“Are you sure?” I wrinkle my brow. “Because I can easily do it—”

“Don’t be silly, Becky!” says Mum. “I don’t see enough of my grandchild these days. Now, Minnie, come and sit on Grana’s knee.” She holds out her arms for Minnie to run into. “We’ll have a nice story and play some games and…I know!” She beams. “Let’s have a lovely yummy Toblerone!”

SEVEN

I find Danny at a corner table in Bouchon, which is a posh, linen-tablecloths kind of restaurant. He’s deeply tanned (it’s got to be fake), he’s wearing a baby-blue biker jacket, and he’s sitting with a very blond, very pale girl with no makeup except deep-purple lipstick.

“Danny!” I hurry over and throw my arms around his skinny frame. “Oh my God! You’re alive!”

I haven’t seen Danny since he tried to cross the Greenland ice sheet for charity; he had to be airlifted out because he grazed his toe, or something, and go for a recuperative holiday in Miami.

“Only just,” says Danny. “It was touch and go.”

It was so not touch and go. I’ve spoken to his business manager: I know the truth. Only he said not to contradict Danny, because Danny thinks he nearly died.

“Poor you,” I say. “It must have been terrifying! All that snow and…er…wolves?”

“It was a nightmare!” says Danny fervently. “You know, Becky, I’ve left you a bunch of stuff in my will, and you were this close to getting it.”

“Really?” I can’t help feeling interested. “You’ve left me stuff? Like what?”

“Some clothes,” says Danny vaguely. “My Eames chair. A forest.”

“A forest?” I gape at him.

“I bought this forest in Montana. You know, for taxes? And I figured Minnie could go play in it or whatever—” He breaks off. “This is Ulla, by the way.”

“Hi, Ulla!” I wave a cheery hand, but Ulla just blinks nervously, mutters, “Hi,” and returns to work. She’s sketching something in a large artist’s pad, and as I glance over, I see it’s a close-up of the flower arrangement on the table.

“I just hired Ulla as my ‘inspiration finder,’ ” says Danny grandly. “She’s already filled that pad.” He gestures at it. “My whole new collection will be Las Vegas–inspired.”

“I thought it was going to be Inuit-inspired?” I object.

Last time I was in contact with Danny, he was talking about raw bone and Inuit crafts and the infinite expanse of whiteness, which he planned to represent in a pair of oversize men’s culottes.

“Inuit meets Las Vegas,” says Danny, without missing a beat. “So, did you gamble yet?”

“I don’t dare.” I shudder. “This woman has just told me gambling is like crystal meth and if I dip my toe in, I’ll get sucked in forever.”

I’m hoping he’ll say, That’s bullshit, but Danny nods gravely.

“It could happen. My school friend Tania never recovered from one night of online poker. It took hold of her and she was never the same person again. It was a pretty tragic story.”