There is nothing comfortable about social events for me. I don’t have a lot of experience of crowds – and crowds of beautiful people? Well, the thought was a little terrifying as well as exciting.

According to the invitation Pepper had given me, the launch of BloodofYouth was being held at a trendy restaurant called Elizabett in the Meatpacking District. The address was printed on the beautifully produced invitation, along with the dress code ‘cocktail’ and a vampish image of the face of BloodofYouth slung over a chaise longue in a clinging blood red dress, her skin luminous, lips glistening. I tried not to dwell on Athanasia’s image, disturbed as I’d been by our brief encounter at Pandora.

Celia’s driver Vlad knew where to go. As I had with Celia, I insisted that I would make my own way home after the launch. Vlad only nodded silently in response. (He either didn’t speak English or didn’t speak, I decided.) The silence in the car gave me time to steel myself for my first big social outing.

Before long the big black car pulled up at the kerb outside the venue. I must have been nervous because I actually got out on the wrong side of the car while Vlad was coming around to open the door for me. I found myself standing on the cobblestone street with cars whipping past, clothed in Celia’s beautiful red dress and clutching the invite like an oversized bus ticket. I turned towards the restaurant and froze.

Oh. Of course.

Spotlights were set up outside along a red carpet. The hot lights illuminated the entrance like an interrogator’s lamp, and swarming around this blast of light was a nest of photographers snapping guests as they entered. Every few seconds the night was brightened with another strobe-like flash. It was enough to send a person into epileptic fits. I’d seen scenes like this during coverage of the Oscars. Logically, this had to be a on a much smaller scale, but it didn’t seem it just at the moment. Why couldn’t I have at least arrived with Pepper? Why had she insisted on arriving separately? I didn’t have a great impression of her so far, but at least I would not have felt so lost.

I bid Vlad goodnight with an awkward stutter, and walked around the car. There was no moisture in my mouth, I noticed. My tongue felt like a dried-out husk. My hands were clammy. I took a breath, and stepped on to the red carpet in Celia’s ruby shoes.

Please don’t trip.

‘Hey!’ a photographer yelled, and then another. I strode quickly up the red carpet with my head down, smiling nervously. A few flashes went off around me (for someone else, I hoped) and after a tense thirty seconds that felt like much longer, I was inside the doors of the restaurant and catching my breath. I had managed to dodge my way inside without falling over my shoes or otherwise embarrassing myself. This was a small triumph, I felt, under the circumstances.

‘What’s your name?’ someone asked.

I whirled around. ‘Oh. Pandora. Pandora English,’ I said.

It was a petite young woman in a black T-shirt emblazoned with the product name. She checked her clipboard. ‘Pandora . . . Ah, Pandora magazine. Enjoy BloodofYouth,’ she told me, before walking away to quiz the next guest.

Phew.

The main room of Elizabett was already buzzing with important people by the time I stepped inside. Of course, I didn’t know who the important people were, which could pose a problem. I looked around to see if I could spot Pepper, but there was no sign of her. I noticed the organisers had cleared away the tables and had erected a small stage with a microphone stand. A display poster for BloodofYouth had been placed to one side, with a larger-than-life image of the product’s chillingly beautiful muse. There was a pyramid built of the product itself taking up centre stage. They even had a red curtain set up behind it. (I thought it unlikely that the waiters normally emerged with steaming hot food through such a glittering red entrance.) As I looked at the stacked pile of little cellophane-wrapped boxes of product I had some of the same odd feeling that I’d had about the parcel the courier had brought to the office. Again, I had the strange sensation that the considerable energy of the whole room was being sucked into that product display. It was most unsettling.

I moved self-consciously to the back of the room, feeling eyes on me. I was sure that some of the guests were checking me out, as they seemed constantly to be checking out each other. The surreal circumstances of my presence at this event, and wearing Celia’s clothes, made me feel quite unlike myself. I wasn’t in Gretchenville anymore, that was for certain.

I found a piece of wall to stand against, retrieved my notepad and pencil out of Celia’s beaded purse, and set to work observing the room.

Who’s who in this who’s who? I haven’t a clue.

(But I ought to stop rhyming in my head, if I was to find out.)

