‘It’s scratched you right off the front of the American glossies, mate, and me with you. Didn’t I bloody warn you it was dangerous going to Africa? That you’d be better off coming to Ibiza with me. That you’d be better off doing anything rather than going out there, among all those bloody nignogs. You’ve ruined us both, for God’s sake. Screwed the best chance of our lives. It’s all the same to you, I’m sure, with your posh family and all. But this was the biggest fucking offer of my career, and you’ve fucking ruined it!’

She was shocked by his words and the rage in his eyes. Her gaze shifted to the unmade bed at the back of the studio, from which he had stumbled to answer the door. On his work table were the pictures that had won them the shoot in New York. Camilla looked at her image, at a photograph of a girl in a satin evening dress standing in a field of flowers, her shimmering hair blowing back off her face. An unblemished beauty.

‘I can have my hair changed. Go geometric and ask Sassoon to cut a big fringe. With a generous amount of pancake no one will see the cut.’

‘Oh, right.’ His voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘No one will notice at all that your forehead is bandaged from one side to the other. As long as there isn’t the slightest bloody breeze out there in Central Park, where we were going to shoot the clothes. And we’ll get down on our bloody knees and pray that the air is as still as a stagnant pond when we’re taking pictures on Fifth Avenue, with all them tall buildings funnelling the wind along the street. Maybe the punters reading American Vogue will think that thing across your head is a new kind of hairband. Maybe you’ll start a whole new look, for Christ’s sake.’

Camilla sat down in a chair. It was cold in the studio and the chill of early autumn had entered her bones, filling her with weariness. She had come directly from the airport to see him, knowing that he would be dismayed. But she had not expected the blunt cruelty of his reaction. They worked together regularly, and she had assumed they were friends. Now she saw that this was an illusion. She was part of his meal ticket, a tool to advance his own ambitions.