One was twenty-four, the other officially fifty-five. One was white, the other black. One was a US size six, the other, thanks to a strenuous exercise regime (available on DVD), had got down to a size eight. Both would look sensational in Cissé, and there was just time to fly back to London, create unique custom dresses for one or both, and return in time for the ceremony. She had five weeks. A lot could happen in five weeks.

While Maya Rodean and the rest of LA’s fashion celebs set about getting themselves into the papers/Perez Hilton/rehab, Isabelle was on the phone to agents, publicists and managers. If anyone could manage a lunchtime meeting she would be ready, press book in one hand, samples in the other.

John Ferguson had called again, and this time Christine went to see him.

‘Got any work for me, guv?’

‘Nothing yet.’

‘Then what? Just the pleasure of my company? I’d have thought you’d had enough of that.’

‘I wanted to talk to you about Massimo Rivelli.’

‘Oh.’ She sat down. ‘I see.’

‘Don’t worry, Christine. I’m not about to read you the riot act. I was just wondering about . . . well, about Isabelle, really.’

‘Isabelle?’

‘Does she still have dealings with the company?’

‘Yes, worse luck. They owe her a lot of money. Why?’

‘It’s just that after the case went down the plughole, I made a few enquiries about our friend Signor Rivelli. And what I found out was not very nice.’

‘That sounds familiar. Go on.’

‘The stuff that came up in court about the overseas companies was just the tip of the iceberg. That’s just what Janet knew about. Then there’s this.’ He pulled a suspension file out of a drawer; it was fat to bursting with paper.

‘And what is this?’

‘Let’s just say that a good friend of mine in Companies House did me a little favour and ran a check on Massimo Rivelli.’

Christine opened the file, took a quick look through.

‘International, isn’t he?’

‘Oh yes. Most of it’s harmless enough on the surface. But you know me, Christine – suspicious mind. I think what we have here is one gigantic money-laundering operation.’

She picked up the file, felt the weight. ‘That’s one hell of a lot of laundry.’

‘Well, there’s money in drugs.’

Christine swallowed. ‘Are you absolutely sure about this, John? I mean, he’s a garment manufacturer. Isn’t it all just a bit James Bond?’

‘Maybe, maybe not. I’m not suggesting the Rivelli is the one who organises the traffic, or even makes the deals. I’m sure he keeps his hands clean enough. But look at where the companies are based. All of the most notorious tax havens in the world. And why the interest in Burma? Not exactly a fashion centre, Burma.’

‘Sweatshops?’