Kate nodded.

‘Perhaps in my office tomorrow? If you’re free . . . my PA could confirm a time with you.’

He smiled, and Kate felt a tidal wave of relief so strong tears were pricking her eyes. She smiled at Gregory, at the room in general, not caring if anyone was looking. She clutched the back of the chair in front of her as her legs were distinctly wobbly and she was light-headed with a new, extraordinary fact. She’d done it.

She was conscious that she hadn’t done all of it, as she followed Gregory’s PA, Maddie, along a wooden-panelled corridor to his office in Belgravia the next morning. He hadn’t promised anything at the AGM and she was braced for a fob-off, a business-speak reason why they couldn’t change their lorries’ design, which would be dressed up as something incomprehensibly technical but was actually down to money.

Kate didn’t have another office-suitable outfit so, rather than repeat the suit, she was wearing her least-scruffy jeans and a shirt. Gregory met her at his office door as she approached and, when Maddie went off to make teas, he led her in. She sat in a club chair, he opposite. His trousers rode up and she saw his sock-clad ankles – a fine, dark-grey material with sheen, perhaps silk. A light-pink tie lay confidently over his belly; no middle-aged spread, he had the look of a younger man. He thanked her for coming and she noticed a quiet air of capability, of inner strength, of solidity. Despite herself, she found she was warming to him and she momentarily forgot the pre-rehearsed gags in his speech as here, now, there was something self-effacing in his very manner, the way he’d shaken her hand without being overbearing, his respectfulness around her; there was nothing grand or pompous about him at all.

He sat forward in his seat, held his hands together on his knee. ‘Before we get down to brass tacks, I just wanted to say how much I was impressed, moved, by what you did yesterday.’

‘Thanks.’

‘It was inspiring.’

‘Thanks,’ said Kate again. She smiled but gave nothing away. He sounded genuine enough, but she wasn’t here for praise.

He seemed wrong-footed by her lack of response, ran his hands back along his thighs, sat up straight. ‘Right. Well, I’ve already spoken to our Head of Transport and, as you may well be aware, we source our vehicles from an outside truck-haulage manufacturer . . .’

. . . so there’s nothing we can do, finished Kate inwardly. She braced herself. How dare he? How dare he publicly invite me in here on some pandering PR exercise to make his company look responsible and caring, and yet do nothing? She knew it, she bloody knew it. She’d come so far; it had cost her so much. And all those months working . . . just to have the door slammed in her face. She kept her voice level. ‘You know there’s something about you, your type, that just winds me up.’