I think I’ve mentioned that my social skills are not up to scratch? Well, if I was aware of that fact back in Gretchenville, I was approximately thirty times more aware of it in this Manhattan restaurant. It was a little painful to stand alone at the back of such a charged room of cool, beautiful, important people. The women, and many of the men, seemed to me to be impossibly groomed. Really. Impossibly groomed. Not a hair was out of place. Every single fingernail was manicured to perfection. Skin was tanned, despite the season. I looked down at my own (clammy) hands, holding the notepad, and noticed my clean, unvarnished nails and pale skin. I just wasn’t like these people. But if I was ever to rid myself of the outsider status bestowed upon me by the good people of Gretchenville, it would be through the pursuit of that ephemeral, elusive thing called cool. And what could be cooler than writing about glamorous people for a glossy fashion magazine?

Here I was, fresh off the plane from Gretchenville and already in a room full of important people in arguably the biggest and most glamorous city in the world. No more dreaming about it. This was my opportunity and I knew I had better make the most of it. I had to write a piece on this skincare product launch that would somehow be so clever, witty and interesting that Skye would simply have to run it under my by-line. Who’s who and highlights? Pah. That was child’s play. I would deliver a real story. A story about how the product worked, how it was being promoted and what it could or couldn’t do for Pandora’s readers.

Okay, it wasn’t the sort of ‘real story’ that would change the world exactly, but it was better than my brief.

There was activity near the stage. It seemed that BloodofYouth had hired a small-screen actress to act as MC at the event. The woman moved behind the microphone, her grin revealing ultra-white teeth.

‘Hi, my name is Toni Howard, and I am so excited to be helping to launch this revolutionary skincare product tonight,’ she gushed. Toni was resplendent in sequins. I don’t watch a lot of television, admittedly, but I was pretty sure from a glance that I recognised her from one of the long-running soaps. She was vaguely familiar.

‘BloodofYouth saved my life!’ Toni declared breathlessly into the microphone, and tossed her teased blonde mane.

I frowned. Had I heard that properly?

‘Now I am over forty and fabulous. I have never looked better,’ she continued, and again flashed her dazzling, bleached smile. ‘My wrinkles have all but vanished, along with my uneven skin tones and the dark circles under my eyes.’

Looking at this attractive blonde woman, I found it hard to believe she might have been plagued with such things before. She made it sound like she used to be hideous, and I knew that could not be true. She was quite radiant, which made me think of how Skye had looked the morning after her sample of BloodofYouth had arrived.

A movement near the door caught my eye. It was Pepper, arriving just in time. She had made herself up and she looked pretty good, I had to admit. She wore a sharp-looking jacket with a nipped waist and exaggerated shoulder pads, and her hair was pulled back. I waved and then realised that was uncool and lowered my hand again. She seemed not to have noticed me.

Back on stage the MC was carrying on with her spiel. ‘And all this, ladies and gentlemen,’ the actress explained, ‘because of BloodofYouth. And how long have I been using this miracle product, I hear you ask?’ No one had asked, but I was curious to know. ‘Three days. That’s right. I have only been using BloodofYouth for three days.’ There were a few surprised murmurs in the crowd, and the people at the front seemed ready to surge forward and snatch the product samples from the display table. ‘And that is why I am here to tell you tonight that this is the best beauty product available in this country. It sold out in stores across America today, faster than they could get new stock. It may be expensive, but ladies – and gentlemen too – it is well worth every single penny!’

I thought the MC was laying it on a bit thick, but the crowd appeared to be eating it up. Perhaps that’s what was done at these launches?

‘Hi,’ came a man’s voice, just near my ear.

I flinched, startled, and turned to see an enormously tall, rather good-looking man wearing a leather jacket. He was standing quite close to me, smiling.

‘Hello,’ I responded.

‘My name’s Jay,’ the man said. ‘Jay Rockwell, Men Only magazine.’ He extended a hand.

Oh my. It was the guy from the elevator. The guy who’d thought I belonged in the law offices. The guy I’d had that strange fantasy about. I’d seen with vivid clarity this man’s muscled torso and my own hand sliding up his chest. I’d felt his warm kiss. And now I felt a ripple of distaste on recalling the tacky cover of Men Only magazine.

‘Yes, I remember you,’ I said, my cheeks feeling a little warmer. ‘Pandora English.’ We shook hands.

‘You know me?’ he asked, evidently surprised.

‘Of course,’ I assured him, smiling.

