‘And we’re back to embargoed conversation.’

She smiled. ‘What are we going to talk about then?’

‘What we’re having for lunch? I’m ordering the chicken burger and chips,’ said Adam, looking at the menu. ‘Lucky I’m playing squash tonight.’

‘You still play?’ said Becky.

‘Love it.’ He hesitated, then: ‘You don’t fancy joining me sometime, do you?’

Her face fell – she didn’t even consider squash a real sport, it was just hitting a tiny ball against the wall of a small room.

The waiter interrupted to take their order. ‘What’s it to be?’

Becky glanced up at Adam and saw an opportunity. Maybe a game of squash wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. How hard could it be? They’d do the namby-pamby game and then maybe they could go out for dinner, talk some more.

She looked Adam in the eye. ‘Two chicken burgers and chips, please.’

He grinned. ‘So, is that a yes? You going to burn off the calories with me?’

‘Why not? I can’t do tonight . . . but soon?’

‘OK,’ said Adam. ‘So, are you going to give me your number? So we can arrange the game?’

‘Sure.’ Becky scribbled down her number on a paper napkin and handed it to him.

‘Should I check it before you leave?’

Becky inwardly squirmed. Feigned nonchalance. ‘No need. No mistakes this time.’

‘I thought you said the reason it didn’t work before was because you’d lost your phone?’

The blush flooded up her face. Rumbled. But she wasn’t going to admit it. ‘Oh, yes. How silly of me to forget!’

‘Yesterday’s ten stories that got the most readership,’ said Terence, flicking up a slide on the drop-down projector screen behind him. ‘Nice one, Lizzie, top of the charts again.’

A low chorus of whistles and cheers went around the room, where twenty or so of the Herald’s staff were gathered round a large table for the daily conference. Lizzie, one of the senior reporters, acknowledged this with a wry arch of an eyebrow above her blue-rimmed glasses.

Terence clicked on his laptop and the slide behind him changed. ‘Tomorrow’s front page. Is this the best photo to tell the story of our headliner?’ An unimpressive picture of an erupting volcano illuminated the wall behind him. ‘We can do better. I want to see lava.’ The picture editor was scribbling in her notepad. ‘A new lead’s come in from the news desk,’ continued Terence, ‘premiership football player has been accused of sexual assault by his children’s nanny. The nanny has been on the phone. Lizzie?’

‘On the university-places scandal.’

Terence’s eyes roved around the room and Becky suddenly realized he was looking between her and Piers, who was sitting two chairs along. She felt herself straighten up. She’d absolutely love this assignment, kill for the chance to run with her first story solo.

‘Piers, can you follow up?’ said Terence.

Becky slumped in disappointment. Then a thought suddenly struck her. She spoke up. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if I went? Female perspective? More likely to confide?’