Thinking back, Lizzie remembered how distracted and irritable Bill had been that morning, even more than normal. She had hoped it was just his ulcer playing up but suspected that it was because of her. She knew Bill wanted her to change direction and move away from the kids’ presenting into something more grown-up; he’d suggested a game show that was currently looking for a new host and she’d turned it down on the grounds that it would kill her brain cells faster than sniffing paint. Then he put forward a new show called Celebrity Wrestling: The Hot Moves. She’d told him it sounded like porn. Bill had slammed the flat of his hand down on his desk in exasperation.

“For fuck’s sake!” he had shouted.

Lizzie hadn’t jumped at the crack of Bill’s hand on the wood. Her father had been given to sudden violent storms of temper and she was inured to it.

“Do you need a cup of tea, Bill?” she asked. “It might help you calm down.”

“I need a client I can work with,” Bill snapped. “It’s time to grow up, Lizzie. You’re too wholesome. It’s infantilising. What are you now—twenty-seven?”

“I was twenty-six last month,” Lizzie said coldly. Bill’s secretary had sent flowers from him, a whole hothouse full of them. She’d known Bill had had nothing to do with it.

“Then act like it,” Bill said sharply. “No more of this bubblegum pop and kids’ shows. And get yourself a partner. I don’t care what sex they are. This ‘best friends forever’ thing you have going on with Dudley Lester may have been cute when you were fifteen but it’s cloying now.”

Lizzie had known it wouldn’t be long before her relationship with Dudley would be thrown at her. Dudley was her oldest friend—her rock—and she loved him as much as Bill hated him for the influence he had over her.

“You’re well aware that I haven’t written or performed any music for over a year,” she said, ignoring Bill’s comments about Dudley to focus on her other grudge against him. “You told me to stop and I did even though I loved it! I’ve been offered nothing but crappy kids’ gigs ever since.”

“Because you’re such a princess,” Bill said. “People still think of you as a teenager. Your reputation—”

“Is squeaky clean,” Lizzie said. “And it stays that way. I’m not going to shag someone—of any sex—just to please you.”

There was a long, dangerous silence. Lizzie could feel the tears stinging the backs of her eyes and blinked them away. She’d worked so damned hard for everything she had, distanced herself from the sleaze and scandal of her childhood, and she wasn’t going to let Bill put any of that in jeopardy.

She saw his shoulders slump. “You’re not just going to walk into Newsnight from the Ninja Teatime Club,” he said. “You’ve got to put the graft in first.” He tapped the papers in front of him. “Starting with the Oxford Symposium. I know you’ve refused the invite but if you want people to buy your books then you need to get out there and meet the readers.”