Everyone at Runway knew Miranda Priestly was having an affair. They just had no way to prove it. But the gleaming white walls of the staff bathroom had seemingly bounced the news off the tiles, and the swinging doors in and out of the Closet then ricocheted it through to Editorial. A rumour grew there until the idea had nouns and verbs attached, and then the whispers went through to Features and finally to the Art Room.

Clara told Jocelyn who told Pip who whispered it again to Jim Cox, who slid the news across to Serena. Serena, who had her own secrets to keep, was dubious, but mentioned it over their supper, (if you could call it that), to Emily Charlton.

"Have you heard?" she asked, because Emily was as close to the heart of any action as anyone at Runway could get, being First Assistant to Miranda herself. "Everyone says it's true."

Emily snorted, "Bollocks," which was her go-to expression of contempt. "No way. She's just starting her divorce from Sweaty Pants. He'll have made her allergic to sex with any guy. "

She peeled the outer leaves off a very small section of lettuce and eyed it cautiously. "What proof do they have anyway? I should know if anything was going on in that direction. I keep her diary."

"Yeah, sure." Serena pushed the low-fat mayonnaise towards her, to encourage her to eat a few more calories.

"That's why I asked you. No-one knows where the info came from, but you know, walls have ears. Maybe we could look for clues from now on. And you know, it doesn't have to be just with a guy."

She fluttered her very long (if false) eyelashes at Emily and made her laugh despite herself. The salad with ten grams of mayo was consumed together and Serena then took her lover to bed.

Emily enjoyed the sex very much, and justified it to herself as useful and enjoyable exercise. She had read somewhere that thirty minutes of vigorous bedroom gymnastics used more calories than the same time running on a treadmill. She knew which she preferred.

The one person no-one had included in this delicious gossip mill was Andy Sachs, Miranda's smart but hopelessly guileless second assistant Andy shared an office with Emily, but rarely received her confidences, not that she seemed concerned.

Emily considered Andy beyond the Pale for most of the time. Her fashion sense appeared minimal, although this had changed dramatically after Nigel Kipling, Runway's Art Director took her under his wing, and seemed to enjoy dressing her up like a true New York fashionista, instead of some mousy librarian from Ohio. Now she looked the part of a true Runway girl, until she opened her mouth and said something so leftfield that the clackers all gaped at her ignorance.

Emily clung to her status as FATTEIC tenaciously, and part of her strategy in that goal was to keep Andy firmly in her place, which was at the smaller desk, with the shorter lunchbreak and also in the perfect position to act as the scapegoat whenever Miranda lost her cool and wanted to blame somebody for something.

The following morning, a Tuesday, Emily observed Andy across their two desks and wanted to find out if she knew anything about Miranda's supposed affair, but without including her in the rumour circle. She didn't think the girl deserved such a privilege.

"Hmm, when Miranda took you to that reception at the French Consul the other weekend, did you see if any one met her afterwards?"

"There was no time to meet anyone afterwards. Remember the thunderstorm? Roy came with the car, and we ran for it. Oh shoot, that reminds me, I must collect the gowns from the dry-cleaners tonight."

Andy wrote herself a post-it note and stuck it on the left hand side of the desk. Her left wrist was bandaged up with a little silk scarf, as it had been for a week or more.

"Anyway, why do you ask?"

"No reason. I just need to follow up anything which came out of those meetings. Being away last week I couldn't follow up all the contacts. Did you find out which ones Miranda wanted to chase? I suppose you had your head away with the fairies all evening as usual and didn't concentrate. "

"I've typed up all the notes and put them in a folder on your desktop screen. You can read them whenever. "

"Oh. Right. So what's with the scarf round your wrist? Is it to remind yourself to set the alarm clock on time in the morning for once?"

"Oh, no, it's just a little sore, nothing to worry about. I. . . um . . . burned it on the oven."

"The boyfriend lets you cook then?"

"Actually Em, we're not together anymore. He's moved out. He said my job was getting in the way."

Emily was well-bred enough to offer a minimal commiseration.

