‘He’s very attentive, your boyfriend,’ said Will, after Dan had been commandeered by John to serve more drinks.

‘All a question of training, darling,’ said Isabelle, tucking into puff pastry, mushrooms and truffle oil.

‘I don’t need to ask if you’re happy. You’re sickeningly radiant.’

‘Thank you, my dear. I can’t complain.’

‘Paris living up to expectations?’

‘Far exceeding them, thanks. I miss London, though.’

‘Yeah . . . your family.’

‘Oh, them.’ Isabelle licked her fingers; one piece of flaky pastry clung to her chin, but Will didn’t feel the need to tell her about it just yet. ‘Actually, I get on better with my family the less I see of them. Mum and I are best of friends now. She loves Dan.’

‘Well,’ said Will, ‘she always did have a taste for younger men.’ He nodded towards where Dan was filling Christine’s glass, chatting and smiling. ‘You want to watch that, you know. One reads of these things in the popular press.’

‘Fuck off,’ said Isabelle, tossing a canapé at Will’s head. He swatted it away, sending Parmesan-flecked asparagus skidding across the table top. Isabelle picked it up and popped it in her mouth. ‘Waste not want not.’

‘You’re quite the canny businesswoman now, aren’t you?’

‘Not really. I leave that sort of thing up to Dan. I just muck about with fabrics and make pretty dresses.’

‘He hasn’t got you dangerously involved with any homicidal gangsters, by any chance, has he?’

‘Not yet.’

‘How dull for you.’

‘Yes . . . One does miss the frisson of imminent attack. But he has ways of making up for it.’

‘I imagine he does. It’s always the quiet ones.’

‘You have no idea.’

‘Spare me the details of your sickeningly happy married life, thank you very much. What about Givenchy? Any dirt to dish?’

‘Not much. It’s very businesslike. They let me do pretty much whatever I want to do, and I deliver the best collections of the season. It’s a fairly comfortable arrangement.’

‘No more false modesty for you, then.’

‘Absolument. And what about you, Will? How’s business?’

‘Oh, not too bad. Shopping for a living. It’s not as much fun as it might seem, you know.’

‘No, but then again being the fashion buyer for one of the biggest stores in London must have some compensations.’

‘Well, the salary eases the pain somewhat.’

‘And what about . . . You know.’ She gestured to his head. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Not bad. Headaches sometimes. Weird panic attacks. Might be a form of epilepsy . . .’

‘Oh, Will.’

‘But then again might not be. Too early to tell at this stage. The general consensus of the medical establishment is that I’m bloody lucky to be alive, so who am I to argue?’

‘You sound like Maya, in one of her endless magazine interviews.’