‘This sort of thing happened a few years ago.’ Hessa was flicking through her notepad. ‘There were stories about labels being added into clothes in shops on the high street. Someone inserted a label into a Primark dress in Swansea: “Forced to work exhausting hours.” Then there was: “I made this item you are going to buy, but I didn’t get paid for it.” That label was found in something from Zara. The Swansea labels were a hoax, probably, but people obviously know that it might be a way of getting a message from the factories to London.’

‘Isn’t it a bit scattergun?’ asked Miranda. ‘Anyone could have picked up that skirt or that jacket. Or that little piece of silk could have fallen out, and just been swept away. Or it could have been found long before it reached the shopfloor.’

‘Sure,’ Casey shrugged. ‘It’s not the most obvious way of doing it. Cressida said the piece of silk in the skirt was very loosely stitched into place. Same for Hessa’s jacket. I’d guess that only a customer trying it on would have noticed.’

‘So it’s a risk,’ Miranda went on, ‘packing it like that. If that piece of material had been found by the retailer, presumably the jacket and skirt could be traced to whichever factory it came from. Maybe even the shift.’

‘But I suppose,’ Casey continued, glancing sideways, ‘that whoever put it there might have inserted messages into more than two pieces of clothing.’

Miranda stood up. Beside Casey, Miranda was blonde and confident. A few years older than Casey, in her mid-thirties. She had a slow smile, and a knowing laugh. Chic, Cressida admitted once, crossly. Really elegant

Hessa and Casey watched as Miranda walked out of the little room, towards the newsdesk.

‘Ross,’ they heard her saying to the news editor. ‘I need someone to go the branch of this shop, Rhapso, the one just off Bishopsgate, and turn it upside down . . .’

‘Fine’ – the quick Scottish accent.

Hessa and Casey smiled at each other.

Miranda walked back into the office.

‘So where was that skirt made then?’

‘It doesn’t say on the label,’ said Hessa. ‘But probably Bangladesh, especially given that this is their diffusion line. Loads of the high street clothes come from there anyway. And Bangladesh would tie in with the Rohingya.’

‘And even with Rhapso’s premium brand,’ said Casey thoughtfully. ‘They’re just as likely to make the clothes in Bangladesh, fly them to Italy, stitch on a couple of buttons and stick on a “Made in Italy” label.’

‘You ever been?’ Miranda was looking at Hessa.

‘A few times. When I was younger.’