‘Well that certainly makes a change,’ said Christine, narrowing her eyes mockingly.

‘My dear ex-wife, let’s not argue.’ Andy’s accent, which rarely suggested his Nigerian origins, could swing from cut-glass British to the richest West African. On this occasion, it was the former. ‘There is something I want to discuss with you.’

‘Oh yes.’

Was he about to drop a bombshell? ‘It’s . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Isabelle.’

‘Oh.’ She realised how disappointed she sounded, and rallied quickly. ‘I thought it might be. What’s she done now?’

‘It’s not what she’s done, it’s what she wants to do. This business that she’s starting up.’

‘I thought you’d be proud of her. She’s named the label after you.’

‘Well, after herself, but . . . Anyway, that’s not the point. It’s the money.’

‘She’s been round cap in hand again, I take it.’

‘Yes, and . . .’

‘And you caved in as usual?’

‘I gave her something, yes. Is that a problem?’

Of course it’s a problem you bloody idiot, she’s playing us off against each other again, and you just buy her good opinion by chucking money at her every time she bats her eyelashes at you. ‘No, it’s not a problem at all. I just think we need to establish some boundaries.’

‘She’s not three years old any more, you know.’

‘Thank God for that.’ Isabelle had been a particularly ghastly three-year-old. ‘But she still needs to learn that she can’t have everything her own way.’

‘Do you think this design business of hers is a real goer?’

‘Yes.’ Christine didn’t mention that Isabelle was in love with her business partner; Andy didn’t like to hear anything about his daughter’s sex life. ‘She’s got talent. They seem to know what they’re doing. They’ve got a bank loan, apparently there’s money coming from the Fashion Council, and they’re seeking sponsors.’

‘So why is she still asking me for money?’

‘I don’t know, Andy. What did she say?’

‘She said that production costs for the show were far greater than she’d imagined. She said that she wanted to do the best show in London Fashion Week. I don’t know. Lots of reasons.’

‘She needs to learn to work within a budget. As long as we keep bailing her out, she’ll never do that.’

‘Well . . . I know. You’re right. I just don’t want her coming to me in two years’ time, when her business has gone bust, blaming me because I didn’t invest when she needed it.’

‘If her business goes bust, it will be nobody’s fault but Isabelle’s. Personally, I don’t think it will.’ Christine was far from feeling this confident in reality, but it felt good to be fighting her daughter’s corner for a change. Usually Andy was Isabelle’s champion.

‘Right. I don’t need to worry then.’

‘No.’

‘Thanks.’ Andy put his hand on Christine’s – a familiar gesture from days gone by – and pulled it away again, as if he’d touched something hot. ‘That’s put my mind at rest. How’s your chicken?’