‘Yes!’ agreed Becky. ‘Is your office near here?’ They’d met in a place only a five-minute walk from the paper – he’d insisted on it being in this part of town because it was close to where she worked.

‘Not really. I’m based in Surrey – just outside Walton-on-Thames.’

‘Blimey, you didn’t . . . That is, have you come in all this way just for lunch?’ It was a two-hour round trip. Already feeling slightly suffocated, she was dreading his answer.

He laughed. ‘No. Don’t think I’d get away with taking a lunch break that long. I’m the most junior member of the team. A few of us are up here for a conference. In Granary Square.’

It was a few minutes from her office. She was relieved the venue suited him just as much as her.

‘So, congratulations,’ he said. ‘On the hotshot reporter gig.’

Becky laughed. ‘Thanks. But I’m only a trainee.’

‘Me too.’

‘Where is it you’re at again?’

‘Senerix,’ said Adam.

She deliberately looked blank.

‘It’s an agrochemical company. But dull stuff compared to you,’ he added quickly, changing the focus back onto her, much to Becky’s frustration. She’d have to go with it for a bit and if she opened up, then he’d feel duty-bound to reciprocate. ‘It’s the Herald you work for, then? Very grown up. Actually, one of the few decent papers around.’

That little puff of pride; she got it every time she walked through the front doors of the huge glass building. Had to pinch herself that she actually worked there. For a newspaper that had a reputation for honest, fearless journalism.

‘Which department?’ he asked.

‘News.’

‘Investigative?’

‘Uh huh.’

He whistled softly. ‘Must be exciting. Working on anything good at the moment?’

She smiled coyly.

‘Let me guess, you’re not allowed to say.’

‘Not yet.’

‘But you’re going to change the world?’

Becky looked at him to see if he was mocking her, but his eyes were all sincerity.

‘I always knew you would,’ he said.

‘So, how about you? Out changing the world too?’

She felt a little flutter of journalistic instinct: he had hesitated, she was sure of it; his eyes had momentarily clouded over.

He recovered. Smiled. ‘That’s right. Making our food industry safer right at ground level – no pun intended.’

‘Sounds impressive. What exactly is it you do?’ She knew but she wanted to hear him say.

‘I work in R&D. Developing new – and improving existing – crop-care products. You know – herbicides, pesticides, fungicides.’

Her heart did a quiet leap. ‘What are you working on at the moment?’

He laughed. ‘Can’t say. Especially to a journalist!’

Becky laughed along with him, glad he wasn’t aware of her original motives for this lunch. ‘Only trainee, remember. Although, I have applied for a reporter’s job.’

‘Think you’ll get it?’

‘Dunno. Stiff competition. My fellow trainee,’ she said drily.

‘Is she good?’

‘He. And yes . . . he’s highly thought of. I’m trying to trounce him with a story I’m investigating.’