‘Well, yeah, I am and I’m not.’ Nina scratched her nails through her hair and Alice realised it wasn’t pinned up under her feathered headpiece as she’d first assumed. She had a pixie cut. A pixie cut! A deb with a pixie cut and dungarees! She was slim, too, halfway to a Kate Moss waif, with huge hazel eyes and perfectly arched eyebrows. What was she doing here, crying in the bathroom of Le Crillon at le Bal? ‘I mean, I… Samir Laurent’s my dad.’ Nina shrugged, to imply nonchalance, but the way she said it was like she had something stuck to her tongue and she was trying to extricate it.

‘Samir. Laurent. Is your father?’ said the official-looking girl – did she work at the hotel? – sounding impressed. ‘How old are you? How old is he?’

‘Seventeen. I know, right? Fuck. What am I doing here?’ She removed a cigarette box from under her arm, flicking it open with a thumb and withdrawing a cigarette using her teeth. Alice couldn’t help but think it was the coolest thing she’d ever seen.

‘Do you think I can smoke in here?’

‘You’re a deb and your father’s a film star.’ Alice shrugged. ‘I think you can do as you please.’

A cloud passed over Nina’s face. She looked as though she might be sick. ‘When in Paris, eh?’ she said, leaning an elbow against an ornate mirror as she took a drag on her cigarette. She offered Alice and Julia the box. They both shook their heads. Nina shrugged and the whole exchange seemed so perfectly sophisticated and French that Julia practically swooned. She felt entirely out of place, as she often did, but for the first time it felt enthralling.

‘I only just found out. He’s my dad, I mean. Well, six months ago, when he invited me to this.’

She’s a deb with a pixie cut and dungarees and an estranged movie-star father. Good grief, thought Alice, this was getting better by the second.

‘But I don’t know why he bothered, to be honest. I’ve hardly seen him. I’ve mainly had awkward fittings for my dress – everyone’s annoyed at having to leave it so late, and the fuss over these stupid feathers – with my grandmother, who keeps trying to speak to me in French and looking annoyed when I can’t reply. I thought this would be exciting, but instead it’s…’ She stubbed out her cigarette against the porcelain sink, her words juddering to a halt as she fought back tears.

‘What’s the problem with the feathers?’ Julia asked, surveying them. She avoided adding, apart from the obvious.

‘They’re… jaunty,’ Alice supplied, struggling for something positive to say.

‘Last-minute addition,’ Nina said, ‘after my grandmother spotted my tattoo.’ She winced and turned her back in their direction. If you looked properly, an aqua-blue shape was just visible above the springy feathers. ‘I am literally half-ostrich right now,’ she said, deadpan and Alice had to stifle a giggle.