He seemed confused. ‘I’m sorry, where have we met?’

This stumped me. I thought he’d come up to me to be polite because we had met before, but it seemed he didn’t remember the incident at all.

‘Sixteenth floor, right? We met in the elevator,’ I explained.

‘Yeah, sixteenth floor,’ he agreed, but I could tell by his face that he didn’t remember the encounter in the slightest. ‘The elevator?’ He somehow made it sound possible that we’d got up to no good in the elevator, and he had subsequently forgotten me.

‘I was going to a job interview with Mia magazine, and you thought I was working in the law offices. I flicked my jacket in your eye, as I recall.’

The penny finally dropped. Jay’s attractive hazel eyes widened. (Neither of them red. Thankfully I hadn’t caused any permanent damage.) He looked me over approvingly. ‘Oh, wow. You look so . . . different.’ He wasn’t leering, exactly, but I did feel a little exposed by the intensity of his appraisal. ‘You look really great,’ he told me, and I could tell from his tone that he meant it.

‘Thank you,’ I said. And thank you, Celia. Her red Lauren Bacall dress was having quite an effect.

By now a promotional video for BloodofYouth was playing on a big screen. After a flash of Athanasia’s beautiful, sultry, terrifying face, the picture flashed to a grey-haired man looking authoritative in a white lab coat. He was evidently explaining the revolutionary qualities of the new skincare product. He was subtitled in English. I couldn’t make out his voice because of the din of the crowd. His name, according to a caption, was Dr E. Toth.

‘So you got the job,’ Jay said.

‘Well, no,’ I explained. ‘Not at Mia. But I got a job at Pandora. I’m covering the launch for the next issue.’ I liked the way that sounded, and it was the truth, even if it was only because of Skye’s mysterious illness that the invitation had come my way. And even if Pepper was ignoring me. I flicked my eyes in her direction and saw that she was shaking hands with a couple of well-dressed women. They gestured to a short, balding man next to them and Pepper shook his hand too. There was a lot of smiling and nodding. She was evidently networking.

‘Are you covering the launch for Men Only?’ I asked Jay. ‘I can’t imagine your magazine would be the right demographic.’

I pictured fishermen, lumberjacks, truckers. I imagined manly men flicking through bikini photos before heading to the hardware shop.

‘Have you been living under a rock?’ Jay exclaimed, coming fairly close to accurately describing my hometown. ‘This product is hot stuff. The buzz these past weeks has been huge. It hit the shelves this morning and Macy’s sold out after one hour. A lot of readers are dying to get their hands on it. Especially if it really does turn back the clock like it claims to.’

There was movement on the stage, and Toni announced, ‘And now, I’d like to introduce you to the face of BloodofYouth . . . Athanasia!’

I stiffened at the model’s name, and looked around to find her. Somehow it made me nervous to think of her being in the same room as me. Then a deep red curtain to the right of the stage was pulled back, and the model of the moment emerged under a spotlight. Her entrance was magnificent. Celia, I supposed, would be impressed. Athanasia wore a slinky scarlet fishtail dress, the colour of which popped against her pale, luminous skin. In fact, it was the very same colour I was wearing. But she sure wore it differently. She glided to the stage as if floating, the backless, low-cut dress shimmering under the spotlight. Her spine moved like a serpent.

I easily resisted gaping at the model this time, but I may have been the only one. Every eye seemed to follow her, and I felt the collective desire in the room pulsing around us like an electric current. Athanasia was beautiful, but now I could clearly see that part of her magnetic appeal was in her promise of – what was it? Danger. Thanatos. Death. She was alluring to the point of black magic. Inexplicably, the model seemed to have the whole room spellbound, and I wondered what it was about her that made such a thing possible. These were cynical big city folk. These were fashion types. They’d seen a thousand stunning faces. How was it that Athanasia could command their attention so completely? How was it that everyone in Pandora magazine had fallen under her spell, including me, before I was shocked out of it by her sudden and jarring death stare?

Athanasia placed a hand on her hip, and her dark eyes scanned her adoring public, flickering over each face.

Oh no.

Incredibly, she spotted me and did a double take – little insignificant me, even though I was at the back of the room. I thought perhaps I was imagining it, but I could swear her eyes burrowed into me from across the room. I felt my heart stop for a moment under her gaze. I actually felt fear.

