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‘I’ll deal with the problem immediately,’ said Christina, taking out her phone and checking her contact list.

‘Craig Trotman,’ said a voice after she’d dialled the number.

‘Mr Trotman, it’s Christina Faulkner,’ she announced as if addressing a bank clerk rather than the deputy manager. ‘You’ve just caused me some considerable embarrassment.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs Faulkner,’ said Trotman. ‘Is there anything I can do to assist you?’

‘You most certainly can,’ said Christina. ‘I have just purchased an exquisite outfit from Armani,’ she paused before adding, ‘for Royal Ascot, where I’ll be a guest of the Mulberrys, and when I presented my credit card, it was declined. No doubt you have a simple explanation?’

‘Could you hold on for a moment, Mrs Faulkner, while I look into it.’

‘A technical glitch,’ said Christina, causing the sales assistant to smile.

Christina began to pace up and down the shop, pretendingto consider other items while she waited for Trotman to come back on the line.

In far less salubrious surroundings, Tulip heard the phone ringing and quickly locked the library door, while Faulkner walked across to the classics section and removed Tolstoy from the top shelf. He took out the mobile, pressed the green button, and listened.

‘Good morning, Mr Faulkner, it’s Craig Trotman,’ he whispered, addressing one of his most valued customers. ‘You asked me to let you know if your ex-wife needed any,’ he hesitated, ‘temporary assistance.’

‘And does she?’ asked Miles.

‘I’m afraid she does, sir. It’s only a small amount, but she has already gone well over her credit limit. However, if you felt able to cover the cost?’

‘How much?’ demanded Miles, sensing Christina was waiting on the other end of the line.

‘Fourteen hundred pounds, sir, for an Armani outfit that she wishes to purchase for Royal Ascot.’

‘Tell her to get lost,’ said Miles. ‘But thank you for keeping me informed.’ He touched the red button and put the mobile back between pages 320 and 572 ofWar and Peace, before returning Tolstoy to his place on the top shelf next toResurrection. Tulip unlocked the library door.

‘Are you still there, Mrs Faulkner?’ asked Trotman, switching phones.

‘I most certainly am.’

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you you’ve exceeded your credit limit.’ He avoided adding, ‘by some considerable amount’.

‘And I’m sorry to have to tell you, Mr Trotman, that if you don’t clear this paltry sum immediately, I will have to consider moving my account to another bank.’

‘As you wish, madam.’

Christina switched off her mobile and marched out of the shop back onto Bond Street, leaving behind a bemused sales assistant and an Armani suit. She walked by Ferragamo, Prada and Cartier without even glancing into their windows. When Christina passed the Ritz, the doorman saluted. She didn’t go in, but continued on her way, hoping the fridge wasn’t empty.

•••

Once Miles’s monthly alimony cheque had been cleared, Christina decided to treat herself after suffering three weeks of champagne famine. She weighed up the alternatives – Bond Street or Tramp – and decided an evening at her favourite nightclub would cheer her up, even if she could no longer afford the company of a younger man and would have to satisfy herself with a Caesar salad and perhaps one glass of champagne, possibly two.

Christina arrived at the club fashionably late and fashionably dressed that evening, even if her skirt might have been considered by an uncharitable observer as a little too short for someone of her age.

Tony Guido, the maître d’, guided his customer to her usual table and moments later a glass of champagne appeared by her side.

‘We’ve missed you, Mrs Faulkner,’ said Tony, ‘but no doubt you’ve spent the spring in the Mediterranean.’

‘St Paul de Vence followed by Lake Como,’ said Christina, although she hadn’t strayed far beyond her flat in Chelsea for several weeks. Christina knew she could just about cover the bill, but nonetheless, she sipped her drink while her eyesscanned a dimly lit room, full of gorgeous men, too many of them accompanied by beautiful young women.

She had just reluctantly decided against a second glass of champagne when the maître d’ reappeared, bent down and whispered in her ear, ‘There’s a gentleman seated on the far side of the room who wonders if you would care to join him.’

Christina looked across the crowded dance floor to see a handsome, middle-aged man sitting alone, toying with a drink. She was about to give him a warm smile when a stunning young woman joined him. Christina’s eyes moved on to the occupant of the next table.

‘But he looks as if it won’t be too long before he’s collecting his bus pass!’ she exclaimed.