‘Nah. She couldn’t wait to get rid of me. The only reason she took the call in the first place was because I rang from my mate’s phone. If she sees my number she just blocks it.’

‘You poor boy. She must have hurt you very much.’

‘Hurt me? Bollocks.’ He was starting to get frisky again, now a good deal of the fresh round was inside him. They’d have to leave soon. ‘Whoever she’s gone off with, they’re welcome to her.’

‘So there is someone.’

‘Look, I don’t fucking know. All right? She just said she was going off on a case conference, or something. To fucking Scotland, of all places.’

Victoria’s ears pricked up. ‘Scotland? Where in Scotland?’

‘I don’t know, babe. Now can we please go somewhere? You’re not just some kind of prick tease, are you?’

Victoria had been called many things in her time, but never that. She sent him out to look for a cab.

Scotland, was it? Scotland.

Her mind worked and worked as the taxi took them back to Kensington.

Scotland. Why Scotland, of all places? Christine Fairbrother in Scotland. Surely not. That was not possible. Not possible . . .

Jessica knew exactly where to stand – just this side of the velvet rope, right in front of the door, holding on to Isabelle’s hand as if they were the oldest friends in the world, enjoying a girls’ night out – so that the photographers could get all the shots they needed. Isabelle’s eyes burned and fizzed with the flashes, orange and blue blobs floating behind the eyelids like jellyfish.

And then she was gone. Not even ‘call me’. Not even ‘goodnight’. Certainly not ‘thank you’.

‘Well, that’s you all over the evening papers tomorrow,’ said Will, bringing up the rear with the coats. ‘I can see it now. FASHION WARS. Jessica Rodean fired the first salvo in her divorce war against her rocker hubby last night by partying at the Café de Paris with close pal Isabelle Cissé – arch rival to designer stepdaughter Maya Rodean. God, I hope they spell your name right. Accent and everything.’

‘Don’t be silly. They don’t know who I am.’

A few cameras were still clicking and flashing.

‘I think they do, dear. Get used to it. You’ve just become a celebrity.’

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

There was press at Heathrow when they left for America – and even press at JFK when they landed.

‘That’s the power of a rock star divorce,’ said Will, as they were whisked off to a waiting car. ‘All we need now is for your mum to represent Jessica when it comes to court, and we’ve got the whole thing sewn up.’