‘I’m not going to cancel.’ I’m feeling resolute. ‘Elinor and Luke have to sort things out, and I really think I can help them, and the longer I put it off, the harder it’ll be.’

‘God help us.’ Suze stares at me, incredulous. ‘You are going to stage an intervention.’

‘Why not? I’m sure I can do it. With or without help,’ I say pointedly.

‘Who needs help?’ comes Luke’s voice from the corridor, and I stiffen. I hastily turn off my phone and paste on a casual smile.

‘Oh hi!’ I say brightly, as he comes in, all smart in black tie. ‘Just talking about … kettlebells.’

‘Marvellous,’ says Luke, shooting me an odd look. ‘What is a kettlebell? I keep hearing about them.’

‘It’s an exercise device,’ I improvise. ‘It’s modelled on a kettle. And a bell, obviously. Both. So, what time shall we leave?’ I add hurriedly.

‘Oh God, is that the time?’ Suze suddenly sounds fractious. ‘Where’s Tarkie?’

‘Haven’t seen him.’ Luke glances at his watch. ‘We’ll need to go in about twenty minutes.’

Luke wasn’t originally intending to come to the ASAs, but then suddenly Sage announced she wanted to go, and her whole entourage had to come too. Apparently she wanted to bring a monkey as a publicity stunt and Luke had to talk her out of it. A monkey! Imagine if it made a mess everywhere.

Now Luke’s eye has fallen on a shiny-cardboard carrier bag lying on the bed, out of which is poking a diamanté-encrusted clutch.

‘Another bag, Becky?’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘I thought the bag you bought at the weekend was so perfect you would use it for ever and it would be your signature look and people would call you “The Girl with the Lara Bohinc Bag”?’

I feel a dart of righteous indignation. Husbands should not memorize conversations, word for word. It’s against the whole spirit of marriage. But in this case I don’t mind, because whatever he’s thinking, he’s wrong.

‘That clutch isn’t for me. I bought it in my role as a stylist. It’s tax-deductible,’ I add smartly.

I don’t actually know if that’s true but it must be, surely?

‘Right. Of course. The styling.’ Luke looks quizzical. ‘How’s that going, then?’

‘Great!’ I say robustly. ‘Lots of potential. Lots of irons in the fire.’

Luke sighs. ‘Becky, sweetheart, I wish you’d let me help you. I’m sure I could get you a couple of introductions—’

‘I don’t need your help!’ I reply, stung. ‘I’m on the case.’

This is why I don’t want to mention Lois Kellerton yet. I want to show him. The bag’s for Lois, of course. It’s a one-off from a vintage shop and has an Art Deco design which I think she’ll love. Lately, Lois has taken to wearing really subtle, muted shades, which is all very well, but I think she needs to ‘pop’ more and this bag will be perfect. Especially against all that lovely dark hair. I’m planning to give it to her tonight, as an ice-breaker, and hopefully we can take things from there.