I step into my office, hang up my coat. The second I sit down, my door opens and she is walking towards me. Shoulders back, mouth in a line. Bracing herself for bad news.

‘Do sit down, Julie. I just need to apologise.’

She raises her eyebrows, surprised. ‘What for?’

‘Hasn’t Miles told you?’

‘No.’ There’s a pause. ‘I mean, told me what?’

‘That I now know why you were texting one another. I behaved so badly, when all you were doing was organising a fabulous birthday present for me.’

I feel tears pricking my eyes. ‘I’m just so embarrassed and sorry. I should have trusted you. We work together. You are such a good friend to me and to Miles. I should have trusted Miles and not taken any notice of Caprice. Or Aiden. It all got very out of hand – my fears, my emotions. My paranoia. I’m very ashamed of myself.’

Julie stands up, leans across my desk and takes my hands in hers.

‘Don’t beat yourself up about this. I told you when you came to West Wittering, Caprice is a troublemaking bitch; Aiden is a bastard who always wants what he can’t have. You mustn’t let them make mincemeat of you. Your husband loves you more than his life. Your business needs you. We need you.’

I stand up and move towards her. She hugs me and Chanel No. 5 engulfs me.

We spring apart at a knock on the door. Ted walks in. ‘I’ve just heard there’s a temporary hiccup with the loan.’

My heart stops. ‘What?’

‘They want more reassurance that we have the potential to pay it back.’

‘But … but … I thought they’d already given us the green light.’

He wriggles uncomfortably. ‘In theory, yes. But when they looked at our recent accounts in detail, they decided our outstanding fees give insufficient coverage.’ He pauses. ‘They want to see all the accounts, since BPC started.’ His tired eyes pierce mine. ‘We mustn’t overreact by panicking,’ he continues. ‘It’ll be all right. Don’t worry, our accounts are in apple-pie order. I’ll send them over to the bank this afternoon.’

I am breathing too deeply, too quickly. I fear I am about to have a panic attack.

‘Look, you two, I’m sorry but I need to relax. Hold the fort. I’m going out for a jog.’

Decked out in my new iridescent purple trainers and skin-tight Lycra, I step outside and begin to run. My body slips into rhythm as I concentrate on efficient arms and legs. And careful breathing. Dodging pedestrians. Trying to ignore the fumes from passing lorries and buses. Into Hyde Park.