She placed a foot on either side of his thighs.

‘Now then,’ she said, ‘let’s see if you can get this old boiler going as well.’ It was lost on him, of course – but, to be honest, that was the last thing on Victoria’s mind as the plumber buried his stubbly face between her legs.

‘Ta-dah!’

Will threw open the doors – big double fire doors, with push bars, held shut with a chain and padlock that he’d just unlocked – and propelled Isabelle into the studio. It was a large, empty oblong. High ceilings, brick walls painted white, peeling, sooty. High windows, the sort that you open with a rope and pulley, reminiscent of schoolrooms. Some skanky industrial carpet on the floor, possibly once navy blue, now an indefinable grey. A metal kitchen sink was fitted to one wall, the pipes underneath exposed. It smelt stuffy, old, uninhabited. But it was big – twice as big as Isabelle was expecting – and bright, and to cap it all it was located slap bang in the middle of Hoxton, the epicentre of the London fashion world.

‘But we can never afford it,’ said Isabelle, hardly daring to step in and own the space. ‘I mean . . . My God.’ She looked up, spun around, feeling the size and the light. ‘It’s wonderful.’

‘Do you like it?’

‘Of course I like it. I love it. But come on. We’d blow everything on the first month’s rent.’

‘I thought the cutting table could go here.’ Will gestured towards the left-hand wall.

‘Yes, the light’s good . . . but how could we . . .’

‘And if we put some screens up at this end, we can have a couple of mattresses, you know, if we need to crash.’

‘Is there a loo?’

‘Outside, where we came in. It was a furniture factory. This was the main workshop. The offices were upstairs.’

‘But it’s huge . . .’

‘Well it would need to be, wouldn’t it?’

‘Oh but Will . . .’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘The money, of course.’

‘Leave that to me.’

‘We could never afford it.’

‘We can.’

‘How?’

‘I’ve done a deal. Called in a favour. You know, friends in the right places.’

‘You’ve shagged someone.’

‘I may have done, at some stage of the negotiations, yes, and obviously I made a very good impression, because, my dear, we have got this place for virtually nothing for a year.’

‘How? I can’t believe it. It’s too good to be true.’

‘Because because because. Dreary business about leases and contracts and so on.’

‘Is it legit?’

‘Of course it’s legit. What do you think I’m getting us into?’

‘You tell me.’ But it was already too late – Isabelle could see herself working in the space, modelling the fabrics on the dummies, installing a rack against the longest wall, hanging up her swatches, throwing parties, sleeping, eating and working in this one empty box which was already filled with her dreams. She took Will’s hands in hers.