‘Don’t joke about things like that,’ said Isabelle. ‘Besides, Mum isn’t stupid. She wouldn’t represent Jessica Rodean in a million years. She knows which side her bread’s buttered on, and she’d never associate herself with a loser like that.’

‘Oh. Suddenly full of respect for one’s dear mother, is one?’

‘Not particularly. But she knows better than to appear against her husband. He’s one of the best loved celebrities in the world, however much of a two-timing bastard he may be.’

‘But her daughter isn’t quite so picky, is that it?’

‘Hey, don’t knock it,’ said Isabelle, as the car glided out of the airport. ‘First-class travel, posh hotels, invitations to all the right parties. You’re the one that taught me the power of celebrity endorsement. Even if said celebrity is a bit of a car crash.’

‘Who cares,’ said Will, ‘as long as she looks fabulous in Cissé?’

Ten minutes later, they rounded a corner and there, laid out like a jumbo child’s toy, was Manhattan. Isabelle squealed with delight.

‘Pinch me.’

‘I’m too busy pinching myself,’ said Will. ‘We’re really here. Last time I came to New York, I flew with a horrible budget airline and stayed in a bug-ridden hostel on the Lower East Side.’

‘How bohemian.’

They approached the mouth of the Midtown Tunnel, and were swallowed up in the darkness, orange lights flashing rhythmically over their heads.

‘Oh,’ said Isabelle. ‘That’s a shame.’

‘Never mind, Princess. Next time, we’ll take a helicopter.’

They were billeted at the Four Seasons, just a few blocks up from Saks Fifth Avenue, and there had been no mention of the bill – ‘We must simply assume that they’re picking up the tab,’ said Will, after they’d checked in, ‘and if anyone asks us for money, we turn our pockets inside out and say that we’re starving artists.’

The porter gave them a dirty sideways look which they caught in the mirrored walls of the lift. ‘Don’t worry, Raul,’ said Will, reading his name badge and patting the wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, ‘I’ve got plenty for you.’

Delivered to their reservations on the twenty-fourth floor, and with Raul duly tipped and winked at, they reconvened in Isabelle’s room, which had the better view of 57th Street.

‘This is a superior room,’ said Will.

‘It certainly is.’

‘No – I mean it’s a “superior” room, as opposed to a “moderate” room.’ He was reading from the leather-bound hotel information.

‘Well, we’re very superior people.’

‘Don’t get too excited. We’ve got a long way to go. Next stop, deluxe. Then deluxe with terrace. Then premium deluxe. Then city view. Then park view.’

‘Stop!’ Isabelle pressed her forehead against the window. ‘I can’t take it in!’

‘And finally all the way up to the Ty Warner penthouse on the fifty-second floor.’