David and I exchange glances, because she and Moss are so obviously up to something.

However, she seems to have a crisis of confidence because she clasps her hands together and says to Moss, ‘You tell her.’

‘Very well.’ Moss puts his black jacket on, as if he suddenly feels improperly dressed. He fastens the top button. ‘Fern, we have an additional item for the auction. My bride and I have decided to sell Christian Dior’s ‘Bar’ Suit,’ he announces with gravitas.

It’s like being punched in the chest. This is huge! I’m astounded, and speechless. This is the ‘New Look’ waspwaisted skirt suit of Shantung silk and wool crêpe that Dinah showed me the first day I went to her house.

‘It’s a very sexy ensemble,’ Dinah adds for David’s benefit, playing with the beads around her neck. ‘Dior was a sexy man – he died having sex,’ she explains to David matter-of-factly. ‘Trust me, dahlink, don’t you believe what anyone else says; that he choked on a fishbone. The fishbone story is all nonsense because he hated fish, he told me so himself. Anyway. We want to give this ensemble to the auction.’

Moss adds, ‘Also we would like it to be labelled From the Collection of Dinah Moss.’

Despite the sunshine, I can feel the warmth draining out of me. I’m in a state of shock. ‘Moss, I’m telling you, this is something else. This a game changer.’

Moss jerks his head. ‘Don’t you worry,’ he says gruffly, ‘we already know how much it’s worth. Kim has a google. Six figures, he says. Now you tell her,’ he says to Dinah.

Dinah clears her throat and steps forward, pushing the shiny suitcase towards me. ‘In here we have a gift for you. Keep the case, too and get rid of that old noisy one.’ She frowns. ‘You still have it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Anyway.’ She waves at the case. ‘Go on! Open it.’

I crouch down on the cobbles and open it nervously.

Wrapped in tissue is the Grès ivory one-shouldered Grecian-draped full-length couture gown that I’d tried on in her dressing room. It’s too much. Overcome by their kindness I try to control my emotions. ‘Thank you both so much.’

‘Come. Get up. Don’t cry,’ Dinah says kindly, reaching for my hand. Her fingers grip mine tightly. ‘It’s for you to wear at your wedding. It will make you happy.’

I get up slowly, holding the dress in my other hand, glad that that my hair is loose and hiding my flushed face, and risk a glance at David.

The situation between me and David is that despite spending our spare time in his bed like two people who have been separated from each other for way too long, I am still spending my nights on the sofa in the flat.