The photographer and the models were packing up and preparing to leave, the agent and her assistants were poring over polaroids and CVs, looking for the face that would take Cissé, and, with a bit of luck, Amelie Watts, to Hollywood.

Will ran down the corridor. ‘Joel, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah . . .’ Joel looked sullen and suspicious; she was right, he did have a bad attitude.

‘Thanks for coming in to see us.’

‘Right.’ He scowled, and Will hoped this wasn’t that rara avis of the fashion world, the straight man who was unwilling to swing.

‘For what it’s worth, I thought you were great. You’ve got real charisma. You look amazing in that suit.’

‘And even better out of it. Is that what you want to say?’

He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t exactly scowling any more either. Will decided on the direct approach.

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I wanted to say. You’ve got a great body. Very sexy.’

‘Right.’ A pause, while he appeared to be thinking. ‘Thanks.’

‘Look,’ said Will, ‘if by any chance you don’t get this gig . . .’

‘I won’t. You don’t have to bullshit me.’

‘I could do with some help getting the new show off the ground.’

‘For real?’

‘Sure. Why not. Nothing very glamorous – a lot of running around and sorting out problems and ordering bikes and taxis. But we’d pay you and, you know, it might be fun.’

‘You mean,’ said Joel, without moving away, ‘you might get to fuck me.’

He was bigger than Will, taller and broader and certainly stronger. If he wanted a fight, Will would come off much the worse.

‘Yeah. That was the general idea.’

Joel furrowed his brow and said ‘Okay,’ as if he received this kind of offer every day of his life. ‘It’s a deal.’

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

It didn’t come as a surprise, but all the same Christine felt sick with disappointment and anger when her application for silk was turned down. Of course she should have expected it – after that night with Linda the chorus of whispers had grown, and soon it seemed that everyone knew that there was more to the collapse of Rivelli v Rivelli than just the irregularities of the respondent’s accounting. She’d gone through the selection interview as a formality; they’d been horribly polite, nodding and pursing their lips and not even taking notes. She could have argued for a return of the death penalty and they’d have carried on smiling and nodding.