Piers instantly began to protest but Terence held up his hand for quiet while he contemplated. It didn’t take long.

‘All right. Next time, Piers.’

Becky glowed with delight. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Piers was silently seething.

As they filed out of the room, he fell into step beside her. ‘Uncool, Ellis. Totally uncool,’ he said coldly.

‘Oh, come on, Piers. You’d have done the same if you had a pair of boobs. It makes sense anyway and you know it. She’s hardly likely to open up to—’

She stopped abruptly as Piers had stepped right in front of her. ‘To what?’

She faltered.

‘Go on, say it. Posh boy like me? You think you can play that working-class card?’

‘Hey, I’m working cl—’

‘You went to a private school just like I did.’

‘Scholarship, rich boy. And my mum held down all sorts of low-paid jobs to keep us going. What about your parents? I hear your dad has a number of companies, one of the wealthiest men in Britain. What are they, anyway?’

‘None of your business.’

‘No, hold on, if we’re wheeling out our backgrounds, where is it your dad holds these companies of his? Sure there’s nothing that would be a conflict of interest with you working here? Wasn’t that long ago the Panama Papers scandal broke.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you want to go down the road of dirty tricks, then bring it on.’

‘That’s not what . . .’

But he’d gone, striding off down the corridor, and Becky realized with a sigh that what had been a little feisty competition had now developed into all-out war. She had made herself an enemy. She caught Darcy looking over, having witnessed their altercation. Darcy followed after Piers, and Becky watched as she draped an arm over his shoulders.

Cycling home that night, Becky’s mind was even more preoccupied than usual. She’d been in touch with the nanny and had persuaded her to do an interview, an exclusive. It had taken some delicate coaxing, and she’d worked hard to win the girl’s trust. Bollocks to Piers; she knew she’d been the right person for the assignment. She kept thinking about Adam too, that moment where he’d hesitated at lunch. He’d been uncomfortable for some reason, she was sure of it, and she was convinced there was something he knew, something interesting, and she was going to find out what. She pushed her legs harder through the dark streets, the buzz coursing through her body. She felt infallible.

She didn’t see someone following her. Didn’t notice the motorcyclist, face covered by a black-tinted visor, stay a short distance behind her. Neither had she noticed him the day before, nor the week before that. She always took the same route, taking the back streets to get away from the traffic of Gray’s Inn Road, down Red Lion Street and then cutting south-west at High Holborn until she got to Victoria station, and when she pulled in and headed for her train, the motorcyclist always continued straight past her into the night.