Gerry kissed her hand. The women’s eyes signalled across his head.

Go on!

Shut up!

Gerry steered her to the kitchen, where there was champagne. No staff tonight, Victoria noted; this was one of Adele’s informal at-homes. No one to overhear. No need for discretion.

‘So,’ began Gerry, ‘how do you know Adele?’

Victoria felt as if she was being interviewed for a job. ‘Oh, we go way back.’

‘Did she pluck you out of school?’

It was a clumsy compliment, but a compliment nonetheless. ‘Something like that.’

‘I’ve not seen you here before.’

‘No . . . I suppose I’ve been rather out of circulation.’ Like a library book, thought Victoria. Does that mean I’m now back on the shelf?

‘Me too,’ said Gerry. ‘But things change, don’t they? Adele tells me you work in fashion.’

How much, exactly, had Adele told him?

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘That must be very rewarding.’

Had he heard about her imminent redundancy?

‘Well, it has its ups and downs, like any job.’

‘I’m a lawyer myself.’

‘I rather imagined you were.’

‘I expect you’ve heard of Pennington and Blythe.’

‘Indeed I have. You’re representing a friend of mine.’

How much had Adele told him?

‘Oh, really?’

‘Janet Rivelli.’

‘Mmm hmm.’ Damn his professional discretion.

‘Will she win, do you think?’

Gerry’s eyes goggled. ‘That’s a very direct question.’

‘I’m a very direct girl.’

He looked her up and down, licking his thick lips. ‘I bet you are.’

‘So? What’s the forecast?’

‘Stormy,’ he said. ‘The husband is instructing Christine Fairbrother.’

I know that name.

‘You might have heard of her daughter,’ continued Gerry. ‘She’s in fashion, apparently. A designer.’

Ah. That Christine Fairbrother. Isabelle’s mother.

‘Yes, of course. Dear Isabelle. Well well. Small world.’

Victoria left quietly, without causing a scene.

Christine was walking along High Holborn, on her way back to Middle Temple after successfully demolishing another marriage, when her mobile rang.

‘Christine Fairbrother.’

‘Miss Fairbrother.’ The emphasis was unmistakeable.

‘Mr Rivelli.’

‘I am sorry to disturb you . . .’

‘Where did you get this number from? If you need to speak to me, you should go through Ferguson McCreath.’

‘You will forgive me.’ An order – or just a foreign word order? ‘I obtained it through a little white lie. Your PA was very helpful.’

‘We don’t have PAs, Mr Rivelli. We have clerks. Now what do you want?’

‘I have an urgent matter to discuss.’

‘Call John Ferguson.’

‘I don’t think it would be of much interest to him.’

‘What is it?’

‘Your daughter.’

She stopped in front of a shop window, saw herself standing with her mouth open.

‘I don’t think that’s really appropriate.’

Apparently, he didn’t hear this. There was a crackle on the line, and then she heard the words ‘dinner tonight’.

‘You know I can’t do that, Mr Rivelli.’

‘Ah, but I have booked a table at Le Gavroche.’