‘All right.’ Arne pushed away a fringe of dirty blond hair impatiently. ‘What? You can have one minute, Casey.’

‘Can I read through your tennis coverage? For tomorrow.’

‘What?’ Arne looked distracted. ‘Why? For God’s sake, Casey . . .’

‘It won’t take a second,’ Casey said soothingly. Arne had occasional temper fits that awed even Ross. ‘I’ll go through the articles right now.’

Arne made a noise close to a growl, and a gesture that might have been consent. He stood up sharply, and disappeared in the direction of the back bench. Casey heard a roar.

‘I’ll send the articles over to you,’ Arne’s deputy said pacifically. ‘There’s only one clay court event going on at the moment and some Davis Cup stuff, so we’re just doing a couple of stories and a nib.’

‘Thanks,’ Casey smiled at the deputy. ‘Won’t be a second.’

She bent her head over the screen, biting her thumbnail.

‘The number three seed couldn’t find any answer to the Argentine’s aces,’ Casey read to herself.

Reaching for the keyboard, she fiddled with the copy for a moment, standing up as Arne reappeared.

‘Casey, we are really tight on time today,’ he said.

‘Sure,’ she stepped away. ‘One more thing. Can you not publish that article until I say so?’

‘What?’ Arne looked up at her. ‘You’re ridiculous, Casey. It’s ready to go now. All the other papers are live on that story.’

‘Give me a few minutes,’ she begged. ‘Please.’

‘I don’t have time for this,’ Arne returned to his screen, and then snarled. ‘Casey, you have put a spelling mistake in my copy!’

‘Only a tiny one,’ she soothed him. ‘And it’s really important, I promise you, Arne. I wouldn’t ask . . .’

Arne growled again. ‘If I get any grief from the bloody Editor, I am telling him you did it.’

‘And I added one tiny sentence.’ Casey fled across the newsroom. ‘Promise me you won’t take it out?’

The head of sport waved his fist at her. But she knew he would leave the copy as she asked.

Finally, Casey washed up next to the Business desk. ‘Nicky?’

The business editor looked up. She was tough, Nicky, and fiercely glamorous. She flaunted her intelligence in the way another woman might twirl a dress. Casey couldn’t imagine her with a chipped nail. Staunchly supportive of the women in the office, Nicky had fought several battles for Casey and Miranda in the past, as if loyalty were just another currency, along with the dollar or the yen or the lek.

‘Yup?’ Nicky had one eye on her list. ‘James, I needed that piece on high street voids ten minutes ago.’

‘Are you doing a story about shipping today? It doesn’t have to be a big article. Smaller the better, really.’

‘Shipping?’ Nicky raised an eyebrow at Casey.

‘It’s important,’ said Casey, although Nicky would already know that.