‘Well you must know he’s on significantly more than you, and only for the mere fact of owning a pair of bollocks. So much for the Equal Pay Act.’ Valerie stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray, smoke spiralling into Sylvia’s face. ‘And even if you do manage to convince an editor to dip into his deep pockets, if you’re at all serious about your career you won’t want to step back from it, not even for a minute. No editor will reward you for buggering off to have a baby. And no ambitious young hack wants to miss out on a story because she has to tuck her kids into bed.’ She narrowed her eyes, nodded to Sylvia’s engagement ring. ‘You’re contemplating it?’

‘Oh, no,’ Sylvia said. She waved her hand in the air, as though the ring was nothing. ‘We don’t intend to have children just yet. My fiancé is entirely supportive of my career.’

Valerie nodded. ‘Jim Millson, isn’t it?’

Sylvia’s surprise must have shown on her face because Valerie added, ‘Oh I know most things about most people round here.’ She drained her glass and put it down on the table. ‘Supportive,’ she repeated.

‘Very. We’ve always wanted the same thing, and he sees no reason why I shouldn’t aim high.’

Valerie raised her eyebrows. ‘Well jolly good. Just make sure you don’t do better than him, or it’s curtains for your marriage. But then, you’re a woman, and this is Fleet Street, so frankly the odds are stacked against you anyway. Oh!’ She grabbed a passing arm. ‘David darling – order me another sherry, there’s a dear.’ And with that she got up and left the table without a backwards glance.

Greenham looked at her over his glasses with a pointed expression of disapproval, but all Sylvia could focus on were his bushy eyebrows, alarmingly thick and black, which waggled when he talked. She felt an inappropriate desire to laugh. He questioned her at length, kept repeating the word distress. Was the pregnancy really causing her mental distress? Did she feel too distressed to carry on? Had she thought of the distress that a termination would cause her?

Yes, she said. Yes, yes. But the thought of continuing the pregnancy was far worse. It lay heavy on her windpipe, twisted her intestines and throbbed in her head.

‘It’s not uncommon to have doubts about becoming a mother.’ He attempted a coercive smile.

‘I don’t have doubts. I’m certain I don’t want to be,’ she said. She saw Jim’s face again. How delighted he’d be.

He never has to know.