Ashling wavered, wondering if she should take offence, but Jack beat her to it.

‘Sorry,’ he said, suddenly humble. ‘Only having a laugh.’

‘That’s what’s so worrying,’ Trix threw into Ashling’s ear.

‘Have you finished typing in Jasper Ffrench’s piece yet?’ Lisa snapped at Trix.

‘Yes.’

Lisa came and looked over Trix’s shoulder. ‘Aphrodisiac is not spelt with an “f”, there’s only one “y” in oyster and it’s asparagus, not asparagrass. Familiarize yourself with your spell-checker.’

‘I never had to spell-check anything before.’

‘Things are different now. Colleen is a class act.’

‘I thought we were sexy,’ Trix challenged mulishly.

‘It’s possible to be both. Oi! Mercedes! Where are you on the “fuck-me-slingbacks” piece?’

Not exactly challenging work, but necessary. And exhausting.

Ashling was dog-tired. As well as the long, stressful days, she was carrying a niggling worry at how abruptly things had ended with Marcus on Monday night. Why hadn’t she gone to bed with him? It wasn’t exactly as if she’d been saving it for her wedding night, she acknowledged ruefully. But she’d always resisted change and it was a long time since she’d slept with someone who wasn’t Phelim.

With a sing-song sigh, she accepted that life was hard for the modern woman. In the old days, the rule was that you had to hold off sleeping with a man for as long as possible. But now the rule seemed to be that if you wanted to hold on to him you’d better deliver the goods asap.

Marcus didn’t ring on Tuesday night or Wednesday night, and though Joy spoke long and loud about something called the three-day rule, Ashling said, ‘But what if he never rings again?’

‘Let’s face it, he mightn’t – men work in mysterious ways. But you certainly won’t hear from him this evening. Do something else, use the time constructively – any washing to be done? Paint you need to watch drying? Because tonight’s the night.’

Ashling promised herself that if Marcus rang again she’d definitely sleep with him.

On her chocolate break at work, while flicking desultorily through the paper, his name suddenly jumped out. Mentioned in the context of how well Irish comedians were doing in the UK. The letters danced dizzily off the page at her – MaRcUs. He’s my boyfriend. Ashling stared hard at the small black letters, uplifted by a warm powerful surge of pride. Which disappeared a second later. Or is he?

Lisa suddenly going into overdrive meant that by Thursday everyone was on a very short fuse. Lisa was quarrelling with Mrs Morley when Jack, looking distraught, catapulted from his office.

‘Mrs Morley, would you mind booking somewhere for me for lunch today? Two people.’

‘The usual?’ Whenever any of the number-crunchers came over from London, Jack reluctantly escorted them for rare steaks and blood-red wine in an oak-panelled, leather-lined club.

‘Christ, no! Somewhere nice, somewhere a woman would like.’ He seemed charmingly helpless. Bashfully he admitted, ‘Apparently it’s my six-month anniversary with Mai.’

Lisa couldn’t hide her dismay. Why was he being nice to Mai? Why hadn’t they had a fight when Mai had called into the office earlier in the week? With chilling dread she realized that a pattern might be developing, and the buoyant confidence that she’d cruised on since sleeping with Wayne evaporated without trace.

‘Thank God I remembered the anniversary!’ Jack grinned.

‘How did you manage to?’ Mrs Morley asked.

‘Actually, she as good as told me,’ Jack said vaguely. ‘Hey, what was that place you took me to, Lisa? She’d probably like it there.’

‘Halo,’ Lisa said, but her voice was so strangled that Jack said, ‘Sorry? Say again.’

‘Halo,’ she repeated, only marginally louder.

‘That’s right!’ Jack was cheerful. ‘Full of tossers! Tricksy food at outrageous prices, she’ll love it. If you give me the number I’ll book it.’

‘You will not.’ Mrs Morley became more bulldog-like than ever. ‘That’s my job.’

Physically trembling with anger, Lisa left, praying that it was too short notice to get a table.

Half an hour later Mai arrived, looking like Asian Barbie. When Lisa saw her, her anger slumped into hopeless depression.

‘Nice suit,’ Trix sucked up to Mai.

‘Thank you.’

‘Dunnes?’

‘Er, yeah.’

Mai had assumed a distance that she Hadn’t had the day of the champagne drinking. Somehow Jack’s recent devotion had changed things. She was gracious, pleasant, but very definitely their boss’s girlfriend.

Mrs Morley gave Mai the nod and she swayed her non-existent hips into Jack’s office. The door shut firmly behind her and the entire office ceased operations, their ears stretched off the sides of their heads as they hoped, longed, yearned for a row. But seconds later Jack and Mai emerged, smugly holding hands. Watched by a hungry-eyed throng they made their Brady-Bunch way to the exit, and then they were gone. Even after it was clear that nothing was going to happen, silence reigned.

‘I liked it better the other way,’ Trix observed forlornly, articulating everyone’s thoughts.

Lisa, about to leave for her love-bombing lunch with Marcus Valentine, tried to swallow away jealousy, hurt – and confusion. She hadn’t imagined Jack’s interest in her, she was sure of it. So what was he at? She couldn’t understand it. One minute it was non-stop shouting matches with Mai, the next it was lovey-dovey heaven. Why? Why? The fruitless, unanswerable thoughts circled in her head all the way to Mao.

A mere ten minutes late, Marcus arrived. Tall, good body, but… ugh, no! How could Ashling? Lisa plastered on a welcoming smile but found it uncharacteristically hard to dredge up her usual excess of charm.

‘Lunch, right?’ Marcus said almost aggressively as he swung into the seat opposite her. ‘What I mean is, let’s enjoy our food without you going on at me about doing the column.’

‘Yeah.’ Lisa managed a speedy upturn of her lips, but her spirits were suddenly dragging across the ocean floor. This job could be terribly humiliating. You had to be disgustingly pushy and have skin as thick as a rhino’s hide.