“That was brilliant!” Joanna the shop owner was staring at Lulu, her mouth open in wonder. She had long salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a toothily pleasant face. “Simply brilliant! How on earth did you do it?”

“I walk dogs,” said Lulu. “It seems to be good training.”

“Well, I’m going to start walking dogs myself, if that’s the effect it has. That child is a nightmare. A beast. He’s horrid.”

“I felt a bit sorry for him,” said Lulu. “It’s obvious that no one’s taking the trouble to discipline him, so he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to behave.”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet!” said Joanna. Lulu blinked in surprise; it was very many years since anyone had described her as sweet. “Please forgive me for being so vile about him, I’ve become the most awfully jaded old thing lately, I’m afraid. I’m usually much nicer than this, but I’m run ragged at the moment, because my marvelous assistant has gone off on maternity leave—so selfish of her to want to have a life of her own, isn’t it? He’s a sweet little boy, though, one of those just squishably delicious babies and wonderfully smiley already, and she’s very intelligently asked me to be godmother, because what better godmother could any child ask for than a lady who owns a toy shop?”

Lulu laughed, then looked around at the bright, warm room filled with books and toys, then back into the good-natured face of its owner.

“Have you found a replacement yet?” she asked.

“You, in a toy shop?” said Emma, warming her hands on an oversize mug of coffee at Sunday brunch. “Does she know what she’s taking on? You didn’t leave a single one of my possessions unscarred for thirteen years.”

“Three years,” Lulu corrected her. “After that it was Sophie, and it was both of our things. I’ve got my story all ready for when the gossip magazines come calling now that she’s a big TV star.”

Despite Sophie’s having missed the Thanksgiving party, Hughie Brown had been active on her behalf. He had already secured her a small part in a television adaptation of Vanity Fair, and was talking confidently of more substantial television roles in the year to come. Emma and Lulu had privately discussed both the efficiency and the speed with which Sophie’s head had been turned by this.

“We’ve been over this, Lulu,” said Sophie now, shaking her head with a patient sigh. “I don’t want to be a big TV star. I’ve told Hughie quite plainly, I don’t mind doing a bit of TV to get my name and my face out there, but what I really want to concentrate on is the stage.” She took a bite of bagel and stared dreamily into the distance. “I can feel it here, you know?” she said, pounding on her chest with the hand that was bagel-free. “I want a huge, fabulous meaty role to sink my teeth into, and chew to little bits. I want to own the stage, to feel the audience in my hand. I’m hungry for it, like a starving person wanting a big, fat, juicy steak.”