Far Too Much Of Men Being Men.

I think I'm coming down with something. Unless it's an allergy to the roses. Or to Vicky. I keep sneezing and my temperature's going up and down like a yoyo. I wonder if this is what a hot flush is like?

It's bloody awful in the office today. Vicky's swanning around on those impossible heels, and referring to The Boss as Andy to everyone she speaks to on the phone. Even to Trish, who I don't think likes it much. She rings back later to quiz me.

"Molly, who is that awful woman I spoke to earlier?"

"Um, it's Vicky," I say. "You know, Andrew's old intern?"

"What, her?" says Trish, sounding incredulous. "What's she doing there? I thought she'd landed some plummy lobbying job."

"I don't exactly know. She was at conference, and then she arrived here. To help out with the diary while Marie-Louise is off sick."

God, this is awkward. Doesn't Andrew tell his wife anything? There's far too much of that sort of thing going around at the moment.

"I didn't even know that Marie-Louise was off sick," says Trish. "Let alone that Victoria was at conference."

"Ah," I say. That word does come in useful sometimes. I can see why The Boss relies on it so heavily.

I use it again, shortly afterwards, when Johnny emails me.

"Did you like the flowers?" he says. "Thought I'd make sure you were thinking about me while I was travelling over the last few days."

"Ah. Yes," I say. Dual purpose answer, too. I'm on a roll of tried and tested ways of being non-committal today, but I feel too shitty to care.

"I thought about you all the time. Especially when I was alone in my hotel room."

"Did I have a red nose and a stinking cold?" I say.

"I don't know," says Johnny. "I wasn't envisaging your face much."

God, there's nothing to choose between him and Max, is there? What with me having a great body - for my age - and a face that my so-called lover doesn't even bother to picture, I may as well go and put that Primark carrier over my head right now. Before Victoria suggests it.