‘I’m fabulous, thanks,’ said Maya, grabbing a drink from the tray with one lace-gloved hand, throwing it down her neck and taking another. ‘But we all know that. What about you?’

‘Great, thanks. Just working hard on my next collection.’

‘Oh, Cissé,’ said Maya, drawling the second syllable as if it was the most pretentious name in the world. ‘That’s all I ever hear about. I don’t know who you had to sleep with to get all that publicity.’ She laughed, a little kittenish laugh that meant ‘Let’s pretend that was just a camp joke but we both know that it wasn’t.’

‘You know me, Maya,’ said Isabelle, ‘I’ll fuck anyone to get ahead.’

‘So I gather.’ Maya was looking around the party as if hoping to see someone more interesting – a tried and trusted method of putting one’s companion in his or her place. The next step would be to walk away in mid-sentence.

‘Well,’ said Isabelle, who was an experienced enough partygoer to pre-empt a cut, ‘it’s lovely to see you, I do hope that . . .’

‘How’s your mother, Isabelle?’

She hadn’t seen this one coming. ‘Fine . . .’

‘I don’t suppose she’ll be representing my dear stepmother after all.’

‘I didn’t know she was intending to.’

‘Oh come on, darling. Why else do you think poor Jessica was going around wearing your clothes all the time?’

‘For the same reason as everyone else wears them,’ said Isabelle. ‘Because she has great taste and she looks fabulous in them.’

‘Pffff!’ Maya waved a hand, slopping wine on her floral-print top. ‘She was just trying to get publicity, as ever. You know,’ she said, lowering her voice and becoming horribly confidential, ‘she’ll do anything to get publicity, that woman. Anything at all.’

‘Like marrying your father?’

‘Precisely. And now she’s desperate.’

‘Oh. I see. So that’s why she was wearing my clothes. She was desperate. Thank you so much for pointing that out, Maya, especially in front of all these people.’ Isabelle felt more alive than she’d felt for months.

‘Well come on, darling,’ said Maya, assuming that everyone was on her side, ‘why else would anyone wear them?’

‘You’re right, of course. I’ve always said that Keira Knightley was desperate.’

Maya opened her mouth to say ‘Keira is a good friend of mine,’ but stopped, wrong-footed. ‘Keira . . . ?’

‘Oh, didn’t you know? I thought someone would have told you. Cissé are dressing her for her next movie. The one with . . .’ She snapped her fingers, frowned as if racking her brains. ‘Who is it, Will? The bloke who’s starring opposite Keira Knightley in that film we’re being paid so much to do the costumes for?’

‘Paul Rudd.’

‘Oh, that’s right. Paul Rudd. I’d never heard of him, but Will wants to shag him.’