Charlotte Highton-Smith fiddled with the piece of paper in her hand and wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder.

‘Could you take a message, please?’ Charlotte said. ‘Could you ask her to call me as soon as she gets in. I’d like to arrange a time that we can meet. Today, if possible. Thank you.’

She hung up the phone and frowned. ‘Honestly, that woman is harder to find than a comfortable pair of slingbacks.’

Her sister emerged from the bedroom. ‘Are you all right?’ Cecelia asked.

‘Yes, I’m just having trouble getting hold of Rosie Hunter,’ Charlotte replied.

‘You’ll have to tell me more about her. How did you find her in the first place?’

‘She found me, actually, and made me an offer that was too good to refuse. She certainly knows her stuff but she seems to have appeared from nowhere,’ Charlotte explained.

‘And she’s going to write about the shows from Paris?’ said Cecelia.

‘Yes, that’s the plan. We’ll publish some of the articles in the store magazine too. Her writing is very funny and I think she’ll put a much more human spin on some of the ridiculous nonsense that goes on at Fashion Week,’ Charlotte replied.

‘I’d love to meet her,’ Cecelia nodded, ‘but not quite as much as I’d like to meet that mysterious Dux LaBelle.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Charlotte asked.

‘I’ve made an appointment for a preview of the LaBelle collection later in the week but it was very strange. When I said that I was looking forward to meeting Monsieur LaBelle, the fellow on the phone told me that Dux is far too busy to meet clients. I suppose Dux is new and the clothes speak for themselves but if he wants to make it in this town, he’s going to have to do at least some of his own PR.’

Dux LaBelle had burst onto the Paris fashion stage a year ago with his first collection of evening wear. His designs were stunning, featuring beadwork and fine lace that were second to none; critics were in awe of his workmanship. His designs had instantly become firm favourites with the celebrity set too. Women loved his work and journalists were desperate to know more about him. But Dux did not give interviews or talk to the press. During his one and only public appearance at his show last year he had worn a mask. It was as if he had come and gone in a puff of smoke.

‘I was hoping you were going to sign him up. Actually, I think Ambrosia Headlington-Bear wore one of his gowns to the FFATAS, didn’t she? Not that I saw her in person, but there was a lovely shot of her on the cover of Gloss and Goss,’ said Charlotte.

Cecelia nodded. ‘Yes, I saw that too.’

‘Well, you might not get to meet Rosie Hunter either at the rate I’m going. She’s not answering her telephone at the hotel and I didn’t ever get a mobile number for her. I’ll try her email.’

Charlotte sat down at the gilded Louis XIV desk in front of her open laptop just as a message arrived in her inbox. ‘Oh, here she is now.’

Cecelia picked up a magazine from the coffee table and sank into the overstuffed couch.

‘Oh dear,’ Charlotte said. ‘She says she’s just returned from the doctor. She’s not well but she doesn’t go into any details other than to say that she doesn’t want me to catch anything so we should postpone the meeting for a few days.’

Cecelia looked up and said, ‘Well, I think she’s right. You don’t want to risk catching something in your condition.’

‘Gosh, Cee, you make it sound like I’ve got the plague,’ said Charlotte, grinning. ‘You’re right, though. I hope she can still get to some of the shows.’

‘Do you want to come with me to see the LaBelle collection?’ Cecelia asked.

‘Why not? I’m intrigued.’

‘Good. That’s enough business for now. Would you like some tea? Or a lie down?’ Cecelia enquired.

‘No, I’d quite like to go for a walk, if you’re interested,’ Charlotte replied.

‘Come on, then.’ Cecelia picked up her handbag.

Charlotte retrieved hers and they headed for the lift.

‘Where shall we go?’ Cecelia enquired as they stepped out of the lift and walked across the elegant foyer.

‘What about a stroll along the river? It’s such a lovely afternoon. Then we can find somewhere for coffee, or hot chocolate?’ Charlotte suggested.

Cecelia was about to reply when she spotted someone familiar. Perched in one of the large armchairs beside a potted fern, and hidden behind an obscenely enormous pair of sunglasses, a well-dressed woman was typing on a laptop.

Cecelia walked towards her. ‘Ambrosia, is that you?’

The woman flinched and looked up. She put her laptop aside and pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head. ‘Hello, Cecelia.’

Cecelia leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks, then said, ‘You remember my sister, Charlotte?’

‘Yes, of course, the beautiful bride. How could I forget?’ She smiled and stood to kiss Charlotte’s cheeks too.

‘Are you here for the shows?’ Cecelia enquired.

‘Yes, you know what it’s like. I thought I’d get in a couple of days before the real chaos begins,’ Ambrosia replied. ‘See some of the designers. Catch up with everyone.’

‘Is Jacinta here with the school group?’ Cecelia asked.

‘Yes, yes, she is. What about Alice-Miranda?’

Cecelia nodded. ‘Mmm, I can’t imagine them getting away with leaving her at home. But she has no idea we’re here, so if you happen to see them before we do, would you mind keeping it a secret? I want her to get a surprise when we catch them at the first show.’

‘Of course. Actually, could you do me a favour and keep my being here between us as well? I have so much to do and I’d hate for Jacinta to be disappointed,’ Ambrosia explained.

‘But you will see her at the shows, of course?’ asked Cecelia carefully. She knew of Ambrosia Headlington-Bear’s rather poor reputation for looking after her daughter.

‘Yes, of course. I . . . I hope to,’ Ambrosia fumbled.

‘Well, we should be going. We thought we’d make the most of this glorious sunshine.’ Cecelia linked her arm through Charlotte’s. ‘I’m sure we’ll see you again. Perhaps we could have dinner one evening.’

Ambrosia smiled thinly. ‘That would be lovely.’

‘By the way, have you ever heard of a fashion writer called Rosie Hunter?’ Charlotte enquired.

Ambrosia shook her head. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I just thought she might have popped up on your radar. Rosie seems to know everything about the industry and yet I can’t find a thing about her.’

‘If I hear anything I’ll let you know,’ said Ambrosia.

Charlotte and Cecelia walked out of the hotel and onto the footpath.

Back in the hotel foyer, Ambrosia Headlington-Bear closed her laptop. She packed her things into her oversized tote bag, put her glasses back on and wrapped a silk scarf around her head. She crossed the foyer and scurried down the steps. Ambrosia was glad to have worn her ballet flats for the walk back to her hotel. She should have known that being in Paris during Fashion Week was going to be difficult. But she quite enjoyed a challenge these days.

While Ambrosia missed the glitz and adoration of her life with Neville, her relationship with Jacinta had improved markedly over the last little while. She hoped that Jacinta would be proud of her one day. She rather hoped she could be proud of herself, come to think of it. So while she missed Neville, and missed his wallet even more, she had decided that there was no point lamenting life as she had once known it. After all, she’d come from a family of very little means, and now she could go back there and make her own fortune – but this time, she’d do things differently.