He runs a hand through his hair and grins. The war did not dint his confidence in his ability to charm any woman. But he is not, Harriet knows, an innocent. There is a hard, ambitious side to Jimmy, underneath the boyish friendliness. She has not yet worked out whether he is angling for Pickford’s job or whether he sees himself as serving his apprenticeship at the Gazette before making his way into one of the national papers. Whichever it is, as long as he is here, Jimmy is Pickford’s ace. His golden boy.

But he has also stolen her story.

As she had agonised over the framing of sentences and tried to capture the essence of the raid in her own words, the vivid brilliance of that girl, Jimmy had slipped out to interview Mr Enderby, returned with the story and tapped out his report in swift staccato. It had been too late for yesterday’s edition – but even so, Pickford had chosen his piece over hers. He wrote it faster and more efficiently than she did. And, in truth, it is this realisation that has stung her. He is by far the better writer.

‘The old boy’s in a good mood.’ He jerks his head towards Pickford’s office. ‘Asked me to tell you that he’d like you to write a piece on jewellery for the women’s section. Who’s buying what now the war’s over. How about that?’

‘I’d rather write the report on the raid at Mr Enderby’s,’ she says, trying not to sound petulant. ‘I was there, after all. It was my story, Jimmy.’

‘And it was a great story,’ he says, dropping the foolish smile and looking serious. ‘Not quite what Pickford was after, but it’s all in the writing, not the newsgathering. You’re a natural at finding the story.’

She will not let him flatter her. It is just a trick.

‘It was my story,’ she says again, more firmly. ‘I wanted to write it, and you took it from me. You stole it.’

He frowns at this.

‘If I hear of a raid, I’m going to run out for the story, Harriet. That’s how it works. Don’t accuse me of stealing something when I’m doing my job. You should pay more attention to your own work if you want to get on around here.’ He pauses for a moment before adopting a less snappish tone. ‘Come on, don’t be angry with me, eh? I can help you, if that’s what you want – show you how to write the sort of copy Pickford loves?’

In a matter of months, once she marries Ralph, her time at the Gazette will be over. She is determined to finish with her words on the news pages – and with a byline – if it kills her. She swallows her pride. Jimmy is the star reporter. She could learn from him.