And then, just like that, she went back to her sultry pouting for the masses, and I was grateful to be out of her gaze. I physically shook myself to lose the jolt of terror I’d felt. Surely I had imagined that?

I turned to my new friend Jay, wondering if he’d noticed my reaction to Athanasia, but the man was simply staring at her on the stage, mesmerised. We watched as Athanasia slid up to the microphone and pulled it close.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered with faux intimacy, and paused for a minute while hundreds of flashbulbs went off. ‘I am Athanasia,’ she declared once the photographers had paused. ‘Please enjoy this miracle product, BloodofYouth. I know you are dying to get your hands on some . . .’ And with that statement, she stepped away from the microphone and moved to the display table. She took a couple of the samples of the product and literally threw them into the baying crowd. I thought there would be a riot. Well-to-do socialites, business people and fashion types clawed at each other to catch one. One man made an acrobatic attempt to secure one in the air, and ended up on the floor. I could only gape in horror at the spectacle around me. Athanasia threw a few more samples, struck a final, vampish pose for the photographers, then vanished behind the red curtain again. The crowd surged forward, and the display table was empty before the curtains even slid closed.

‘Holy . . . wow,’ I exclaimed. ‘Are product launches usually so . . . heated?’

Jay laughed softly. ‘Not exactly.’ He frowned, his brows knitting together. ‘She really knows how to work a room,’ he remarked.

I laughed nervously. ‘Indeed.’

‘Funny that no one from BloodofYouth spoke,’ Jay said. ‘There’s always a CEO or a director of public relations or something to bore us to death with a long speech about the company while we all try to grab the gift bags and leave.’

In all the excitement, I hadn’t noticed. ‘Could I ask you a big favour, please? Would you be able to give me the names of some of the important people here? The VIPs and celebrities? I have no idea who anyone is.’

‘Sure. If you’ll consider giving me your number,’ he replied.

I raised an eyebrow. Cheeky. ‘I don’t have a number,’ I told him honestly.

Jay seemed to take my answer another way. ‘Of course you don’t,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I understand. It’s okay, I’m not afraid to work for it.’

So he thought I was playing hard to get?

He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, ‘Now see that man over there? The one with the bald spot? He is one of New York’s richest men. And the woman next to him? She is not his wife . . .’

For the next thirty minutes, Jay Rockwell named the VIPs at the BloodofYouth launch for me, giving amusing biographies for each. He seemed to quite enjoy the process, and I did too. I found his attention flattering, and his cologne a little intoxicating as well. After he had identified almost everyone in the room (Jay seemed well connected, I thought), I decided I ought to go in search of Pepper, and also Toni, the actress, to interview her. I thanked Jay, and left his side with some reluctance. I noticed that he watched me cross the room before starting up a conversation with some of the guests he knew.

Pepper was no longer near the doorway networking but I nearly ran into the MC. ‘Excuse me, Toni?’

She was standing next to the display table, which had been picked clean like a tray of ribs in a lion’s enclosure. Pepper might want to kill me for not fighting the throng to secure her some free samples, but I wasn’t about to kill myself trying to get them for her.

‘Excuse me,’ I repeated. ‘May I interview you?’

At this the actor whirled around, smiling so broadly I thought I could count each of her bright teeth, top and bottom. Her blonde mane slid into place a second after she stopped moving.

‘Helloooo,’ she said in response, and she shook my hand.

‘I’m Pandora English, of Pandora magazine. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?’

‘Certainly.’ She pulled a card from her handbag and passed it to me. ‘Here’s my contact info and website.’ I read her card with interest before pocketing it, and the woman Toni had been talking to took the hint to drift away into the crowd while Toni was interviewed.

‘Thank you,’ I said, once we were alone. ‘First up, I’m curious. Why did you decide to endorse this particular skincare product?’

‘Why?’ She seemed a little shocked by the question. ‘Well, it works. Can’t you see?’ she said, and flicked her fingers towards her luminous face.

I nodded. ‘Yes. You look fantastic,’ I told her truthfully. I decided to rephrase my question. ‘How were you approached to take part in the product launch? Was it through your agent?’

‘No, actually,’ she said a little guiltily. ‘My agent and I parted ways after that hubbub over Dancing with the Stars. I’m looking for a new agent as a matter of fact. Do you know anyone?’

