Hmmm, like an endocrinologist-type expert? I could ask the ever-sympathetic Dr Andy Flint to pop in!

‘So,’ she adds, ‘that’s the kind of role I have in mind. What do you think?’

I pause and drain my water glass. So this is my future. At night I lie there, wet as a trout. And by day she wants me to be the Hot Flush Lady, so whenever any woman ‘at that life stage’ sees me approaching, they’ll think, Shit, here’s Viv. Quick, talk to me, make it look like I’m busy so she doesn’t ask me if I’m experiencing vaginal atrophy and finding intercourse difficult.

It might be well-meaning. Hell, maybe some women would relish that sort of role in the workplace. But I don’t want it to be me.

‘I’m really not sure,’ I murmur. ‘I need time to think—’

‘I should make it clear,’ Rose cuts in, ‘with this being a new idea, a pilot scheme if you like – I’m afraid there wouldn’t be a change of grade, or a salary increase.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes, because it’s not actually a new job. Everything else would stay the same.’

‘So … I’d still be your PA?’ I ask, trying not to sound appalled.

‘Oh, yes, absolutely. This would just add an extra layer of responsibility and an enhancement of status.’

I stare at her, not knowing how to respond. She smiles briefly and checks her tiny gold watch, then summons the waiter to bring our bill. ‘Think it over, will you?’ she says, whipping out her company credit card. ‘Because I’m very much hoping that person could be you.’

Chapter Nineteen

Later that evening

Well, bloody hell, that serves me right for getting ideas above my station. A mentor indeed! What the hell was I thinking? I’m a PA and that’s that. I might as well get used to the idea that no one’s going to offer me a fantastic job on a plate.

Anyway, there’s plenty going on in my life without a new, complicated position to get to grips with. I told Jules I was ‘stuck’ and ‘ready for change’. But my life has changed; it’s always changing, more than I want it to sometimes. For instance, in terms of the inhabitants of this house, first we had:

Me, Andy, Spencer.

Then: Me, Andy, Spencer, Izzy.

Then: Me, Andy, Izzy.

Then: Me, Izzy.

And now: Me, Izzy … and Ludo.

It’s just temporary, mercifully, but the minute Izzy and I arrived home this evening, Tim appeared at the door, gripping his surly son firmly by the hand and saying, ‘Viv, I’m so sorry but we think – I mean, we’re pretty sure Chrissie’s in labour …’