They ordered in sandwiches or salads, when they weren’t obliged to go for a business lunch, something Isabelle delegated to Will as much as possible.

In the evenings, they were nearly always out, at openings and shows, launches and galas. Invitations poured in with every post; Will recycled ninety percent of them, and informed Isabelle of his decision late in the afternoon. She relied on his judgement, right down to choosing what she should wear. They did what was necessary in the kissing-and-being-seen department, and always made a point of saying goodnight to each other before going home or, often in Will’s case, to someone else’s home. A few hours’ sleep and then, providing they stuck to their two-drinks limit, back to work at nine the next morning.

The next collection was coming together. Perhaps some of the spontaneity had gone – this was not Isabelle’s first, fine, careless rapture, she now had a reputation to live up to, and certain expectations to meet, from her agents and manufacturers, from critics and buyers. But she was designing better than ever, buoyed up with the confidence of success. There was no more second-guessing the market, wondering if this was commercial, if that was too outré. Now she could follow her instincts, secure in the knowledge that this collection would be snapped up as quickly as she could design it. She could afford the best of everything.

Will raised his eyebrows when the bills came in.

‘You certainly aren’t cutting corners this time round, Princess.’

‘We can afford it, can’t we?’

‘We’ll be able to afford it when Rivelli pays up.’

‘What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with the contract, is there?’

‘No. The contract’s sound as a pound.’

‘You mean they’re late in paying?’

‘I mean they’re not paying at all. Yet.’

‘Should I be worried?’

‘No. It’s just how the world works. Rivelli won’t pay us until he absolutely has to, just as the shops won’t pay Rivelli, and we won’t pay Walker Parker. We all hold on to the cash till the very last minute.’

‘It makes my head spin.’

‘It’s the same in the haulage business, if that’s any comfort.’

‘I’m not sure that I wish to hear about the haulage business. Where are we going tonight?’

‘Breakthrough Breast Cancer fundraiser at the Café de Paris. You’re donating a dress.’

‘Am I? How kind of me. Is it very décolleté?’

‘No, Princess, under the circumstances you thought it would be more appropriate to give them something with a high neckline.’

‘I’m considerate like that, aren’t I?’

‘Be ready by seven.’ Will retreated into his office.

A uniformed chauffeur with a handwritten sign stood outside the arrivals gate at Glasgow airport with a sign reading CHRISTINE FAIRBROTHER. He saluted when Christine made herself known, and took her suitcase.