A waitress walks past with a tray of white wine, red wine, and sticky orange juice. Of the three, I assume the white is least toxic. It’s warm, of course, and too sweet, but I drain it and take another. Then I suddenly remember that I haven’t eaten all day. I’d better slow down.

I’m starting to feel light-headed, dangerously disconnected from reality. It’s not just the alcohol. This room, too warm and bright and loud, is not ideal after the stress of the past twenty-four hours. Most of the faces are familiar, but they aren’t friendly: they’re either wary contacts or competitors.

‘Hello, mister.’

Someone familiar breathes in my ear. Her smell is unmistakeable and always seductive. I turn. Marilyn is exquisite in a blue silk blouse, brown leather trousers and heels.

‘You’ve been ignoring my calls,’ she scolds.

‘It’s been a difficult few days. Sorry.’ I steer her towards a quieter corner near the door. ‘How come you’re here? A week to the election, shouldn’t you be poring over polling data from swing seats or bollocking one of my rivals?’

‘I needed a night off. It’s all getting too intense. Johnny’s convinced we’re going to lose and he’s driving me nuts.’

‘You’re ten points up in the polls.’

‘Yes,’ she sighs, ‘Johnny won’t believe it’. She tilts her head. ‘That thing we talked about, in Bermondsey. Your sister, the baby. Did you ever get to the bottom of it?’

I reflexively screw up my eyes, in pain. ‘It wasn’t Kendall’s, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘Then whose was it?’ She’s too eager. I am uncomfortable.

‘I never found out. Maybe Charles got his dates wrong, maybe it was his.’ I jut my jaw forward. ‘If you hoped Kendall’s love child would be the sensation that settled the election, you’re out of luck.’

‘You know we wouldn’t have used it. I would never do that to you.’

I think I believe her. ‘You don’t need it. Johnny would have to appear live on TV buggering a donkey for you to lose. And even then it might just be a hung Parliament and a coalition with the Lib Dems.’

That wins me a laugh, before her face goes serious again. ‘He’s wanted this all his life and is terrified of jinxing it. His control freakery is off the scale.’ She puts her hand firmly on my bum and pulls me towards her. ‘I could use some de-stressing, actually.’

‘Careful. I thought we were supposed to be discrete.’ She looks up at me with kohl-lined eyes, lips slightly parted. All I want to do is leave and fall into bed with her. It’s torture. This is not what I came here for.