‘Vice versa, actually.’

‘God, it didn’t take you long to roll over, did it?’

‘Yeah? Well I have you to thank for that, Victoria.’

‘Okay, okay.’ She sounded conciliatory; obviously something was wrong. ‘Is it true, about the collection?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t play dumb. That someone’s nicked it.’

‘Apparently so.’

‘And you wouldn’t have any idea who, would you?’

‘Me? Do me a favour.’ Joel stood in front of the mirror, checking his muscles.

‘If you knew something,’ said Victoria after a while, ‘you would tell me, wouldn’t you?’

‘Would I?’

‘You know how important it is for me.’

‘Yeah?’ He ran a hand down his abdomen. ‘Why the sudden interest?’

Victoria mouthed a silent curse. ‘Because Isabelle is my friend.’

‘Yeah, right. And I’m Kylie Minogue.’

‘Look, you little . . .’

‘I know what this is about,’ said Joel. ‘It’s your friend Rivelli, isn’t it? I’m not stupid.’

Damn him – he’s not.

‘That’s ancient history.’

‘Whatever. Anyway, not that it’s any of your business, I don’t know anything about what’s happened. I don’t know anything about your precious Massimo Rivelli. I’ve never met the man. But if I do, I’ll send him your love, Vicky.’

‘Oh fuck off back to your boyfriend.’

‘Thanks, darlin’, I’ll do just that.’ He pressed the red button without listening to what Victoria was saying, and called a new number.

Making love in that flat laid a few ghosts for Christine. She woke up feeling quite refreshed, and ready for an encore. Andy, unstoppable in his youth, laughed and got out of bed.

‘Old man!’ said Christine, as he headed for the shower, his broad black back reflecting daylight.

‘Have you received one of these?’ he asked when they were both drinking coffee in the kitchen, handing Christine a postcard with the Cissé logo, white out of orange, on one side, details of the London Fashion Week show on the other.

‘Yes. From Ben.’

‘From Ben? Not from Isabelle?’

‘Good lord, no. She doesn’t want me there. Fortunately our son is DJing, and he wants his dear old mum to see him play.’

‘Do you think they get together and discuss these things? Who’s in favour, who’s out of favour?’

‘God knows,’ said Christine. ‘I gave up trying to figure out what goes on in our children’s minds a long time ago. I see you have “plus one”.’

‘Yes. Don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you like to be my plus one, Miss Fairbrother?’

‘I will if you will, Mr Cissé.’

‘Good. We can plan what we’re going to wear. Show them that there’s life in the old folk yet.’

‘Oh, I can’t wait to see her face,’ said Christine, allowing herself the rare pleasure of getting one over on her own daughter.