"Sorry about that. "

"Thanks but don't be. It's for the best. I'm fine"

"Hadn't you better scoot off now to fetch Miranda's coffees? She'll be here soon. You know how she hates to be kept waiting."

Andy looked up at the clock, grabbed her bill-fold and phone, and did indeed scoot off. Emily saw her texting as she ran down the corridor. She knew she'd be late back with the coffees, and could not resist a little feeling of triumph at the rollicking she'd undoubtedly get from Miranda.

Emily discovered she quite enjoyed being a bitch and she was learning from the best. She kicked off her heels and leaned back in her chair. She had six minutes until Miranda was due to sweep into the offices, so she gave herself half that time to luxuriate in the feeling that Andy would soon be in big trouble.

Andy was in trouble, but not for the reason Emily imagined. Reading her text would not have helped solve the mystery because its recipient rarely replied in the same vein, much preferring to call rather than fiddling about with tiny keyboards.

Be there in 5. Sorry!

Andrea's phone immediately rang as she entered the elevator, and she was still finishing the conversation as she emerged twenty-three floors below.

"Of course! No, How could I forget?. . . .

"I love you too. How much? -To the moon and back. . . . . . .

"Well, Venus then. . . . . . . .

"Stop it! That's not fair. How would I be able to concentrate on work in the office all day if you did that."

They passed each other in the Elias-Clarke foyer, studiously avoiding eye-contact. But Miranda slid a small package into Andy's hand as she moved past. No-one noticed, and the younger woman then exited the building into the swirling crowds of the Manhattan streets.

When she reached the nearby Starbucks, she nodded her normal order over to the barista, who turned up the steam on her expresso machine, and began to set up the cardboard tray and plastic cups. While she waited she undid the package and pulled out a state of the art I phone. It had a sapphire blue shield round it, and she could see it was already charged and set up ready to use. There was one number entered in the contacts list.

She pressed the single button, and responded with a laugh to the expected voice.

"Hi, yes I love it" . . . .

"Thank you darling. It's wonderful." . . . .

"Yes I know. Not for work. Just for you" . . . .

"Yes, I'll keep it on me all the time." . . . .

"And switched on, of course. Don't worry" . . . .

"Yes, and charged." . . . .

"Anytime. Day or night. Of course." . . . .

"Coffee? Yes, it's coming. I'm coming." . . . .

"Miranda! Stop it!"

Her laughter rang round the café.

"Bye."

Twenty-three floors above her, Miranda had just reached her outer office as she finished the call with a smile, and tossed her bag towards Emily. It was far too hot in New York to add a top coat as an additional missile, but she still enjoyed the slightly violent ritual throw every morning.

One day she hoped Emily might toss her purse back at her. One day Emily might tell her to hang up her own coat for once. One day pigs might fly. But then one day Second Assistant Andrea actually had let herself be kissed, had fallen into the arms of her boss and locked them together for life, so any magical thing might happen. The whole world seemed suddenly quite capable of turning upside down.

She and Andrea were now playing quite an engrossing game of keeping their love affair under very tight wraps, at least until her divorce papers were submitted, and Andrea's final severance of all connections from her Ex-boyfriend was complete. Miranda capitalised the Ex in her mind whenever she thought of him. It bolstered her confidence, which faltered too often. Andrea was so young, and so very, very beautiful. Any sane person would fight to hold on to her.

They were also waiting until they could share as much information as was needed with her twins. The girls were still at summer camp, giving them a quiet two weeks together in the town house.

Miranda also needed to see a way forward on the way to separate Andy from working at Runway, and so avoid a nuclear fall-out all round, even though she couldn't bear the thought of not being able to gaze on her for ten hours a day.

Runway was such a gossip shop, and Irv Ravitz, the CEO of the whole publishing empire, had been on Miranda's case for years. There was no love lost between them, and if he had any excuse she'd be fired, regardless of her status as New York Fashion Queen.

