‘Oh, sorry, darling. Have I done something?’ She dropped the dummy, which would have fallen on the floor had Isabelle not caught it. ‘Now this is nice.’ She moved on, like a bee to another flower, stopping before a yellow sheath dress that was being modelled on the other side of the room. ‘Is this me?’

‘That, I’m afraid, is strictly work in progress,’ said Will, before Isabelle could open her mouth. ‘And I’m not really sure if yellow . . .’

She wasn’t listening. ‘Who wants lunch?’

‘I’ve got to get on,’ said Isabelle, who was looking forward to sandwiches and coffee in Hoxton Square, where they were now regulars.

‘My treat,’ said Victoria. ‘Call it a down payment. Now, where does one go round here? Or does one? Sorry, but I can’t get used to all this east London thing. It’s not my stamping ground.’

‘There’s the Great Eastern Dining Rooms,’ said Will, who knew the maître d’ rather well. ‘That’s always . . .’

‘Let’s go into town!’ said Victoria. ‘Surely you can take a couple of hours off? It’s so much nicer, don’t you think?’

‘Really, I must get on . . .’ Will shot a glance at Isabelle. ‘But then again, I suppose it would be nice to have a change of scene.’

Victoria was already on her phone. ‘Darling, it’s Victoria. Table for three at one-thirty? Oh yes you can. You can. That’s a good boy. See you later! Ciao-ciao.’ She put her phone away, powdered her nose. ‘There. Does one get taxis round here?’

‘It’s only twelve,’ said Isabelle. ‘If the table’s not till half past one . . .’

‘They have a very nice cocktail menu. Come on. This is on Rivelli.’

And with that magic word still ringing in their ears, they went out to hail a cab.

‘Well of course, he’s always on the lookout for new talent. I mean that’s his absolute lifeblood.’

‘You make him sound like a vampire.’

Lunch was a strain. They all drank too much. Victoria got more animated with every visit to the loo.

‘Oh, darling, but he is! He sucks and he sucks and he sucks and then he discards the corpses like so many . . . What’s the word, darling?’ She put a hand on Will’s arm.

‘Husks?’

‘Marvellous!’ Her voice was a little too loud; people were looking. ‘Husks.’ She made a muddle of the sibilants and the gutturals. ‘What a wonderful word! I shall have to phone you every day for a word of the day. My mot du jour.’

Isabelle and Will looked at each other, signalling with their eyebrows. Get me out of here. No – behave yourself.

‘Well, here’s to us.’ Victoria raised her glass for the third time. ‘Cin cin, as we say in Italy.’

‘Shall we order?’ said Will. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Oh, they know what I want. I always have the Caesar salad here. Not very imaginative I know but they do it just the way I like it, without parmesan and without too much dressing.’