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.’

‘Perhaps you should try it without lettuce,’ said Isabelle, wishing with all her heart that Victoria would starve to death before their very eyes.

‘What a marvellous idea! But of course you don’t watch your weight, do you?’

‘I think I’ll try the lamb tagine,’ said Will, eager to change the subject. The waiter, an attractive young Berber boy who had cruised him the moment they walked in, was immediately by his side.

‘Lamb tagine for you, sir?’

‘Yes please, and I’ll have . . .’

‘Just my regular,’ interrupted Victoria. ‘Where’s Laurence today? He knows what I want. Tell them in the kitchen that Victoria is here.’ She thrust her menu at the waiter like a blade to the stomach.

‘And for you, ma’m’selle?’

‘Well, I’m hungry,’ said Isabelle, determined to get her money’s worth. ‘I’ll have the steak. Rare. With chips.’