‘And then Jonathan came rushing out after me,’ she says, suddenly as breathless as a schoolgirl on her first crush. ‘He’s desperate for us to talk things over. But of course, I had to get back here, because I’m teaching Kim how to walk in heels. Oops!’ She covers her mouth with her hand. ‘You didn’t hear it from me, darling; it’s supposed to be a surprise.’

This is news to me. ‘Wow. It’s literally going to be a whole new step for Kim.’

‘I honestly could not have that man striding down the runway in flats. My reputation depends on it.’

She has sent invitations out to fashion magazines, dailies and supplements, name-dropping wildly.

That’s interesting, but I bring her back to the main topic. ‘So … how did you leave things with Dad?’

‘Let’s just say he’s taking me to dinner tonight and I’ve decided to give him a second chance. The fashion show has sparked up old memories of my modelling days, if you know what I mean.’ She looks over her shoulder at David. ‘For your information, David, old is a figure of speech, I’d just like to point out.’

‘I know that,’ he says mildly.

David remains wonderfully impervious to both her charms and her moods. I’m getting better at coping with them too; I’d say my current transformation is from a wilting orchid to a thriving dandelion, which is never a look I thought I’d go for.

Moss lowers his newspaper. ‘Annabel, listen, anyone asks, tell them you’re over twenty-one,’ he advises my mother soberly.

She’s flattered. ‘You’re right, Moss,’ she says. ‘That’s all anyone needs to know about me. No Dinah today?’

‘My bride will be here soon,’ Moss replies confidently, looking at his watch. He folds up his newspaper and gets slowly to his feet. ‘This fashion show and auction. The proceeds are for refugees, no?’

I nod. It wasn’t a difficult decision, seeing as the main attraction will be Dinah’s ‘Chanel-style’ suits, as I’ve cautiously described them. ‘Why?’

Moss’s worn face creases into an enigmatic smile and he taps his nose.

My mother gets up from the edge of David’s table. ‘I’m going to start holding deportment classes. Our models might not be all model-shaped, but I’m making damned sure they’ll walk like them,’ she says nobly. She waggles her fingers at us. ‘See you later,’ she adds as she struts away.

I go back to my pricing, scratching my head with my pen.

‘Good afternoon,’ Dinah announces moments later, bulldozing her way through the crowds, pushing a large, shiny silver suitcase. She’s wearing a pink and cream tea-length dress and a little cream jacket with strings of pink faux pearls. She looks as cool as an ice cream. ‘Where’s mein mann? Oh, there you are.’