I launch into my presentation and quickly notice that our boss isn’t listening. He’s tapping on his iPhone with a lewd smile. I can easily imagine the kind of content he’s watching. I decide to stop. The damned presentation that I’d worked on all night is for the benefit of him and him alone. If he’s not listening, there’s no point going on. People clear their throats and glance up at me, wondering what I’m playing at. The rule is that, whatever the attitude of the sovereign, the show must go on.

The C.E.O. looks up at me, my silence having grown deafening, and examines me for a moment. Gobsmacked, he sits up and puts his smartphone down on the table.

‘Well, Thelma, sweetheart, what’s going on?’

‘This presentation is for your benefit, and you’re not listening. So I stopped to give you time to deal with your urgent matter.’

‘The executive board is here in the room, as well as twenty of the company’s most senior managers. This presentation is not only for me, and I don’t like your tone. Continue.’

I hesitate. I look at my feet. I must remain unshaken. Take it on the chin, without batting an eyelid. But sod it.

‘Which of you gentlemen could sum up the beginning of my presentation?’

Renewed interest among the audience. Sardonic smiles. Frightened looks.

‘What are you playing at, Thelma, sweetheart?’

‘I am not your sweetheart. Fine. Let’s continue.’

I pick up from where I left off, but am conscious that he is plotting something. He interrupts me mid-sentence.

‘No, we’re not going to continue. Your presentation isn’t ready; it’s amateurish. Come back and see me when you’ve reworked it. I thought I knew what kind of woman you were, Thelma, sweetheart, and that pleased me greatly. Do you have any children, Thelma?’

A vision. Incongruous, unexpected in this work environment. Louis. The lorry. The hospital. Quick, banish those images.

‘I have a son, sir, but I don’t see the connection. What kind of woman am I, in your view? And, at the risk of repeating myself, I am not your sweetheart.’

‘You’re the sort to put your career before everything else, the sort who’ll do anything to climb the ladder, if you get my drift. And that’s very good; no one here is complaining.’

Lascivious smile, again. Sniggering around the room. I see myself walking beside the Saint-Martin canal. It’s 10:31. Louis is trying to talk to me. I’m on the phone. I put my career before everything else. This man is right. I feel a mounting nausea. And tears. He goes on.