Christine landed at Nice airport after a nightmare of delays, misinformation and, to add insult to injury, turbulence. It didn’t matter. It all seemed to match her state of mind. So, her ex-husband was cheating on her again, was he? And it had taken the vindictive tongue of her spiteful daughter to make clear to her what she should have suspected all along. What, after all, had really changed for Andy? They’d spent some time living apart, and during that time he’d presumably cheated on his girlfriend of the day, then he’d taken up with her again and gone straight back to his old ways. The only difference was that she didn’t do his laundry or cook his dinners any more, and there were a few minor matters financial and domestic to consider, but apart from that, it was business as usual. How could she ever think it would be otherwise?

She made her way through the crowds to the taxi rank, clutching in her hand a piece of paper bearing the name of the hospital where, the papers said, Leanne Miller’s pregnant friend was recovering. She might have gone, of course; she might even be dead. All Ben’s attempts to reach her had failed, the phone permanently switched off. But how many English women of Victoria’s description could there be recovering from road traffic accidents in the Nice area? She climbed into a cab, made herself understood, and was whisked away.

After some initial awkwardness, Isabelle and Will got on rather well in Los Angeles. Things seemed more organised when Will was around. Calls got returned, appointments were kept and there was no need to eat alone. Mike was back, of course, but Mike was busy – he’d be there on the night, but now he was in the studio, not coming home till late, if at all. It was nice to have Will around – and it saved on hotels. Mercy Williams was behaving like a trusted family pet, referring to Will as ‘my stylist’ and inviting them over to her house for fittings. The silver dress, the few ounces of shiny satin on which the whole future of Cissé was staked, was taking shape. Will and Mercy laughed and joked their way through the fittings, and when Mercy had some last-minute fears that she would look like an oven-ready turkey, Will started calling her Turkey Lurkey, and she called him Chicken Licken. Isabelle she more or less ignored, treating her as little more than a glorified dresser. Isabelle did not care. The dress looked good. The dress looked great.