I shook my head. ‘Sorry. I’m new to New York,’ I explained. ‘But about the launch . . .?’

‘I was sent some samples,’ Toni told me, and shrugged.

‘And you liked the product?’

‘Obviously. And I was promised more, so . . .’

I thought I’d got the gist. ‘So you will be getting BloodofYouth product for a while? Lucky you,’ I said, smiling. ‘In exchange for being MC?’

‘A year’s worth, I’m told.’

I nodded. A good deal for everyone, by the sounds of it. But was that how things normally worked? I couldn’t imagine, say, Cate Blanchett being paid only in that skincare stuff she spruiked, no matter how much she might like it. ‘And who is your contact at BloodofYouth then?’

‘It was through the promotions company, actually,’ she said, and gestured towards one of the women in the black T-shirts. ‘Henrietta Woods.’

I took a note to meet Henrietta.

‘You don’t know the CEO from BloodofYouth, or anyone else from the company itself?’ I asked, thinking of Jay’s comment.

‘I’ve met the model.’ She swept a hand theatrically towards the red curtains. ‘She doesn’t like to do interviews, though, apparently.’

Athanasia did seem a woman of few words.

‘Thanks, Toni. Um, just one more question. What do you think is in BloodofYouth that makes the cream so effective? What’s the secret ingredient?’ I wanted to be able to include it in my article.

She pouted. ‘I don’t know. The secret ingredient is a secret, I suppose.’

‘Thanks again, Toni,’ I said, when it was clear she wouldn’t be able to shed any more light on the product.

She smiled, this time less dazzlingly, and turned to greet someone else.

I found Henrietta with no difficulty. She was the petite one with the clipboard who had grilled me when I’d entered the restaurant. ‘Have you enjoyed the launch?’ she asked me as I approached.

‘Very much, thank you. Would you be able to answer a few questions for Pandora magazine?’

‘Me? I’m pretty busy tonight,’ she said. ‘But I can tell you this is the best beauty product we’ve launched. I’m sure you’ll see for yourself when you try it.’

‘Are there any samples left?’ I asked hopefully.

‘You didn’t get one?’

‘No,’ I told her.

She shrugged. ‘Tough luck.’ I guess that was it. No more free samples.

‘Well,’ I said, forcing a smile. ‘Would I be able to get a copy of that promotional DVD?’

‘Sure. Pandora is running a cover feature, right?’ she asked. ‘When is that coming out?’

I nodded. ‘Yes. The issue comes out next Friday. The shoot came up really well, I understand. Who is your contact at BloodofYouth?’ I asked, pen poised.

‘Oh, we’ve had correspondence from Europe,’ she said. ‘Anyway, look, I’m sorry but I have to see to our other guests.’ She tapped on the shoulder of one of the other women in a black T-shirt. ‘Josephine, can you give Pandora here a copy of the promo DVD?’

‘Do you have contact details for Dr Toth? Is he here tonight?’ I asked as Henrietta tried again to escape me.

‘He’s Hungarian, or something. We’re just handling the Manhattan launch.’

‘So you haven’t met anyone from the company yet?’

‘In person? No,’ she said. I could see my probing was beginning to annoy her. She broke away from me and this time I let her go.

‘Thanks for your time,’ I said to her back.

Josephine handed me a DVD, and a gift bag. ‘Thanks,’ I said sincerely, and eagerly opened the gift bag – then frowned. It only contained a bunch of BloodofYouth brochures, and a gift voucher offering ten per cent off if I bought the stuff at a department store. No cream.

Pepper was not going to be pleased. Where was she? Perhaps she had already left? Perhaps she had returned to the office to pull an all-nighter? I stood considering my next move for a moment. I had enough notes to satisfy Pepper’s expectations, but I didn’t have her cream. My eyes flicked to the red curtain. I could always just check . . . I moved through the crowd, passing Toni, who took no notice of me this time. I caught the eye of Jay Rockwell, who offered a smile and an eyebrow raise from across the room, despite being engaged in deep discussion with a man whom he’d described as ‘a philanderer and movie critic’. I reached the red curtains just beyond the empty display table, and walked through them into a tiled hallway leading to the bathrooms in one direction, and the kitchen in the other. There was a door at the far end, and I saw a flash of red there before the door swung shut. I rushed in the direction of the door, toting my gift bag, notepad and Celia’s beaded purse.

