‘And you’ve put me in a very awkward position with Browns. They’ve paid for stock that has not arrived. They’re asking us for their money back.’

Isabelle looked from Fiona to Dan, and shrugged. She picked up her handbag. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘I need some answers, Isabelle.’

‘And I don’t have any for you.’ Her voice wavered, and she swallowed. ‘I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait.’

‘I can’t wait.’

‘Then I don’t bloody care.’ She could feel snot pooling at the back of her nose, and had to swallow. ‘I’d better go.’ She stood up, but Dan put a hand on her shoulder.

‘No. Don’t go. I’ve got some answers, Fiona. For Debenhams, for Browns, for anyone else who asks, and for you, for that matter.’

Isabelle sat down. Fiona stood up. Isabelle wanted to giggle.

Fiona said ‘Dan.’

‘I think you should get right back on the phone and tell those clients just how bloody lucky they are to have a deal with the most important young designer of her generation. A woman who got a dress at the Oscars within two years of leaving college. A woman who is about to headline at Tokyo Fashion Week and has been offered a job at Givenchy. And you should tell them that if they’re not happy to wait a little while until these financial difficulties are sorted out, we’d be quite happy to take the Cissé account elsewhere.’

Fiona folded her arms, as if she was waiting for a naughty subordinate to finish having his say. ‘Oh would we, indeed?’

‘Yes, Fiona,’ said Dan. ‘And I would remind you that this company is called Walker Parker. Not just Walker. If you ever feel the need to threaten our clients in the future, I’d be grateful if you’d consult me first.’

Isabelle realised that her mouth was hanging open, and shut it.

‘Right,’ said Fiona. ‘Well, I don’t think there’s any point in continuing this discussion at present.’

‘No,’ said Dan. ‘You’re damn right there.’ He held the door open, then followed Isabelle through it. ‘Lunch?’ he said, still sounding angry.

‘It’s only just gone eleven o’clock.’

‘All right. Call it brunch. Come on.’ He grabbed his coat. ‘As long as they serve alcohol.’

She stopped him before he left the building, and laid a hand on his arm.

‘Why did you do that, Dan?’

‘Because she drives me round the bloody bend.’

‘Right.’

‘And because I happen to believe that you’re the best designer in the business and we should be bending over backwards to keep you sweet.’

‘Well . . . thanks. But I don’t want you to . . .’

‘And of course there’s one other reason, but you don’t want to hear about that.’ He laughed noiselessly, shrugged, settling his coat over his broad shoulders.