‘I’d better not see that on eBay,’ said Will, as the odd couple shuffled off, giggling behind their hands.

Dan Parker arrived late, full of apologies, and Isabelle was pleased to see him. At least he didn’t feel the need to raid the dressing-up box. His M&S shirts and slacks were a relief after the relentless tailoring and distressing.

‘You’ve arrived!’ said Isabelle, kissing him on the cheek. He was the only man in the room who did not have some kind of designer stubble. It was nice not to have that sensation of being attacked by a piece of Velcro. Dan was smooth, and smelt of soap.

‘I’d say it’s you who’s arrived,’ said Dan. ‘Look at all this! You’ve come a long way in a short time.’

‘Hope we’re making lots of lovely money for you and Fiona.’

‘You certainly are.’

‘Glad to be of service.’

‘Perhaps you’d let me spend some of it on you some time?’

‘Are you going to ask me for a date?’

‘Yes, I think I am. Here goes. Isabelle,’ said Dan, standing rather stiffly, ‘would you let me take you out for dinner?’

‘I certainly would.’

‘When suits you?’

‘Let me think,’ said Isabelle, chewing the end of the pen she’d just used to sign Vogue. ‘How about . . . let me see . . . in about an hour? I think they’ll have drunk us dry by then.’

‘Oh, right! I’d better nip home and change, then.’

‘Please don’t,’ she said. ‘I like you just the way you are.’

The lobster salad at Le Gavroche did not disappoint.

Rivelli made small talk, all of it subtly flirtatious. He spoke very little about himself, but was interested in every detail of Christine’s life. By the time the main course was over, he was familiar with her career history, knew about her divorce and shared her excitement over her elevation to Queen’s Counsel. It made a very refreshing change from Joel and his incessant monologues.

They said nothing about his divorce, which was only right and proper, and allowed Christine to silence the nagging voice that told her she should not be here at all.

They did not even mention Isabelle until dessert had been ordered.

‘Now,’ said Rivelli, ‘I have an awkward question to ask you.’

‘Yes. I thought you might.’

‘You know, perhaps, that I have a professional interest in your daughter.’

‘So I hear.’

‘I want very much to take her under exclusive licence.’

‘I understood that you had already done so.’

‘I do not want to complicate matters, however. I know how important it is for you to be above the table.’

‘Well, that’s not quite what we say, but . . .’

‘So if you feel that there is a conflict of interests, I will of course abide by your decision.’

‘Meaning what, exactly?’