Alison leaned forward slightly, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. She appeared no more or less tense than usual and it was a moment or two before she spoke.

‘No complaints of any nature have been made against Cameron,’ she said eventually. ‘I am not aware of him behaving improperly in any context. He is, in my experience and opinion, honest, personable and professional, and a significant asset to the practice. He merits respect. I hope that clarifies matters for you, Edith.’

I stared at her and nodded slowly, grateful like never before for her lack of sentiment and her rigid professionalism. Because I knew that if I had been sitting opposite anyone just a smidgen more prone to displays of empathy or curiosity, I would have crumpled. A simple, ‘Are you OK, Edie?’ or ‘What has actually happened here, Edie?’ would, at that moment, have reduced me to a hysterical, snotty heap.

‘That’s very clear,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Alison.’

Then, afraid that an embryonic twitch at the corners of her mouth might actually evolve into something approaching a kindly smile, I looked away and rose to my feet. ‘I won’t keep you any longer,’ I said, walking towards the door.

‘One more thing before you go.’

I turned reluctantly, but was relieved to find no hint of a smile, nor warmth of any kind. Instead, she was wearing an expression constructed of tempered steel.

‘My description of Cameron…’ she began.

‘Yes?’

‘It applies equally to you, Edith.’

I managed to meet her gaze for a moment with one which I hoped conveyed the gratitude I felt towards her, unable as I was to stretch to a verbal expression of thanks.

Then, turning silently away, I opened the door and, without stopping at my desk or to say good morning to Roger who was now installed at his own, I headed straight for the loo. Because I was, I knew, about to crumple.

Thankfully, an onsite meeting with a surveyor and a construction engineer kept me out of the office for most of the day. Heavy, unseasonal rain meant that I was able to keep my puffy eyes and washed-out complexion – now completely make-up free, thanks to the earlier crying session – largely under wraps beneath a hard hat and the drawstring hood of my waterproof. As a consequence, the only concerned, bordering on horrified, looks I received were as I pulled down my hood and returned the hard hat, ready for the drive back to the office at around three p.m.