This just gets better and better.

'Miss Bloomwood?' says the driver.

'Yes,' I say, unable to stop myself grinning at him in delight. I'm about to reach for the door handle – but he gets there before me, opens the car door with a flourish and stands to attention, waiting for me to get in. God, this is like being a film star or something!

I glance back towards the house and see Mum and Dad standing on the front step, both looking utterly gobsmacked.

'Well – bye then!' I say, trying to sound casual, as though I always ride around in a chauffeur-driven car.

'See you later!'

'Becky, is that you?' comes a voice from next door, and Janice appears on the other side of the hedge in her dressing gown. Her eyes grow large as they take in the car and she glances at Mum, who raises her shoulders, as though to say, 'I know, isn't it unbelievable?'

'Morning, Janice,' says Dad.

'Morning, Graham,' says Janice dazedly. 'Oh Becky! I've never seen anything like it. In all the years… If Tom could only see you…' She breaks off and looks at Mum. 'Have you taken any photographs?'

'We haven't!' says Mum in dismay. 'It didn't even occur to us. Graham, quick – go and get the camera.'

'No, wait, I'll get our camcorder!' says Janice. 'It won't take me two ticks. We could have the car arriving in the drive, and Becky walking out of the front door… and maybe we could use The Four Seasons as the soundtrack, and then cut straight to-'

'No!' I say hastily, seeing a flicker of amusement pass across the face of the driver. God, this is embarrassing. And I was doing so well at looking nonchalant and professional. 'We haven't got time for any pictures. I have to get to the studios!'

'Yes,' says Janice, suddenly looking anxious. 'Yes, you don't want to be late.' She glances fearfully at her watch as though afraid the programme might already have started. 'It's on at eleven, isn't it?'

'Eleven o'clock the programme starts,' says Dad. 'Set the video for five too, that's what I've been telling people.'

'That's what we'll do,' says Janice. 'Just in case.' She gives a little sigh. 'I shan't dare to go to the loo, all morning, just in case I miss it!'

There's an awed silence as I get into the car. The driver closes the door smartly, then walks around to the driver's door. I press the button to lower my window and grin out at Mum and Dad.

'Becky, darling, what will you do afterwards?' says Mum. 'Come back here or go back to the flat?'

Immediately I feel my smile falter, and look down, pretending to fiddle with the window controls. I don't want to think about afterwards.

In fact, I can't even visualize afterwards. I'm going to be on the telly… and that's as far as it goes. The rest of my life is shut securely away in a box at the back of my head and I don't want to remember it's there.

'I … I'm not sure,' I say. 'I'll see what happens.'

'They'll probably take you out to lunch afterwards,' says Dad knowledgeably. 'These showbiz types are always having lunch with each other.'

'Liquid lunches,' puts in Janice, and gives a little laugh.

'At the Ivy,' says Mum. 'That's where all the actors meet up, isn't it?'

'The Ivy's old hat!' retorts Dad. 'They'll take her to the Groucho Club.'

'The Groucho Club!' says Janice, clasping her hands. 'Isn't that where Kate Moss goes?'

This is getting ridiculous.

'We'd better go,' I say, and the driver nods.

'Good luck, sweetheart,' calls Dad. I close the window and lean back, and the car purrs out of the drive.

For a while, we drive in silence. I keep casually glancing out of the window to see if anyone's looking at me in my chauffeur-driven car and wondering who I am (that new girl on EastEnders, perhaps). Although we're whizzing along the dual carriageway so fast, I probably look like a blur.

'So,' says the driver after a while. 'You're appearing on Morning Coffee, are you?'

'Yes, I am,' I say, and immediately feel a joyful smile plaster itself over my face. God, I must stop this. I bet Jeremy Paxman doesn't start grinning inanely every time someone asks him if he's appearing on University Challenge. He probably just gives a little sneer, as if to say Of course I'm appearing on University Challenge, you brainless little…

'So what're you on for?' says the driver, interrupting my thoughts.

I'm about to reply, 'To be famous and maybe get some free clothes' when I realize what he means.

'A financial story,' I say coolly. 'I wrote a piece in the Daily World, and the producers read it, and wanted me on the show.'

'Been on television before?'

'No,' I admit, slightly reluctantly. 'No, I haven't.'

We pull up at some lights and the driver turns round in his seat to survey me.

'You'll be fine,' he says. 'Just don't let the nerves get to you.'

'Nerves?' I say, and give a little laugh. 'I'm not nervous! I'm just… looking forward to it.'

'Glad to hear it,' says the driver, turning back. 'You'll be OK, then. Some people, they get onto that sofa, thinking they're fine, relaxed, happy as a sandboy… then they see that red light, and it hits them that million people around the country are all watching them. Makes some people start to panic. Don't know why.'

'Oh,' I say after a slight pause. 'Well… I'm nothing like them! I'll be fine!'

'Good,' says the driver.

'Good,' I echo, a little less certainly, and look out of the window.

I'll be fine. Of course I will. I've never been nervous in my life before, and I'm certainly not going to start…

2.5 million people.

Gosh. When you think about it – that is quite a lot, isn't it? 2.5 million people, all sitting at home, staring at the screen. Staring at my face. Waiting for what I'm going to say next.

Oh God. OK, don't think about it. The important thing is just to keep remembering how well prepared I am. I rehearsed for ages in front of the mirror last night and I know what I'm going to say practically by heart.

It all has to be at a very basic and simple level, Zelda said – because apparently 76 per cent of the Morning Coffee audience are housewives looking after toddlers, who have very short attention spans. She kept apologizing for what she called the 'dumbing down effect' and saying a financial expert like myself must feel really frustrated by it – and of course, I agreed with her.