Miranda knew all this secrecy was very sensible and tactical and necessary, but a large part of her mind just wanted to shout from the roof-tops, put it in lights up in Times Square, and hire a plane with a huge banner. "I love Andrea Sachs." And with an even bigger banner behind it saying, "And we are having the best sex ever"

The sex was actually extraordinary, better than anything she had ever enjoyed in her life. She had more energy now than she had had at eighteen, and Andy's body, the touch of her skin, her responses, gave her complete and continuing joy. She looked forward to going to bed every night, in complete contrast to what she'd endured during her marriages.

Andy returned to the office within ten minutes, and placed the coffees on Miranda's desk. "Your usual," she said quietly, "and an extra Frappuccino. It's going to be hot again today." She had turned her back towards Emily, blocking them so only she could see Miranda's face. She saw a wide-eyed innocence there reflecting her own blank canvas. Honestly Miranda could have gone on the stage.

"And do you think the heatwave will carry on through tonight?" she heard her ask under her breath.

"I expect so, but you know more about the weather-forecast than I do."

Their eyes slid cautiously over each other until they finally locked. For Andrea this was like docking a star-ship. She never tired of the new game of chasing Miranda's gaze across her body, forcing her to look up from staring at her breasts to meeting her dead centre, in the eye. They often played this game of tag in the shower. Just remembering what had then ensued that very morning brought a flush to her cheek.

As if by telepathy Miranda read her mind and she blushed as well. It took much to embarrass Miranda, but Andrea's very presence in the same room these days could achieve it. Conducting the affair at work was proving more difficult than she had planned. She knew she was playing with fire here. It was a good job Emily could not hear their words, just an indistinct murmuring.

"Appalling service. When will you learn to fulfil the simplest tasks competently?" Miranda raised her voice so that Emily, who she knew was straining to catch every insult, could hear. "Emily! Come in here now."

Emily hurried in, notebook in hand.

"Andrea, you can go. Expense claims for July, on my desk by tonight. You can take the receipts from my purse."

"Yes, Miranda."

"Now Emily, I trust you are no longer spreading germs all over the office from your hay fever. Good. In that case we need to get on with planning the Paris trip. I am putting all the arrangements in your hands. Make sure they are capable ones."

Emily regretted the five extra calories in the mayonnaise the previous evening. She was aiming to be a size 2 by Paris, if not a zero. Her mind swirled over the happy thought of all the new fashion lines from the major houses with which she might be gifted.

"Sure Miranda, of course."

Miranda did look somehow different this morning. Well, she had as well the day before, to be honest. She sort of glowed, not just from the heat, but from inside. Maybe this was what had set the rumour running that she was having hot sex with someone.

To Emily it was like postulating about the statue of liberty's love life. Out of bounds! But Serena had urged her to look for clues. So she started to assemble them. The "Look" could count as No1.

"Clue No 2 is the Texts."

"How do you mean?" asked Serena, lying beside her on the couch in their small apartment that evening.

"She's been getting texts all day. She never answers them. I don't think Miranda knows how. But she stares at them for a long time, then she bites her glasses frame and goes to the window to stare out at nothing. She often does it while she's waiting for Andy to come back with coffee."

"Any No 3 yet?"

"Well, she asked me to look up properties in Provincetown, Mass. for sale. She said specifically, on or near the beach. I've sent her through all the ones I could find on the Internet"

"Hey, Em, you know what that means. It's the lesbian capital of New England! I think we're looking for a woman here, not a man."

"Ugh, Miranda can't be gay."

"Why not? You are!"

"I'm not!"

"Well, what's going on here then? Between us?"

"It's different. . . . I just"

"You what, my little querida?"

"I just, oh I just love you, Seri."

"That's the first time you've ever admitted it. "

"I know, but I do."

"So you should admit Miranda is possibly gay too."

"Hmm. No way. Nigel might know something. Let's ask him tomorrow. She confides in him sometimes."

"Well, Emily not-gay Charlton. I bet you twenty bucks she is. Now come here!"

Miranda possibly–gay Priestly lay on her king-sized bed at roughly the same time late that evening as when Serena and Emily were having their conversation about her sexuality, and watched her lover prepare to join her. She was on the bed, not in it, because even with efficient air-conditioning it was far too warm to be covered by a sheet.

