‘Your graduation show.’

‘Yes? Did you like it?’

‘It was very interesting.’

Isabelle flinched. ‘Interesting’ usually meant ‘crap’. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘we got some great responses.’

‘I loved it,’ said Dan, looking up for a moment from the figures, his metal-framed glasses slipped halfway down his nose. Everyone else in Hoxton was wearing heavy frames in black plastic; only a bean-counter like this would wear metal. His blond hair was cut in what could only be described as a short back and sides – nothing asymmetrical, or spiky, and utterly devoid of product – and he was wearing a striped easy-iron shirt. And . . . well, could they be . . . slacks?

‘Thank you,’ said Isabelle, catching Will’s eye. He was waggling his eyebrows in a way that clearly meant ‘Come on, girl, follow through.’ ‘I’m so pleased,’ she said, getting the hint, leaning towards Dan, who wasn’t bad looking in a suburban kind of way. ‘Good feedback from the experts means a lot.’ Dan smiled, nodded, and went back to his figures. Oh God – if Mondeo Man likes our clothes, we’re stuffed . . .

‘So, Will was saying that you have big plans.’ Fiona leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest in a way that said ‘Prove it.’

‘Yes, we’re working towards London Fashion Week in February.’

‘That’s a pretty tight turnaround, when you’re starting from . . .’ Fiona gestured around the studio. ‘Well, from nothing.’

‘Ah,’ said Will, ‘it may not look much at the moment. But you should see what’s in there.’ He tapped Isabelle’s head. She brushed his hand away, giggled like a schoolgirl. His touch – even his presence in the room – made her feel like that. He’s gay, Isabelle reminded herself. It was her mantra these days. He’s gay. He’s gay. He’s gay.

‘Do you have any designs to show me at this stage? Any drawings?’

‘Not really . . . I’ve got a few sketches, but they’re at a very rudimentary stage.’

‘I see.’

‘The thing is, Fiona,’ said Will, ‘we’re just looking around at the moment to see who’s out there, who’s looking for fresh young talent, who’s got the vision to support something really new.’

‘Ah.’ Fiona sat up straight, preparing to leave. ‘So this isn’t so much what you can do for us, as what we can do for you. Is that it?’

Even Will was rattled by that. ‘Let ’s just say it’s a mutual exploration.’

‘Good. Well, it all sounds very promising.’ Fiona couldn’t wait to get out. ‘I’d love to come back when you’ve got something to show. Some new designs at least, or even, if you can manage it, some samples.’

Oh, thought Isabelle, she will regret that sarcasm when she sees a Cissé dress on the cover of Vogue. When she has to live with the reputation of being ‘the agent who could have represented Isabelle Cissé’.

‘The business plan,’ said Dan.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s . . . quite optimistic, isn’t it?’