‘Miss Fairbrother.’ A hand on her elbow.

‘Ah, Mr Rivelli.’

‘I did not realise that you were interested in fashion.’

‘I’m Isabelle’s mother.’

‘You?’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘Surely, impossible.’

John hovered behind Christine, holding fresh drinks.

‘All too possible, I’m afraid.’

‘You are married?’

‘Not any more. But my husband . . . my ex-husband . . . Is here, somewhere . . .’

‘Hello, Massimo.’ John sounded rather stern.

‘Ah, Ferguson! Keeping an eye on me?’

‘Not at all. Friend of the family.’

‘Very cosy.’ The two men eyeballed each other across Christine. ‘Well, I must not abandon my wife.’ Rivelli said it without irony; perhaps, thought Christine, irony does not translate. ‘Ferguson.’ He extended a hand, the two men shook. ‘Christine.’ He took her hand, kissed it, bowed.

‘Who’s been vamped now?’ said John.

‘A note of jealousy?’ asked Christine, mimicking him.

‘Frankly, yes. And I’m not sure that one’s client should be flirting with counsel.’

‘It doesn’t look like it’s going to court from where I’m standing.’ Mr and Mrs Rivelli were reunited, chatting to friends, to all appearances a perfect team.

‘Don’t be deceived. Rivelli is quaking in his boots.’

‘Will they settle, then?’

‘Who knows?’ said John. ‘You’re witnessing a very civilised power struggle. The stakes are high.’

‘It’s exciting,’ said Christine, squeezing John’s arm. ‘How will it all end?’

‘That depends on what happens now.’

Janet and Victoria were keeping as much space between them as possible – for now. One moved, the other moved. Little by little, the distance between them diminished, like two stars set on a collision course, impelled by gravity. They drifted towards the end of the catwalk, and then, like duellists who had chosen their ground, both stopped and turned.

Victoria engineered the collision, manoeuvring backwards until Andy stumbled against the steps, and, when he did, massively overreacting so that she swerved in a semicircular movement and sloshed her drink at Janet Rivelli’s feet. Not on them, of course – she knew better than to drench her rival’s Louboutins. Just in front of them.

Victoria shrieked as if she had been attacked, righted herself by using Andy as a sort of climbing frame, brushed the hair out of her eyes. ‘Massimo!’ she said, loud enough for all to hear. ‘How lovely.’ She went to kiss him, but Janet interposed. The battle lines were drawn. Conversation stopped. Ben really should have turned the music down, so that everyone could hear – but you didn’t need to be a lip-reader to follow the gist. Janet stood her ground.

‘Get out of my way,’ said Victoria. She was almost six inches higher than Janet, although much of that was hair.

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ said Janet, her voice sounding computer generated.

‘What you do is a matter of complete indifference to me.’ She was going to say ‘us’, but thought it better to keep her powder dry.