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“Of course, they’re old enough to be your father, but generally they’re generous and kind. If you don’t find them attractive, you don’t have to go through with it. You’re in total control of the situation.”
    They had a fierce, wine-fueled argument about whether selling your body for sex was an acceptable postfeminist solution to the problem of tuition fees. Rosa, who had dated two men the previous year, believed it was.
    “One day we’ll be those forty-something women who are married to these men,” Ali had said. “Imagine if you discovered your dad on that website.”
    “It’s a simple transaction,” said Rosa.
    “It’s a form of prostitution,” said Ali. For a moment Rosa looked taken aback.
    “Well, just turn down the job if the father seems remotely leery,” said Rosa cheerfully.
    Maia, ever pragmatic, said to make sure there was a cleaning lady, otherwise Ali would end up scrubbing toilets as well as looking after four children. Tom suggested that she look ambivalent, whatever salary they offered her. Rosa, whose family used to have money, then advised that she should avoid falling in love with her employer and talked about nannies developing Stockholm syndrome and being unable to leave even the most awful families. Although she didn’t expand, it was obvious that she was talking about her own, because their nanny still lived with them. At two o’clock in the morning Ali told them resolutely that she was going to bed, because she had to be in London for her interview in eight hours’ time.
    Ali considered the wording of the advertisement again. The university degree and driving license were common professional qualifications, of course. Boxes that could be either ticked or left blank. The rest was what really mattered. But was there any significance in the fact that discretion was mentioned last, when it was obviously a more important characteristic than the desire to travel? Weren’t loyalty and discretion the same thing, anyway? Why didn’t they ask for a non-smoker? She patted her pocket and felt the comforting bulk of a packet of Silk Cut. And why Mary Poppins and not Jane Eyre?
    Actually, none of it really mattered, because Ali fell at the first fence: she hadn’t graduated from university. Yet. Although surely if that was a deal breaker, she wouldn’t have got through the first two rounds of interviews. She could see a letter to that effect tucked in a transparent plastic folder marked “Ali Sparrow No 5.” It sat on top of a pile of papers beside the briefcase that Bryony had left open when she got up from the table two minutes after the interview started to take a phone call, mouthing, “Sorry, I’ve got to sort this out,” as she backed out of the room.
    “The journalist got the valuation right, so I’m not sure that Merrill Lynch has got much recourse,” Bryony had said into the phone. “What I’m less clear about is who gave the numbers to Felix Naylor. You know how leaky Goldman’s is.”
    As she reached the door, Bryony glanced between Ali and the open briefcase, making a quick assessment of Ali’s trustworthiness. Then she closed the door firmly after her. “I’ll call Felix and try and damp it down. He can quote me as a source familiar with the situation.”
    All very cloak-and-dagger. Ali was flattered rather than insulted that Bryony wanted her out of earshot. It made her feel significant. As though she really might overhear something of importance and actually understand what she was talking about. Privacy was an alien concept to students, thought Ali. The only time she left a room for a phone call was if her parents called about her sister, because even though the news was always the same (Jo had either left home or come back again), Ali’s mother didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation.
    Ali was intrigued by the way Bryony’s whole demeanor had changed as she answered the phone. She stood up from the table, pulled back her shoulders several