Toby was shooting an air rifle out of the window, trying to kill pigeons, while Imogen and one of her horrible little friends bounced around the room on state-of-the-art pogo sticks. They were all so bloody spoilt that neither of her parents had the nerve to tell Imogen that cropped leggings weren’t the best option for her chunky little legs.

‘Children.’ Alison tried to smile.

Toby turned around, pointing the air rifle right at her.

‘Children,’ he drawled sarcastically. ‘Yes, what is it, wicked step-mummy?’

Both girls cracked up. Alison flinched away from the gun and tried to keep her temper.

‘Could you just keep the noise down a bit, please? I’m trying to work …’

‘Trying?’ brayed Imogen, tossing her dyed-yellow hair. ‘Well, you probably need to try a bit harder then, don’t you?’

‘Hahahaha! Oh, Imo, you’re so funny!’ spluttered her equally obnoxious (though not so blubbery) friend.

Never the most patient of women at the best of times, Alison snapped, ‘Just shut up, you little bastards …’

‘Really, Alison,’ came a mild voice from behind her. ‘I’m sure it’s not necessary to speak to my children like that.’

‘Dadddddeeeee!’ shouted Imogen, running as fast as her fat little legs would carry her. She launched herself into her father’s arms, as though she were 4, not 14.

‘Darling!’ Philip swung her up and round in the air. Alison was amazed he didn’t rupture himself. He put Imogen down and saluted his son, who had hidden the air rifle behind his bespoke pool table.

‘All shipshape, captain?’

‘All shipshape, sir.’ Toby saluted back, grinning.

‘Righty-ho. Well, as it’s half-term, who’s up for Pizza Express?’

‘Oh, Daddy, you’re the best!’ Imogen snuggled up to him.

‘I was going to cook coq au vin,’ started Alison, even though she hated cooking.

‘Darling, I thought I’d give you a break from the kitchen. It’s not exactly your forte, is it?’ Philip winked at Imogen, who giggled.

As Alison walked wearily downstairs after them all, Toby turned round and gave her the finger, glee written all over his smug, spotty little face.

Chapter 5

‘Owwww!’ screamed Poppy as Fabrice pulled the first strip of wax from her nose. She scowled at him in the mirror. ‘Surely this isn’t necessary? Of all the things I’ve ever been accused of, having a hairy nose isn’t one of them.’

‘Welcome to Manhattan grooming, Blondie.’

As the pain ebbed away, Poppy tried to smile, aware that it was important to keep the people behind the scenes on your side in this business. And it wasn’t actually Fabrice’s fault – he was only doing his job, after all.

‘Sorry – just haven’t got used to it yet. And these ridiculously early starts. How on earth do you do it?’ This week they were shooting the coolest places for power breakfasts and weekend brunches, a deliciously New York concept. That said, it was six a.m., Poppy had already been up for an hour and she still had Hair and Make-up to go. She was looking forward to the week they did cocktail bars.