‘Oh come on,’ said Will. ‘You can’t think that she set this up deliberately.’

‘I can believe anything of her.’

‘Be sensible. Why would she want to piss off Rivelli like that?’

‘Jealousy?’

‘Don’t be silly. She’s dependent on him. And besides everything else, she’s just ruined two couture dresses which cost a great deal of money.’

‘It was her idea. She got me to send the dress to Rivelli’s wife. Now it looks as if I set the whole thing up. And did you hear what she said? Badly made, ill fitting. Christ. It’s a disaster.’

‘You don’t think it could have just been a ghastly mistake?’

‘Oh come on, Will. Nobody makes a mistake like that. Thanks to Victoria, we’ve lost any chance of a licence with Rivelli, we’ve been made fools of in front of the whole of the British Fashion Council, and worst of all we had Maya bloody Rodean laughing at us. God, they’ll be talking about this for months.’

‘Look on the bright side, Princess. At least they’ll be talking about Cissé.’

‘And I suppose you’re going to say any publicity is good publicity. Don’t bother.’

The taxi took Old Street roundabout at speed.

‘It’ll all blow over. Don’t take it so personally.’

‘I can’t believe Victoria would do this to me. I thought she was my friend.’

‘Look, love, I wouldn’t trust Victoria Crabtree as far as I can throw her. She’s useful in her way, but if she’s going to start using us for her own devious little purposes, then forget it. Typical cocaine behaviour. Did you see her eyes? Pinpricks! ’

‘But what’s she trying to do? Piss off Rivelli? Doesn’t she work for him?’

‘There’s more to this than meets the eye, Princess. Don’t worry about it. Look. We’re here.’

They stopped outside the studio.

‘Coming in?’

‘No,’ said Will, pecking her on the cheek. ‘I’m going on. See you in the morning.’

‘It’s morning already . . .’

He waved from the window of the moving cab as Isabelle put her key in the lock.

Chapter 7

‘He’s just a solicitor, Joel, for God’s sake. He’s been briefing me for years. That’s all.’

‘But I want to see you tonight.’

‘Well I’m sorry, but you can’t.’

‘Why does it have to be dinner? Can’t you see him in normal working hours?’

‘Because that’s the way the world works. You train clients in the evening, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but that’s . . .’

‘And sometimes I have to work late as well. We can meet afterwards, if you like.’

Joel sat on the edge of the bed, naked, the early morning sun hitting his broad, smooth shoulders. His black hair was a mess. Later, when he had his shower, he would spend several minutes with product and hairdryer restoring it to a more artful version of this exact mess.

‘Oh, I see. You’ll fit me in when you’ve finished with someone who’s more important that I am. Right. I get it.’