‘Grand chef! My heartfelt congratulations,’ Ben says as he offers me more champagne. ‘I’m really happy for you, Katie. You did it and you deserve it, you really do. And now, all this, living and working in a five-star hotel, that’s a pretty good reward for all your hard work.’

‘Thanks. It hasn’t quite sunken in yet… And congratulations to you too,’ I say as he tops up my glass. ‘I heard Pip made you an offer.’

He shrugs, smiling. ‘Can’t complain, running a restaurant for Pip Taylor in New York isn’t a bad second place.’

We clink our glasses and sip the cold, crisp bubbly, surrounded by the most glamourous and well-connected professionals in the industry. This is haute cuisine heaven. In fact, it’s not just chef heaven, it’s my heaven.

I look at Ben. He’s just as awestruck as I am.

I am now the grand chef. I now live in a palatial hotel suite.

No wonder my head is swimming.

Everything is perfect. Everything is beyond my wildest hopes. Everything is about to change! I can’t wait to tell my dad and I can’t wait to get Alice here for drinks and thank everyone who has supported me and I really can’t wait to let Bernie know I quit. But mainly, I can’t wait to share this news with Martha, because without her I’d never have believed this was possible. I’ve kept back some trifle for her birthday celebrations. Just to say thanks, for backing me, for believing in me, when I couldn’t even muster that belief in myself.

‘Oh my god! New York!!’ I hear a shrill, yelping noise getting louder. ‘New York! New York!!’ I turn to see a tall beautiful woman in a black silk dress with a mane of golden hair flowing down her tanned, toned arms shrieking the words ‘New York’ over and over. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere!’ She takes Ben’s face in both her hands. ‘I am so, so proud of you!’ And then she closes her eyes as she kisses him on the mouth, softly, slowly, fully.

Ben’s eyes are wide open. They are looking at me, staring at me, startled. He looks as taken aback as I am.

She pulls away and slides her hands down towards his shoulders. ‘I know! Surprise, right! I docked in to Portsmouth this morning. I wanted to be here win or lose.’ She gathers him tight into her. ‘Oh I’m so proud of you! I have missed you so much. So, come on, introduce me. Who’s who?’ She spins around on her gold strap stilettoes, looking beyond me into the designer-clad clusters.

I watch Ben as he pinches his lips and then slides his fingers down to his chin, his eyes still wide, his forehead furrowed as if he was refocusing, presumably looking for Jean-Michel. He juts his chin forward, raising up on his tiptoes to study the crowd as she hooks into his arm, snuggling into his chest. But this girl is impatient, her eyes are darting around the room and she swipes herself a flute of champagne and a canapé from a passing waiter.

I take this as my cue to slink away, remove myself from my close proximity to Ben, but her eye catches mine and she registers my new black grand chef hat and apron.

‘Oh my god! You must be the winner!’

I smile sheepishly, nod and try to keep shuffling backwards.

This girl’s eyes… Wow. They are bright green. I’ve never seen eyes like them. It’s like they’ve been photoshopped.

She throws the whole canapé into her mouth to free up her hand which she then thrusts in front of me. ‘Francesca,’ she manages through a mouthful of salmon mousse. ‘Ben’s girlfriend. I can’t believe we’re going to New York! No offence, but I actually think that the runner-up prize is far, far better, don’t you think?’

I take my hand in hers and shake it, smiling my best smile, but not knowing quite what to say in response, wanting to stay friendly and composed and distant. ‘Congratulations,’ is all I manage before I excuse myself and slip back into the kitchen.

I take a deep breath and savour being on my own for the first time in the last crazy, frantic, high-pressure fourteen hours. I try to stop and be grateful. I try to enjoy the moment. This moment that I’ve wanted so badly. The winner’s announcement already feels like so long ago. That may be due to the excitement and the exhaustion and the alcohol of course.

When Jean-Michel announced that I did it, that they chose me, that I was the one, I felt like I was watching myself on television. He went on to tell me that all three of them loved the maturity that I showed in the kitchen. They loved the way the staff were treated with respect and patience. That the food was accomplished and elegant. Jean-Michel said that I was perfect protégé material and that it was clear that I was keen to learn and I took instruction easily.

They presented me with my new chef whites along with black hat and apron – which I put on proudly straight away. Octavia handed me my hotel pass key, and made me promise that I would make myself at home. I got a business card, already printed with my name on it. New jacket, new hat, new title, new start, new luxury hotel suite. It feels like a fantasy, like I am just having another daydream in high definition.

But what I’m really buzzing about is that they love the menu. Especially because that was the most autobiographical, true-to-self menu I could have dreamt of. And I created it all from scratch. So here I am, selected based on my own style, my own skills. Not as an impostor, not as a ‘best pretender’, not as a convincing imitation of a classic French chef far removed from who I really am – but on my own, with all of me invested in every little bite. And that makes me feel hugely proud and relieved and unburdened. I guess that’s what it means to feel free.

So I’ve got to enjoy right now because I know everything from now on will be different. Soon I’ll start the hardest job I have ever done. Soon I open myself up to a whole new level of scrutiny and exposure. And soon Ben will leave my life all over again.

But right now I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Somewhere by the bar, I hear Francesca squeal with joy.

Okay. So, maybe I’m the second luckiest.