I stepped out through the back entrance of the restaurant.

Oh.

I was standing alone in front of the supermodel Athanasia. In a back alley. Well, not quite alone. She was with two men who looked for all the world like undertakers. Undertakers who lifted a lot of heavy weights.

Gulp.

I took a sharp breath.

‘You,’ Athanasia said, turning to meet me. She was wearing tight leather designer jeans and a T-shirt, and her red dress was draped over her arm. It was the flash of colour I’d seen. Behind her was a long, black stretch limousine. Headlights flickered over the vehicle, and I saw the silhouette of someone in the back – a woman with a high collar. I sensed something powerful and very important about this woman. Beside the limo was a second car without anyone inside. It was yellow and low to the ground. It was branded with little Neptune forks on a round crest, which seemed to indicate it cost as much as a small apartment. Or two. Fancy.

This was a back alley creep convention with fancy cars.

‘Who are you?’ Athanasia asked me coldly, holding her arms so the dress fell across her middle like a toga. ‘Why are you not like the others?’

I decided I was not going to be intimidated by some mean model, super or not. I stood tall, and raised my chin. ‘I’m a writer,’ I said proudly, as if it might be as significant a statement as, say, I’m the sheriff of these woods. ‘And I’m not like the others . . .’ Because I am from a small town wasn’t going to cut it, so I left it there. The wind blew my dress open at the hem and I pushed it back down.

Athanasia’s eyes narrowed to slits. There was something truly awful in them. It marred her beautiful features so completely that in that moment I thought I might be looking at a bat. ‘You see me,’ she said angrily. ‘Why is it that you see me?’

See me? I thought of Lieutenant Luke and his question about whether or not I could see him. Why was everyone so amazed that I saw them?

I stood my ground and didn’t answer her. This seemed to enrage the woman.

‘Who sent you?’ she demanded, dark eyes blazing. She looked around to see if I was alone. I was.

‘Pandora magazine,’ I said coolly. I brought the tip of my pencil to the notepad. ‘I have a few questions . . .’

‘I’m not telling you a thing,’ she said. ‘And I had nothing to do with the disappearance of your little friend,’ she added.

My what?

‘She left the shoot and I didn’t see her again.’

I was stunned. Samantha? Was she talking about Samantha?

The model turned her back on me and strode towards the limo, the red dress she was holding whipping around in the winter wind. She said something to the men, something in a foreign language. One of them spoke back to her and she handed him the dress. He got into the driver’s seat, put the dress on the seat beside him, and started up the limo. The long car pulled away.

The woman in the back seat. She was more important than Athanasia. And more powerful, too.

I watched the limo leave, trying to get a handle on the significance of what I was seeing. Athanasia stalked over to her car, and stood by the driver’s side door.

‘You write anything about me, and you’ll be sorry,’ she threatened.

My curiosity was more than aroused. My ‘little friend’?

I heard the back door of the restaurant open and I turned. It was Jay.

‘Hey there,’ he said, and strode up to me, acting familiar. He took me gently by the elbow. ‘Honey, we ought to get going.’

I saw what he was doing, and I linked my arm through his. ‘Of course.’

I smiled at the model. ‘Nice to meet you Anastasia,’ I said.

I don’t know what made me do it. I had purposely mispronounced her name.

Her black eyes flared in response and she gave me another of her death stares. ‘Athanasia. My name is Athanasia,’ she hissed.

Charming woman.

‘Goodnight,’ Jay said, and pulled me back towards the restaurant.

‘I didn’t need saving, you know,’ I told him once we were inside.

‘I missed you. I was wondering where you’d gone. You really pissed off that model. What happened?’

‘That’s what I hope to find out,’ I replied.

‘Well, it’s all over in there,’ he said of the launch. ‘Let me drive you home. I won’t bite. Honest.’ He smiled.

Well, I have to admit I was tempted. But let a complete stranger drive me home in New York? No, I wasn’t comfortable with that. ‘I have some things to do. I’ll just grab a cab. Thanks for the offer though,’ I told him.

‘Can I have your number, Pandora?’

He took my hesitation the wrong way. ‘It’s okay. I understand,’ he said, looking a little deflated. ‘I won’t pressure you. I just thought you might like a friend in this town.’ His offer seemed sincere.

