Rivelli raised his voice, tightened his grip on the bottle. ‘I am warning you, Christine . . .’

‘Up to six months in prison, I believe. I can get back to you on that.’

He stepped towards her, the vein in his forehead bulging, the security light casting deep shadows under his eyebrows. They were very close. She recognised the smell of his aftershave, the smell of his sweat. Ridiculous memories of sexual pleasure danced around in some wrongly wired part of her brain.

He breathed hard.

‘Goodbye, Mr Rivelli.’

Seconds passed, and then he left.

Her hands were shaking so much it took her nearly half a minute to open the door, expecting at every moment to hear the swish and feel the shattering crunch of a bottle smashing on to the back of her head.

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

When Isabelle finally picked up her messages, it felt as if her world had shattered into a thousand pieces. Her mother was hysterical about Massimo Rivelli – mad, menopausal woman, thought Isabelle, screwed up with guilt now she’s back together with Dad. Trying to make out that it was all somehow Rivelli’s fault. Will was hysterical about money, saying that the house had fallen through, again trying to blame Rivelli when quite clearly it was his own incompetence that had got them into this mess. She was a star in LA – how could she possibly be on the brink of ruin in London? Will would have to go. There were plenty of people eager to take his place. Even Dan, sensible, phlegmatic Dan, was warmly concerned about her welfare, urging her to come in for a meeting – but that was just his cowardly way of getting her out on another date, for another stammered confession of his feelings. She deleted them all.

But she had to see Will, because she needed some money, and the cupboard seemed to be bare. It didn’t take him long to persuade her that Cissé’s problems were far from imaginary.

‘I’ve only been out of the country for a few weeks,’ she said, ‘and everything seems to have fallen to pieces.’

Will tried not to lash out in retaliation. ‘I’ve done my best.’

‘Well it obviously isn’t good enough. I mean, out there they lay out the red carpet for me.’

‘And why would that be, I wonder? Because of the excellence of your couture, do you think, or because you’re shagging Mr Bloody Perfect?’

Isabelle opened her mouth to reply, but thought better of it.

‘I’m sorry, Princess,’ said Will, ‘but you can’t just run away to La-La Land and pretend that this isn’t happening.’

‘So what do I need to do?’

‘Get in the Oscars.’

‘Oh, is that all?’