‘I don’t think I can ever do that. You saved my life. If you hadn’t come along . . . Well, I don’t like to think what might have happened.’

‘Don’t thank me. Thank that clever little GPS tracker. Handy things.’ He blushed, and looked away.

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Isabelle. ‘My mother thinks you’re some kind of superhero, flying in at just the right time to save the helpless heroine from a fate worse than death. I’m inclinded to agree with her.’

‘Oh well, if you’re mother thinks so . . .’ Dan smiled, played with a loose button hanging by a thread from his shirt front, then looked up at her. They had not seen each other since she left Japan. Less than a week – but back here in Hoxton, so far from the high drama and higher buildings of Tokyo, all that peril and passion and determination seemed very distant indeed.

‘Well, I would say that you’ve never been in a better financial position in your life. All your debts are paid. Orders are being fulfilled, and more are coming in every day. Since the Oscars, you’re the one they all want. And they’re selling all they can get.’

‘Thanks to you,’ said Isabelle.

‘Just doing my job, lady,’ said Dan, in a terrible American cop voice. ‘Garment manufacturers are ten a penny. Now that Rivelli’s gone down, they’re all jockeying for position. The Cissé account is a hell of a big prize. I could name my own terms.’

‘You’re brilliant.’

‘Not really.’ He blushed. ‘Still, it worked out well, I’ll say that much.’

‘Is Fiona pleased?’

‘No, I wouldn’t say Fiona’s pleased. In fact, Fiona isn’t really talking to me much at the moment.’

‘Oh? Why? Not because of what happened last time.’

‘That, and a lot of other things. You may have noticed that the cupboard is a bit bare.’ He gestured around the office.

‘I thought that was just the way you liked it.’

‘Minimalism? Not really me. No – I’m leaving.’

‘You’re . . .’

‘I should have done it last year, year before even, but I’m glad I didn’t. Wouldn’t have had a chance to work with you.’ He sounded rather gruff.

‘What will you do?’

‘Set up on my own. It’s high time.’

‘Oh, well . . . That’s great. Good for you.’

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘I’m not cut out for fashion. Good as a lieutenant, someone to take care of the numbers and the business plans, but front-of-house? Dan Parker? No.’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘But you know what? I’ve learned a valuable lesson, working with Fiona Walker, which is that bullshit can get you a long way, but results can get you even further. You’ve been very good for me, Isabelle.’

‘What do you mean?’