The security guard drew in his lips. He looked uncertain and debated for a few seconds. “Wait there while I speak to Mr Gordon.”

He disappeared back into his Perspex booth and made a phone call.

After what seemed like a short, sharp discussion, he emerged again. “Park up to the left,” he grunted. “Then take the set of stairs at the rear.”

“Thank you. Much appreciated.”

Despite my nerves jangling like church bells on Christmas Day, I managed to find a cool smile from somewhere and eased into the parking space.

The set of stairs took me up to a heavy door that was unlocked.

I stepped inside to be met by a sumptuous brandy-coloured carpet and polished burgundy furniture. An ostentatious chandelier dripped from the ceiling.

There was an empty semi-circular reception desk laced with holly and crimson ribbons, and a real Christmas tree lit up like Blackpool illuminations was in the corner.

Inside of me, anticipation and apprehension were battling it out.

From behind one of the closed office doors, I heard Seth Gordon call out. “Take a seat, Ms Baxter.”

I arranged myself on a steel chair, taking in the assorted framed photographs of Gordon’s glittering showbiz clients. There was everyone from Lulu, her head thrown back in a glamourous black and white Marilyn Monroe style pose, to a young up-and-coming social media influencer, an author-cum-comedy actor, and a TV chef.

After a few more tense moments there was the sound of a door gliding open further up the corridor and Seth Gordon emerged.

He sauntered towards me wearing a charming smile. His hand reached up to smooth down his daffodil-yellow tie. “Ms Baxter. How nice to see you again. How can I help? Lulu isn’t here right now. She’s on final rehearsals for her tour.”

I got to my feet. “I’m not here to see Lulu. I’m here to have a quiet word with you, Mr Gordon.”

His hollowed mud-coloured eyes flickered over me. He grinned again. I buried a lump in my throat.

“Then you’d better come this way.”

I followed him back up the corridor and into the office from which he had just emerged, phantom-like. The office door glided shut behind me and he took up residence behind his desk. He indicated to me to make myself comfortable.

His office space reflected him. It was all shadowy, with dark panelling.

“So how can I help you?” asked Seth, steepling his fingers.

I decided to just go for it. “I have a recording of you talking to a Mr Rick Askew.”

He shifted in his chair. “Sorry. I don’t follow.”

“It seems to imply that you and Mr Askew are not only conning the public with fraudulent claims about Lulu’s Stardust range, you’re also conning her too.”

Seth’s pointed chin quivered. “Apologies, Ms Baxter, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”