But to be honest, I'm quite relieved. In fact, the more dumbed-down the better, as far as I'm concerned. I mean, writing a Daily World article with all my notes to hand was one thing, but answering tricky questions on live TV is quite another. (A scary thought, actually – not that I told Zelda that. I don't want her to think I'm a total durr-brain.)

So anyway, I'm going to start off by saying, 'If you were offered a choice between a carriage clock and ?20,000, which would you choose?' Rory or Emma will reply: '?20,000, of course!' and I'll say, 'Exactly. Twenty thousand pounds'. I'll pause briefly, to let that figure sink into the audience's mind – and then I'll say, 'Unfortunately, when Flagstaff Life offered their customers a carriage clock to transfer their savings, they didn't tell them that if they did so, they would lose a ?20,000 windfall!'

That sounds quite good, don't you think? Rory and Emma will ask a few very easy questions like 'What can people do to protect themselves?', and I'll give nice simple answers. And right at the end, just to keep it light, we're going to talk about all the different things you could buy with ?20,000.

Actually, that's the bit I'm looking forward to most of all. I've already thought of loads of things. Did you know, with ?20,000 you could buy fifty-two Gucci watches, and have enough left over for a bag?

The Morning Coffee studios are in Maida Vale, and as we draw near to the gates, familiar from the opening credits of the show, I feel a dart of excitement. I'm actually here. I'm actually going to be on television!

The doorman waves us through the barrier; we pull up outside a pair of huge double doors, and the driver opens the door for me. As I get out my legs are shaking slightly, but I force myself to walk confidently up the steps, into the reception hall, and up to the desk.

'I'm here for Morning Coffee,' I say, and give a little laugh as I realize what I've just said. 'I mean…' 'I know what you mean,' says the receptionist, kindly but wearily. She looks my name up on a list, jabs a number into her phone, and says, 'Jane? Rebecca Bloomwood's here.' Then she gestures to a row of squashy chairs and says, 'Someone will be with you shortly.'

I walk over to the seating area and sit down opposite a middle-aged woman with lots of wild dark hair and a big amber necklace round her neck. She's lighting up a cigarette, and even though I don't really smoke any more, I suddenly feel as though I could do with one myself.

Not that I'm nervous or anything. I just fancy a cigarette.

'Excuse me,' calls the receptionist. 'This is a no smoking area.'

'Damn,' says the woman in a raspy voice. She takes a long drag, then stubs the cigarette out on a saucer and smiles at me conspiratorially. 'Are you a guest on the show?' she says.

'Yes,' I say. 'Are you?'

The woman nods. 'Promoting my new novel, Blood Red Sunset.' She lowers her voice to a thrilling throb. 'A searing tale of love, greed and murder, set in the ruthless world of South American money launderers.'

'Gosh,' I say. 'That sounds really-'

'Let me give you a copy,' interrupts the woman. She reaches into a Mulberry holdall by her side and pulls out a vividly coloured hardback book. 'Remind me of your name?'

Remind her?

'It's Rebecca,' I say. 'Rebecca Bloomwood.'

'To Becca,' the woman says aloud, as she scrawls inside the front page. 'With love and great affection.'

She signs with a flourish and hands the book to me.

'Gosh,' I say. 'Thanks…' quickly I look at the cover 'Elisabeth.'

Elisabeth Plover. To be honest, I've never heard of her.

'I expect you're wondering how I came to know such a lot about such a violent, dangerous world,' says Elisabeth. She leans forward and gazes at me with huge green eyes. 'The truth is, I lived with a money launderer for three long months. I loved him, I learned from him… and then I betrayed him.' Her voice dies to a trembling whisper. 'I still remember the look he gave me as the police dragged him away. He knew what I'd done. He knew I was his Judas Iscariot. And yet, in a strange kind of way, I think he loved me for it.'

'Wow,' I say, impressed in spite of myself. 'Did all this happen in South America?'

'Have,' she says, after a slight pause. 'But money launderers are the same the world over.'

'Rebecca?' says a voice, before I can think of a reply to this, and we both look up to see a girl with smooth dark hair, in jeans and a black polo-neck, walking swiftly towards us. 'I'm Zelda. We spoke yesterday?'

'Zelda!' exclaims Elisabeth, getting to her feet. 'How have you been, my darling?' She holds out her arms, and Zelda stares at her.

'I'm sorry,' she says, 'have we…' She stops as her gaze falls on my copy of Blood Red Sunset. 'Oh yes, that's right. Elisabeth Plummer. One of the researchers will be down for you a minute. Meanwhile, do help yourself to coffee.' She flashes her a smile, then turns to me. 'Rebecca, are you ready?'

'Yes!' I say eagerly, leaping up from my chair. (I have to admit, I feel quite flattered that Zelda's come down to get me herself. I mean, she obviously doesn't come down for everyone.)

'Great to meet you,' says Zelda, shaking my hand. 'Great to have you on the show. Now, as usual, we're completely frantic – so if it's OK by you, I thought we'd just head straight off to hair and makeup and we can talk on the way.'

'Absolutely,' I say, trying not to sound too excited. 'Good idea.'

Hair and makeup! This is so cool!

'There's been a slight change of plan which I need to fill you in on,' says Zelda. 'Nothing to worry about…

Any word from Belle yet?' she adds to the receptionist.

The receptionist shakes her head, and Zelda mutters something which sounds like 'Stupid cow'.

'OK, let's go,' she says, heading off towards a pair of swing doors. 'I'm afraid it's even more crazy than usual today. One of our regulars has let us down, so we're searching for a replacement, and there's been an accident in the kitchen…' She pushes through the swing doors and now we're striding along a green-carpeted corridor buzzing with people. 'Plus we've got Heaven Sent 7 in today,' she adds over her shoulder. 'Which means the switchboard gets jammed with fans calling in, and we have to find dressing-room space for seven enormous egos.'