Paradise City. Elizabeth Day

      After twenty minutes or so, she has all the information she needs, including an email address for the chief executive’s office at Paradiso. She opens up a new Microsoft Word file. The screen fills with a blank white page, like a fresh sheet pulled tight on a hotel bed.

      ‘Dear Sir Howard,’ she writes in Arial 12-point. The animated paperclip pops up in the corner of the screen. ‘You look like you’re writing a letter,’ a speech bubble says. ‘Would you like some help?’ Beatrice scowls. No, she thinks, I don’t need anyone’s help. Not any more. This, I’m doing for me. She takes a deep breath, then types: ‘You won’t remember me but we met in Room 423 of the Hotel Rotunda in Mayfair.’