Andrea had tossed her about in such a wild emotional tornado over the last ten days that she felt all the civilization of New York, all the fashion, all the shoes, manicures, make-up, the jewellery she so normally loved to wear, was as ephemeral and unimportant as yesterday's newspaper. She would have followed Andrea across continents dressed in rags, bare-footed if she'd asked. It was an extraordinary feeling, terrifying, but equally, absolute bliss.

Andrea, normally a wordsmith, put it more succinctly, when she had tried to tell her how she felt.

"Yes, I'm the same. You turn me to Goo as well, Miranda."

She was now stripping slowly, shedding her top and shorts, having been out to soft-ball practice, and then slipping out of her bra and panties.

"I should shower again," she murmured. Even though she'd showered at the sports centre, she felt sticky with heat and perspiration. She'd called back at Runway to collect the Book on her way to Miranda, but it remained unopened. Miranda for some reason hadn't felt motivated to touch it.

"Come here. I've been alone all evening. You can wash any time."

Andrea rolled on to the bed and gave herself up to Miranda's loving arms. The woman achieved supernatural powers once she had you captured, she thought. She could transform into an enchanted being, which wound itself up and down your insides as well as your outsides.. Miranda in bed was like an Indian goddess with multiple limbs.

"Oh my God, Miranda."

Later, much later, Miranda felt like talking. "Next weekend, I thought we might drive up to New Hampshire together to fetch the girls. Save them the bus trip home. What do you think?"

"I'd love to do that. I'm free."

"On the way back, maybe we can talk to them, about us. It will be easier in the car. They can't run away."

"I don't think they'll want to do that. We'll be gentle about it. "

She wondered whether to say her next sentence, but decided to press on.

"You know they never liked Stephen."

"How do you know?"

"They told me."

"Oh."

"They never wanted to hurt you. But they would talk to me sometimes, on the stairs. They were a little upset and didn't like the way he treated you, and I had to secretly agree with them, though I never said anything of course. I'd just try to take their minds off their worries, chat about school you know."

"I wish they felt they could talk to me about how they felt. But anyway, it's all over now."

"Yes. I do hope it wasn't because of me, was it? I hope I didn't make things worse."

Miranda could only ever be totally honest with Andrea.

"It wasn't maybe the main reason he left. But it was always there. Stephen was a louse but he was never a fool. He would often mention you just to get a rise out of me. He could see something in my eyes I think. It's been this way for months, since you first arrived in my life in fact. I just fought against it for as long as I could. But I thank God I lost the battle."

"Miranda,"

"Yes, darling?"

"When you go to Paris, I want to move in here with the girls. I can keep them company, and get to know them better, I can help Cara with them, and take them to school on time."

" But I planned for you to come to Paris, alongside Emily. Though I haven't told her yet."

"No, let's not do that. I have a funny feeling about what might happen if I went to Paris. Something . . . No, now don't look like that! It's just, you know we can bend the rules sometimes, forge our own destinies, and in this case. I just don't think I should go. I'll wait here for you, maybe use the time to move out of the apartment properly. Emily is so looking forward to the Shows, and I'd be out of my depth. It will be better this way."

"Whatever you think is best. Just keep your phone charged at all times. I need to be able to know I can always talk to you otherwise I will never survive the separation." Miranda played with Andy's hair, winding it round her fingers and then releasing it before doing the same thing again and again.

Andy lay on her breast, and shivered. Miranda's fondling sent tingles up and down her spine.

"I can hear your heart beating, "she said softly. "It's in time with mine."

"That's reassuring. You're twenty-five years younger than me, and a sporty type. My heart must be in good shape. "

"It's in my permanent care from now on, so it should be."

Miranda kissed the top of her head and they fell into sleep together. The Runway gossip mill could grind on in ignorance for a few weeks yet.

Emily not-gay Charlton also slept well, wrapped in Serena's arms. She woke in the small hours with a sudden thought about what Clue No 4 might be.

"Oh God, of course! How weird was that?""

But the idea skidded away from her exhausted brain, and she went back to sleep. In the morning, she couldn't for the life of her recall what it was she'd realised, but it must have been something significant. She tussled with the mystery all the way back to work.