‘And the rest.’

She was sitting up now, her breasts exposed, her skirt pushed up around her hips. He kicked off his shoes, hopping from foot to foot as he removed his socks, and then stepped out of his jeans. His underpants looked at least one size too small for him – two sizes, perhaps, given his current state of arousal. They sat around his hips, the fur on his stomach fanning out into a broader delta then disappearing inside the elastic.

He pulled down his pants as if he was taking a bow, plucked them from the end of this feet and threw them over his shoulder, extending his arms in a ‘ta-dah!’ kind of gesture. His cock smacked up against his stomach, bounced back down, moving with every beat of his heart.

And all this is for me? What’s the catch?

Even at times like this, Christine remained above all else a lawyer.

Isabelle lost Will around two thirds of the way through the show. He said he’d seen someone he knew, and disappeared in the crowd. She carried on through the stalls, lost in a thousand wonderful couture visions, but at the back of her mind was a niggling feeling that something was wrong. She did not really trust Will, she realised – and then, a split second later, she realised that she was treating him as if he was her boyfriend. Rather than her – well, her what, exactly?

‘Isabelle Cissé?’

She spun round, and saw a familiar face that she couldn’t quite place, blond hair, glasses, a check shirt that rather screamed ‘non-iron’.

‘Dan. Dan Parker.’ He extended a hand. ‘Walker Parker. Remember?’

‘Oh yes . . .’ She kind of remembered.

‘We came to see you in your studio a few weeks ago. Me and my business partner, Fiona Walker.’ There was the tiniest stress on that word ‘business’. ‘I’m delighted to see you here. I thought your graduate show was a knockout, and your business plan’s good.’

‘Thanks.’ Yes, she remembered, that overlong day of meetings with faceless sales agents and PRs, none of whom they could afford.

‘So, I guess you’ve got the funding together for your first collection, then.’ He grinned.

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Isabelle didn’t know what else to say. She wanted to talk about colours and cuts, about ruffles and hemlines and beading, but she didn’t think Dan Parker would understand. She needed Will, and looked around for him.

‘Your partner in crime not here?’

‘Oh yes, he’s around somewhere. Always doing deals, you know.’

Was that a smirk on Dan Parker’s face?

‘So, what can we look forward to in the spring? Any clues?’

‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’ And I very much doubt you’d understand even if I told you.

‘Smart girl.’ Patronising knob. ‘Best to keep your ideas to yourself. There’s plenty round here that would love to rip off talent like yours.’ Was that a warning? ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you back in London,’ he said, after what Isabelle realised was rather a rude silence. ‘Enjoy the rest of your visit.’ He sounded like a holiday rep – and, thought Isabelle, dressed rather like one as well.