Dan looked up as the door of the kitchen opened and Josh walked in.

“Hi there. Where have you sprung from?”

“Upstairs,” Josh replied, pulling the flex from the kettle and filling it up from the tap.

“Really? I thought I was alone in the house. Aren’t you working tonight?”

“No. I couldn’t be bothered. I rang in and said I was ill.”

“Oh,” Dan murmured before turning back to the magazine to read the final paragraph of the article.

“Vagabonds is not only a niche market, but our products would seem to be considered a classic, judging by our ever-escalating order book. It will quite simply run and run.”

“Hey, Vaggas. Awesome wear.”

Dan turned to find Josh looking over his shoulder at the magazine.

“What?”

“Those trousers. They’re called Vaggas.”

Dan frowned quizzically at his son, then shot a glance back at the photograph of the young male model. “You mean you know about them?”

“Of course I do. They’re Vaggas.”

“Which I suppose has to be an abbreviation of Vagabonds, the name of the company that makes them.”

“Whatever,” Josh said, moving over to the sideboard to make himself a cup of coffee. “I just know them as Vaggas.”

“But how on earth do you know about them?”

“I’ve seen them worn in the Inferno. They’re great for clubbing, being loose-fitting and all that.”

“Are you telling me that these trousers are considered ‘cool wear’?”

Josh laughed. “No, I’m not telling you that because I wouldn’t use a phrase like that. Maybe . . . um . . . ‘ultimate’ wear would be better.”

“For heaven’s sakes,” Dan murmured incredulously, knowing that Josh’s use of that word was reserved for only the best things in life.

“They’re pretty difficult to get hold of, though. All I’ve ever managed to lay my hands on is one of their baseball caps, and that’s because I nicked it off a friend. You know the one. It’s got a V on the front with sort of squiggly bits at the side.”

Dan nodded slowly. “Yes, that does ring a bell.”

“I’ve tried to find the company on the Internet, but I don’t think they’ve got a website. From what I gather, you can only buy them on mail order.”

Dan flipped over the page to study once more the unassuming, countrified woman who had obviously stumbled upon a style phenomenon. “If these trousers are such a success, why has nobody ever tried to copy them?”

“I’m not sure—but if I was going to buy a pair, I’d only want them to be the genuine article. It’s like you buying a pair of Levi’s, isn’t it? You wouldn’t want to walk around in a pair of denims with the name of a supermarket stuck on your backside.”