‘I’m working later today,’ she said to Mrs Maskell. ‘But my father will be back this evening, so everything should be under control for tonight. He should phone Dr Ward as soon as he gets in – could you tell him please, or leave him a message?’

‘Are you doing something glamorous, dear?’ Mrs Maskell loved to recount embroidered versions of Camilla’s shoots to her friends.

‘Today? Oh very fancy, yes. Photos that are going to be used to advertise corn flakes. Can’t get much more glamorous than that, can you? Unless you count the pictures for knitting patterns, and all those woolly jumpers I had to struggle in and out of last week. I’ve still got a skin rash on my back and I feel itchy every time I think of it.’ Camilla laughed. ‘It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, the model’s life. Don’t let your pretty daughter even think about it.’

Tom was waiting for her in his office. It was in Soho, a grubby place with a narrow flight of stairs leading up to it, and he made sure that his meetings with magazine editors were held elsewhere. The lights on the stairwell and in the corridor seldom worked, and Camilla had tripped on the steps several times before learning her way up the uneven, ragged carpet.

‘Why don’t you move somewhere decent?’ she asked him for the hundredth time. ‘Or at least get a cleaner and a good secretary. God knows, you earn enough to be more comfortable than this. Look at these disgusting coffee cups – they were in the sink when I was here last week, and no one’s washed them since. You’re a slob.’

‘Thank God I don’t want to marry you. You’d be a real nag as a wife,’ he said cheerfully. ‘There are more cups in the corner cupboard, so make us a coffee, there’s a good girl. You’ve been offered another catalogue job, but the clothes are grim and I think you should turn it down.’

‘I can’t afford to turn anything down right now,’ she said.

‘You mustn’t take any old offer, or word will get around that you’re desperate. You don’t need the cash, and you’ve got the Paris booking for the new year. Here’s the paper to sign. It pays rather well, this one.’

‘I might be desperate soon. I’ll be out of commission altogether in March or April, when I have my scar removed. I won’t earn anything for weeks.’ She had a horrible fear of being without money, of having to give up her flat, or rent out the guest bedroom to a stranger. There was no question of her living with her parents again, and retaining her independence was the most important issue in her life.

‘You’ve made plenty of money over the last couple of years.’