‘Johnnie.’ I gave him a nod.

Johnnie spoke over his shoulder to the small group of skinny-jeaned men and women now coming down the stairs behind him. ‘Guys, sort out your own car, OK? I just need a little catch-up with Alexis.’

‘Sure thing, Johnnie.’

I ignored the smirks as they headed onto the bus.

Johnnie turned to Pam next to me.

‘Hi, darling, now how are you doing?’

‘Hello, Mr Mac,’ Pam simpered. She stared at him with a giddy smile.

‘I see you’ve met my publicist.’

‘Yes. We’ve met.’ Her eyes didn’t leave Johnnie.

‘I’d like a little time in the welcome suite so I can freshen up before we leave – I’m going straight to an interview.’

‘Of course, Mr Mac, you take as long as you need. If you just follow me to the car . . .’

Pam did not stop talking the whole journey back to the Windsor Lounge. She had clearly been saving all her friendliness for him. ‘It’s so amazing that you’re going to be honoured with an OBE for all that charitable work you’ve been doing.’

‘It’s not confirmed yet,’ said Johnnie.

‘Oh, but I’ve been seeing it everywhere online.’

The Wolf Cubs had been working hard campaigning for Johnnie to be recognised in the New Year’s honours list, as for some reason Eight needed him at that ceremony. Wolf Cubs were teenagers in our employ whose sole purpose was to help turn the tides of online opinions to our favour. Whatever issue we needed to gain traction on we would brief the Cubs to get things going. Up would spring gifs, memes, hashtags, all fighting the good fight for us. Going to battle against bots, they had the advantage of actual personalities and an idea of what would take off. A few months ago the Committee wanted a certain journalist quashed – leading to the Wolf Cubs creating a meme of him kissing a ruthless dictator’s arse. It went viral to the point it was being printed on tea-towels. That campaign was then taken to print by getting numerous Silver and Gold Wolves to allow photo shoots in their homes where the tea-towel just so happened to be in shot in their fancy bespoke kitchens. The image became so associated with the journalist’s reputation he was relegated to a daytime television sofa.

*

Pam unlocked the door to Suite One and flung it open with a flourish. A large vase of white roses was on the centre of a dark wood dining table with matching chairs. Behind it a large flatscreen television was fixed to the wall. Sleek grey sofas encircled it.

Johnnie dropped his holdall to the floor.

‘Do not disturb, OK, love? I’ll call if I need anything.’

‘Of course, Mr Mac, of course.’ She was still standing there, smiling as he closed the door.