‘Thanks,’ I said, and smiled. ‘It was really nice to meet you properly, Jay. I should get going. And thanks for your help. I won’t forget it.’

I felt the urge to wrap my arms around this big handsome man. But of course I couldn’t. I barely knew him. ‘Bye,’ I said, and walked away.

Something inside me didn’t like walking away.

Elizabett was still buzzing with people, though the crowd was a little smaller. As I exited I passed a row of six young women in matching BloodofYouth T-shirts and short black skirts holding out little product bags. I thanked the girl who offered me one, and after a few steps I peeked in the bag.

Darn it.

This one was also filled with nothing but BloodofYouth brochures, and a discount voucher. No miracle BloodofYouth cream. Pepper would not be pleased. I’d failed. I could only hope that she had scored one herself before departing, if that’s what she’d done.

I felt eager to escape the glamorous crowd and the odd, oppressive feeling of dread that BloodofYouth and Athanasia seemed to arouse in me. Head down, I walked the empty red carpet with the determined stride of someone who knew where they were going. But I stopped short when I noticed the growing line of finely dressed people waiting for taxis, limousines and valet parking out the front of the restaurant.

Perhaps I should not have insisted on making my own way home.

I joined the end of a long queue behind a short socialite with teased platinum hair. The woman, who appeared dwarfed by her fur coat, was gesticulating to her companion with fat fingers covered in big diamond rings. The flash of her expensive jewellery momentarily distracted me. Then I noticed the designer handbag she had slung under her arm. It was overflowing with samples of BloodofYouth. She must have been right at the front of the crowd when Athanasia started throwing samples and everyone had scrambled for the stuff. I could see four jars of the coveted cream, right in front of me. This guest had greedily snaffled a handbag full of those jars, and she looked like she could more than afford to buy the stuff!

‘I just need one,’ I whispered under my breath.

Barely had I uttered the words when, incredibly, a jar of BloodofYouth tumbled out of the top of the woman’s open purse. I thought the jar would break when it hit the pavement but it landed on the end of the soft red carpet, and rolled to my feet.

I blinked and looked around. No one had seen it but me.

‘Thanks,’ I murmured as I bent down and scooped up the jar. ‘Thank you.’ I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty as I put it in my gift bag.

Phew.

By now more guests were filing out of the restaurant, the valet cars and limos were a confused tangle on the street and cabs seemed in short supply. After our conversation, I would have been a little embarrassed if Jay walked out and saw me waiting in that slow line for a cab, so despite Celia’s warning not to wander alone around New York at night, I was going to do precisely that. I broke from the queue and walked past. A couple of guests turned their heads and I felt eyes on me. One swarthy man with slicked-back hair and a white suit and shoes actually winked at me as his Porsche showed up. (No one had ever winked at me back home. Was it Celia’s outfit, or was it a New York thing?) I walked past at a brisk pace, away from the glamorous people and the taxis and the fancy cars, and right down the sidewalk. I still felt I was being watched as I walked away, and I hoped I looked confident, though I was not sure where I was headed.

About a block away from the restaurant, my adrenaline subsided and I noticed that under it all I was pretty peckish. I hadn’t eaten dinner before the launch and I’d passed up the odd-looking hors d’oeuvres they were serving. I found myself walking in the direction of an illuminated sign for a convenience store two blocks away, and by the time I got there, I noticed my feet were beginning to hurt in Celia’s shoes, and my stomach was hollow.

‘Hi there,’ I said cheerily to the man behind the counter as I entered the shop.

He looked a little startled and didn’t respond.

Figuring Harold’s Grocer might be closed, I bought myself a packet of penne pasta, a jar of pasta sauce, a wedge of parmesan sealed in plastic, a couple of slightly wrinkled ‘fresh’ tomatoes and a head of garlic. (When I asked if he carried fresh basil, the man looked at me like I was insane.) The unfriendly man rang the items through, mumbled the cost and I paid him with the cash I had.

I stepped out into the night with my bag of groceries just as a yellow cab was passing on its way to the line of people waiting outside the restaurant.

‘Hey!’ I called and threw my arm in the air. The cabbie saw me and screeched to a halt.

Amazingly, this taxi driver also needed to be convinced that Spektor actually existed.

It seemed these New York cabbies didn’t know their town very well.