There was no one to meet her at arrivals, and she pushed her own luggage cart, just like any other tourist. Normally, as an ambassador of Massimo Rivelli, she was chauffeured to her destination, after flying first class, well rested and looking forward to the receptions and shows that gave her an excuse to travel. Now, tired and aching after seven hours in a small seat, her guts sour and churning, her teeth coated and her skin greasy, she made her to way to the strange terrain of the airport bus station. She dared not take a cab. The bus to Grand Central Station would only cost fifteen bucks, and from there, if necessary, she could walk to the little hotel off Seventh Avenue. Thank God she had her hair tucked up under a cap, no make-up and a huge pair of shades. It really wouldn’t do to be recognised on a bus. Slumming went only so far.

An hour and a half after leaving the airport, Victoria was throwing herself on to the shiny satin cover of a creaky double bed in a room rather too small to contain it. The window didn’t open, but that scarcely mattered; New York at this time of year was so cold that anything you could do to keep the elements out was welcome. She lay back, tore the sunglasses from her face for the first time since she’d landed, and stared up at the light fitting, an elaborate affair of brass rods and fluted glass that would have benefited from dusting. She wanted to sleep – her body was crying out for it, from her gritty eyes to her throbbing feet – but sleep would not come. There was too much to think about. She needed a drink, but this was not the sort of hotel that had room service. Fortunately, she’d had the foresight to pick up a bottle of brandy and several hundred cigarettes at the airport. She poured a generous slug into one of the bathroom tumblers, sat in the window and sipped, watching the world go by, four storeys down. It was still early in the morning. People were on their way to work. The brandy went straight where it was needed, untying the knots in her intestines, warming her heart and deadening the generalised pain in her limbs. She lit a cigarette, assuming, rightly, that smoking was forbidden on hotel premises, and daring anyone to do anything about it.

Let ’em try.