I can hear the front door opening. They’re coming in. Stay calm, Becky … stay cool …

‘… go into the library, I thought.’ Luke is speaking. ‘Sage, meet my wife, Becky.’

My face starts prickling as three figures appear round the door. Oh my God. It’s her. It’s her! Right here in this room! She’s smaller than I expected, with tiny bronzed arms and that familiar treacly hair. Clothes: teeny white jeans, orange flats, a little grey vest and The Jacket. The Jacket. I can’t believe she’s wearing it! It’s pale, buttery suede and she was wearing it in US Weekly last week. It was in ‘Who Wore It Best?’ and she won. Of course she did.

I’ve met Aran before: he’s Sage’s manager. He’s tall and buff and blond, with blue eyes and slanty eyebrows, and kisses me politely in greeting.

‘Hi, Becky,’ Sage says pleasantly. ‘We spoke on the phone, right? For Luke’s party.’

She’s got the most amazing accent. It’s mostly American, but with a hint of French, because her mother’s half-French and she spent her early childhood in Switzerland. People magazine once called it ‘the sexiest accent alive’ and I kind of agree.

‘We did,’ I gulp. ‘Yes. Hi.’

I try to think of something else to say … something witty … come on, Becky … but something’s wrong with my head. It’s gone blank. All I can think is, It’s Sage Seymour! In my living room!

‘You have a nice yard,’ says Sage, as though she’s making a really deep pronouncement.

‘Thank you. We like it.’ Luke strides ahead and pushes open the glass doors to the garden. Sage and Aran follow him out and I follow behind. We all look at the inviting blue of the pool, and I urgently try to think of something to say. But it’s like my brain has been replaced by cotton wool.

‘Shall we sit out here?’ says Luke, gesturing to our outdoor dining table. It has a massive parasol above it and the pool guy hoses it every day to keep it clean.

‘Sure.’ Sage slides gracefully into a chair, followed by Aran.

‘There’s water in the chiller …’ Luke hands bottles around.

‘Can I get anyone coffee?’ Finally I manage to string two words together.

‘No thanks,’ says Aran politely.

‘I think we’re fine, Becky,’ says Luke. ‘Thanks.’ He gives me a nod which I understand. It means, Leave us alone now. I’ll just pretend I didn’t see it.

As the three start getting out folders and papers, I hurry back into the house, grab the brocade coat, a belt and a pair of shoes, and zoom back out into the garden. I arrive breathlessly next to Sage and hold the coat out on one arm.

‘I just bought this,’ I say chattily. ‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’

Sage surveys the coat. ‘Cute,’ she says with a nod, and turns back to a page of photocopied press clippings.

‘D’you want to try it on?’ I say casually. ‘I’m sure it’s your size. It would really suit you.’