The Press went wild. Anne had never been so famous. Early dreams of getting her name in the papers for her outstanding contribution to humanity had not come to fruition.
But today she was the talk of every tabloid, broadsheet and broadcast in the UK.
Porthos got his face in too, usually captioned Hero Saves Energy Moguls or similar. But the money shots were mostly taken over Porthos' shoulder, of men and women bent double on the carpet, coughing their guts up.
The sole picture of Anne at the scene was of her back, recognisable only by what she was wearing, as Aramis bundled her through the fire exit. The back of his head was mercifully anonymous.
The Press had dragged up stock photos of Anne to illustrate their full colour spreads, and remind an enquiring public which one she was. A range of old pictures appeared, of Anne in various silk suits, looking different degrees of frumpy - even, oh God, some of those bloody wedding pictures.
She studied them with masochisstic fascination. Why did she wear such buttoned-down stuff?
-Because there were only two ways for a woman in business to dress - as if going to a wedding or going to a funeral. She favoured wedding, but God, she looked like the mother of the bride.
All this time she'd been kidding herself she added a dash of silken glamour to the chamber. She just looked desperate. And miserable.
Maybe it was time for an image change. The mission was almost complete. Once it was, then frankly the threats could come as thick and fast as they might: she would be ready.
"Constance," she said as Constance appeared with a tablet and a pot of coffee, "do I look kick arse to you?"
Constance considered. She put the pot down and poured a cup for Anne. "How big is the arse?"
Anne laughed. Shook her head. Time to move on. Plus, there was no escaping the fact that Constance could kick the arse of anyone in this building and she generally wore flip flips. Although not today. Today she was in black jeans and a sloppy black jumper. Her face was white and sad.
"You have coffee too," Anne said, pointing at the pot. "Have you been up all night?"
"No. D'Artagnan came down at three and made me sleep." On the sofa. He'd just brought down his own duvet and draped it round her as she sat typing, then left.
"He's a good kid," Anne said. "Porthos said he got everyone in the hotel organised in a flash."
"He did first aid," Constance said.
"Coffee," said Anne.
Constance obeyed.
"So," said Anne, "how bad is it?"
"No one has spotted it," said Constance.
Anne began to reply.
But Constance clapped her hand to her mouth and looked up at the ceiling.
Anne blinked twice and said, "Thank God. I don't want the press thinking the Grecian 2000 is a regular thing."
"It was never Grecian 2000," said Constance, her face showing relief as she mimed Sorry.
"It was Clairol," said Anne. "God, Constance, this coffee is bitter. I'll get more from the canteen. Come on, we've more to go through than my disastrous hair colour."
They left quickly and Constance said in the lift, "I just forgot - I'm a bit sluggish this morning - I'm sorry -"
"Forget it," said Anne. "They'll never know. But is it true, nobody's twigged?"
"Not yet. But with so much exposure, some journalist is bound to start digging around, finding out what you do, even if only to plump up a piece which is basically about what shoes you wear."
"Oh my God," said Anne, "it would be terrible to be exposed by Hello magazine."
"There's one more vote," said Constance.
"But it's after Dog Leap," said Anne. "And given we utterly failed to prevent Brokenstone, I don't feel too good about the other two."
"Athos will fix it," Constance said as the lift doors opened. "He always does."
"He's a treasure," said Anne. She glanced at Constance, but her aide's admiration for Athos, though touching, appeared entirely professional.
"They all are," said Constance. "By the way." She put her hand on Anne's sleeve before they crossed the corridor to the bright busy canteen. "There's a bit of footage of you and Aramis in the Tube system."
Anne went hot and cold all over. "Right."
"Do you want me to just remove it? We're within our rights - your safety, national security and so on."
"Yes," said Anne faintly. "Thanks."
"No problem. At the moment everyone thinks you just got in the car outside."
"That's logical."
"Yes. Just not quite enough for our scenario, though. A good dry run, though, right?"
Anne thought of Aramis, his arms around her, properly round her, her clinging to him likewise, her mouth on his jaw, a hair's breadth from an actual kiss but there was no way he had failed to notice.
And God yes if she were in a pitch black lift with him again and had the slightest excuse to kiss him she would because now her biggest regret was not that she had behaved in a way not concomitant with a minister (pah!) but that she had been offered a chance to know his kiss and not taken it.
"Yes," Anne said. "A dry run."
Constance nodded, her expression prim. Anne was grateful, as always, for her discretion.
As Constance's cool gaze turned to the musketeers lounging on their corner table, she took it down further to well below freezing. Especially, Anne noted, as D'Artagnan looked up and smiled, his dark hair falling over his warm brown eyes.
Constance ignored him completely and spoke to Athos. D'Artagnan grinned all the more and fiddled with his phone.
Anne hung back watching until Constance snapped and said "I've set a trace on your messages."
"Thank you," he said with a grace Anne would never have expected.
"Don't get your hopes up. It's probably one of our many enemies, yanking the chain of the new boy."
D'Artagnan smiled.
"Not so new," said Athos. "D'Artagnan's one of us now."
"We need all the help we can get," said Anne. "Dog Leap is in ten days' time. Athos. You said you saw a woman at the scene. Find her."
Athos went still. "Yes, ma'am."
D'Artagnan cast an anxious glance at Athos which puzzled Anne. Athos ignored the look. Anne made a mental note.
"I don't like how easily they got to us yesterday," she said. "We have ten days. Find out who is behind the messages. And stop them."