Josh raised his eyebrows. “In-trigue.”

A new page had come up on the screen. Dan made a selection before continuing. “I’m going to take a look at that company, Vagabonds.”

“Vagabonds?” Josh asked. “For what reason?”

“Because it’s up for sale.”

Josh let out a short, derisive laugh. “Hang on, you’ve lost me. You’re not saying that you’re thinking of buying it—are you?”

“Well, let’s just see, shall we? You said yourself that the market has hardly been scratched. I think it’s worth finding out a bit more about them.”

“Wow!” Josh exclaimed in quiet incredulity. Dan felt a light punch on his left shoulder, and he turned to look at his son who was slowly nodding, a grin of “reespect” on his face. “Nice one, Dad. Go for it.”

“Keep it to yourself, though.”

Josh gave him a wink and tapped the side of his nose with a forefinger. “Mum’s the word.”

Dan smiled and shook his head. “No, Josh, that is definitely not the word.”

10

As Jackie entered her hotel bedroom that evening, a soft wedge of reddened sunlight flooded across the thick patterned carpet, eventually trapping itself under the footwell of the small leather-inlaid desk that stood against the wall. Throwing her handbag onto the bed, she took a coat hanger from the wardrobe and hung up her suit jacket, then walked across to the full-length window and opened it. She leaned her hands on the wrought iron guardrail and breathed in the warm air, filled with the rich aromatic smells of the city, as she looked out over the glinting skyline of Paris from her vantage point on the heights of Montmartre. The incessant traffic hummed busily below her on the Boulevard de Clichy, broken now by the melodious bells of Sacré Coeur calling out the evening mass.

A smile of contentment brushed across her mouth. Everything had gone to plan over the weekend—the meeting with the Chambre Syndicale, the suitability of their venue in the Bourdelle Museum. And what’s more, she had received e-mails both from the agency in London confirming the model bookings and from the set designer saying that all would be completed by the time that she returned to London.

Back to London. The mere thought of it immediately replaced her calm with a stomach-knot of agitation. She loved having her own space, being able to return to her hotel bedroom every evening and relish the successes of each day. She couldn’t do that in London. Every evening was the same when she returned to the house in Clapham. No matter what her mood, the oppressive atmosphere of gloom and despondency that emanated throughout the place would envelop her and she would almost physically sense her own character being overpowered by ill-feeling and contempt. And she knew that it was Dan who was wholly to blame for bringing about that change in her.