She spread the shots on top of the other pictures on her desk: on a shadowy street under metallic skies a ponytailed young blonde with huge hoop earrings was wailing upwards as fierce Muslim hands pulled a dense black cloth over her head. It looked as if it were swallowing her whole. And below her nose and across one cheek was an unmistakeable smear of dark carmine.

Anna said, ‘A Muslim gang’s been sticking white women into burqas.’

Geraldine was amazed. ‘Bloody hell! This is fabulous. It’s got to be the splash.’

‘It’s an outrage,’ said the Editor.

‘Yes!’ cried Geraldine, eyes shining. ‘“Outrage as Muslim gang beats British woman and forces her into burqa. Fears of retaliation as tensions mount.” And the girl’s not at all bad-looking, either.’

The Editor glanced at Geraldine as at a guard dog you must remember never to let near the children. ‘Where is she now?’

Anna said, ‘She fought them off. The Muzzers didn’t really know what to do with her once she was in it. She’s at home.’

Geraldine said, ‘You’re getting all the stories today, aren’t you? If you carry on like this I’ll need to start sacking my desk. But we need this as a picture exclusive, don’t we, Charles?’

‘Yes, pay whatever you have to.’

Anna said, ‘I already have. Everyone else knows it happened, but only we’ve got the picture. I had to promise the snapper every favour we can offer, but we’ve got it. I’ve sent someone to babysit him from now till tomorrow morning.’

‘Bravo, Anna.’ Geraldine shook her head in happy disbelief. ‘This is great stuff. The girl’s a complete tart by the look of things.’

‘A woman beaten bloody on a British street and forced into a burqa,’ said the Editor. He was appalled. ‘We need a name, an interview.’

Geraldine said, ‘Anna?’

‘The snapper followed her home, but the family won’t let him in.’

The Editor said, ‘We need the interview exclusive. Pay whatever you have to. This is our story and we’re certainly not going to be ham-fisted enough to fumble it.’

Anna shrugged angrily. ‘It was in the middle of the street; what do you want me to do?’

‘So are we going to get the interview?’

‘We’re still negotiating with the family, but I doubt anyone else has managed to get—’

‘She’s negotiating? That means she’s talking to every cunt with a Dictaphone between here and Edinburgh. Fucking cunt. What’s happening in Bucklebury?’