone had some form of sexual upgrade, and unlike most men she’d met, the boys in the office were willing to talk about theirs, unashamed to blurt, “God, to think what my penis used to be!” It became a matter of vital scientific necessity to work out which upgrade was best by a series of drunken tests ranging from the standard examination of sexual organs down the pub through to wild and preferably recorded (for science) sexual acts.

“We should all shag Harmony!” roared Al, who paid £39.99 a month for his perfect stubble and a further £82.99 for his Urban Prince package – The panther stalking its prey, the tiger in the shadow – the apex predator has always had the scent of power, blood and victory. Embrace the wildness inside with our latest pheromone enhancement technology, now 2-for-1 with anything from our “Sensational Allure” range. Offer must end Friday.