Thomas leaned towards her and pressed his nose to hers. Another kiss. ‘My number one dinner guest choice would be …’ he said, into her mouth, landing another light kiss. ‘AA Gill.’

‘Oh really?’ Penny questioned, understanding why he’d chosen the famous Times journalist right away. ‘Let me guess. Is it the Hermès scarves thing?’

Thomas laughed. ‘How did you know?’

‘He was a man who lined his suits with silk Hermès scarves, and you,’ Penny gestured to his designer ensemble of a Mr P woollen polo shirt and Tom Ford mohair trousers, ‘seem like you’d love to have a suit lined with silk Hermès scarves. Unless you already do.’ Penny detected the slight change to Thomas’s face. ‘Ohmygod you do, don’t you!’

He hid his face behind his hands. ‘Am I that unoriginal?’ he said. ‘Yes! Yes, I do.’ He uncovered his face. ‘I remember reading about that in The Times one Sunday – my parents always get The Times – and thinking it was the coolest thing ever. I must’ve only been about fifteen. My first big bonus from Sony Music went on one. Only one, though. And let the record show I look after it very well.’

‘You’re a parody of yourself,’ Penny giggled and Thomas shrugged.

‘My personal brand is strong,’ he acknowledged, handing her his phone. ‘I’m not ashamed. I worked hard to dress this pretentiously, you know. Now. You pick the next question.’

Penny scanned the screen.

‘Would you like to be famous and in what way?’

Thomas didn’t miss a beat before he said, ‘Absolutely not. Fame is a trap, man. I think I’ve got the best gig in the world – I get to be around fame enough to understand it is gross, but I also get a lot of the perks. Like a nice fat salary and quite a bit of free shit and loads of time off in between working like the devil.’

‘Yeah, I couldn’t imagine, like, not being able to go to dinner without being stared at or whatever. I heard Bradley Cooper doesn’t even make eye contact when he walks down the street anymore, in case people recognize him.’

‘Oh yeah, that’s true. It just invites trouble.’

‘Bradley told you that himself, did he?’

‘Actually,’ Thomas said, ‘yeah. I did some research stuff with him for A Star Is Born.’

‘Of course you did,’ exclaimed Penny. ‘Why am I even surprised?’

‘Okay, says the woman who used to bake cookies for Ed Milliband because his podcast is recorded around the corner from her café that incidentally Time Out once listed as one of London’s most exclusive hidden spots.’

‘One,’ said Penny, holding up a finger. ‘Thank you for the Google deep-dive, you stalker. And two,’ she held up another finger here, ‘Ed Milliband is hardly Bradley Cooper.’

‘Don’t led Ed hear you say that.’