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‘Thank you. But seriously. How can we possibly afford a space like this? And in central London?’

‘Economy of scale,’ says Freddy. ‘You share the building with five other businesses. You have your own office, a shared reception, kitchen, breakout area, boardroom, bike stands and all the rest of it. But the bill gets split five ways. Win-win, right?’

‘This place has bike stands?’

‘Dozens of them. First thing I checked.’ Freddy hesitates. ‘Actually, the second thing. The first was disability access. For the times when the stairs give you trouble.’

‘It’s not stairs that give me trouble. It’s my legs.’

Freddy laughs.

‘I’m still not sure about this.’ I look over the beautiful building. ‘Can you see the Little Voice team fitting in here?’

‘It will become you and your team,’ says Freddy. ‘Just like the clothes are becoming you. Look, give it a chance. Let’s go inside. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Don’t answer that.’

Freddy ushers me into a spacious, lemon-fragranced reception, where a smiling receptionist steps forward with a tray of green juices.

‘They’re cold pressed,’ he’s eager to tell me.

I turn to Freddy. ‘This so isn’t Little Voice. The team are going to feel totally out of their depth –’

‘Hey Kat.’ Duncan strolls towards us wearing a flat cap and eating a bagel wrapped in wax paper. ‘Isn’t this place great?’

‘Duncan, you’re early.’ I stare at him. ‘You’re never early.’

‘I’ve been here since 7 am.’ Duncan takes a juice from the tray. ‘I was so excited about the new Mac computers I couldn’t sleep.’

‘What’s with the flat cap?’

‘I bought it from a street seller on the way in.’ Duncan tips his cap at me. ‘It’s the cool, Covent Garden vibe. Right? Top of the morning, g’vner.’

‘I … wait.Gabriela?’

Gabriela bounds through the break-out space on clean, white Converse, her curves stuffed into a pinstripe suit, orangey blonde hair combed into a classy, high ponytail.

‘Goodgod.’ I stare at her. ‘What happened to you? You’re not drowning in woollens.’

‘We are storytellers, Katerina,’ says Gabriela, in a weighty, poetic voice. ‘And here, in Covent Garden, I am no longer Gabriela, the mad Spanish hippy in her dunga jeans and band t-shirts. I am Gabriela, the mad Spanish publishing editor with awards and bestselling titles. Mwah!’ She kisses me on both cheeks. ‘You like the suit? Hugo Boss from Oxfam. Twenty pounds. Fantastico, right?’

‘Andyou’reearly too.’

Gabriela stiffens. ‘Yes. I am often early.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re either late or absent. Which means it must be Alan’s turn to be absent today.’

‘He’s in the office already,’ Duncan drawls. ‘Cleaning the new computers. And get this. He’s not wearing his leather jacket. He says it’s not professional enough for Covent Garden.’

‘But he always wears that leather jacket.’ I take a green juice from the tray. ‘He hasn’t taken it off since the eighties. He may even shower in it –’

‘Not today,’ says Duncan.

‘Wow. Well, I suppose I’d better go and see our new workspace.’

‘We’ll show you the way,’ says Duncan.

Gabriela and Duncan lead me through an open-plan lounge space with call booths, plug-in desks, spongey sofas, healthy plants and beautiful floor lamps.

‘This is the shared area,’ says Gabriela. ‘Our space is at the back. And Kat, your private office looks out over everyone. We’ll show you.’