The cello spun out a long, slow melody, a sad, plaintive line that unfurled through the tent like a black ribbon. The lights on the catwalk faded until all that could be seen was a dim, throbbing pulse of light on the wall of flaming silk. A vague drum sound, like a heartbeat, and then the tiniest of pinlights on the silk, bright white, a floating full stop of light, and the silk split open, and through the slash there came a shoe. A beautiful, simple, white leather shoe with a four-inch heel, and then a foot, a beautiful, coffee-coloured foot, followed by an ankle, a shin, a very shapely calf, a delicate knee.

The foot planted itself on the floor in the growing circle of light. The audience held its breath. Rivelli squeezed tighter.

A hand came through the slit – an elegant, coffee-coloured hand with clear nail varnish, followed by another hand, and then the thigh that was connected to the knee, and then the arms up to the elbows, and then the cello swelled and was joined by other strings up and down the register, the circle of light grew, the drumbeat became faster and more complex and then, smash, through the slash in the curtain came a female figure, naked but for those blinding white shoes, her hair a huge afro glistening with gold dust, dabs of gold on her breasts and what looked like the tiniest of see-through sparkly gold G-strings concealing her groin . . . The model shook her hair, shook her shoulders and shimmied down the catwalk, to all intents and purposes naked, stopping halfway down where she posed, hand on hip, turned, threw her arms above her head and then bent over, her head facing stage right, her arse, lightly flossed by a sparkling thread of G-string, towards Rivelli.

Rivelli gripped so hard that his girlfriend cried out.

She held the pose for a second . . . two seconds . . . three seconds . . .

Long enough for everyone to get the point.

And then she ran to the far end of the catwalk where she remained, dancing, her hands thrown above her head, her little feet stomping in their white shoes, her hips shaking.

The silk parted again, and another model appeared, swathed head to foot in black fake fur, a ridiculous parody of a movie-star coat, her hair pulled back from her face, a long switch falling straight down her back.

Would she, too, be naked underneath?

She stormed ten paces along the catwalk, stopped, turned, scowled, and dropped the fur.