‘Oh.’ The disappointment was evident in his voice. This time, when he glanced down at the print, it was without interest. ‘Shame.’

‘I have to go.’ Guy looked at his watch. Janey was embarrassed, which was maybe no bad thing, although if anyone should be ashamed it was her husband. ‘Look, I’m presenting the idea to the organizers this afternoon. When they make their final decision I’ll be in touch.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Alan, when Guy had left the shop. ‘Did I put my foot in it?’

‘Both feet.’ Janey busied herself with a bucket of moss. She had two wreaths to complete before lunch. ‘I can’t believe you said that. God knows what Guy must have thought.’

‘It was a simple enough mistake.’ He looked injured. ‘These models get paid thousands for a couple of hours’ work, don’t they? I was only looking after your interests. Why should you be ripped off, just because you’re a friend?’

‘Well nobody’s being ripped off.’ Shuddering at the memory of the look on Guy’s face, she began packing the damp moss around the wire base of the first wreath. ‘It’s for a children’s charity. Nobody’s getting paid.’

Alan had almost entirely lost interest by now. ‘In that case I can’t imagine why you’re so excited about it. God, I’m starving. Is there anything to eat upstairs?’

‘Not unless you’ve bought some food.’ Irritated by his manner, Janey’s reply bordered on sarcasm. ‘Since I’ve been working since five o’clock this morning, I’m afraid ‘I haven’t had time to visit the supermarket.’

He was immediately contrite. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry, sweetheart.’

‘Well.’ In her agitation, she narrowly missed slicing her finger on a protruding wire. ‘Just don’t expect gourmet meals, OK? I’m not Superwoman.’

‘You are to me.’ Alan gave her his most beguiling smile. Leaning across the counter and pulling her towards him, he kissed her soft, down-turned mouth. ‘Don’t be cross, Janey. You know how much I love you.’

She was still tense. He really had upset her. When she didn’t reply, he smoothed a wayward strand of blond hair from her cheek and said, ‘Come on, sweetheart. What is it? Is there something going on that I should know about?’

Janey hesitated. ‘Like what?’

‘Like the possibility that there could be more to this so-called friendship between you and Guy Cassidy than meets the eye?’

Oh God, she thought wearily. Not again.

‘Well?’ he persisted.

‘No.’ She shook her head for added emphasis. ‘Of course there isn’t.’

‘Hmm,’ said Alan, not sounding entirely convinced. His eyes narrowed as he studied her evident discomfort. ‘There’d better not be.’

The discord had unnerved Janey. It was their first semi-argument and the knot of tension in the pit of her stomach had stayed with her all afternoon. Easy-going by nature, she wished now she hadn’t snapped at Alan, but at the same time she didn’t feel she’d acted too unreasonably. As long as he wasn’t working, she didn’t see why she should put in a sixty-hour week in the shop and knock herself out cooking three-course dinners in her precious free time.

It was with some trepidation that she climbed the stairs to the flat at six-thirty. She was hungry and her feet ached. She definitely didn’t feel up to an evening of verbal sparring and unease.

As she began to turn the door handle, however, she heard Alan’s voice shouting from inside: ‘Stop! Don’t come in!’

For a fraction of a second, Janey felt her heart lurch. It was ridiculous, but the memory of a recent TV drama came flooding back to her. The wife, arriving home early from work, had been commanded to wait outside the front door in just such a manner whilst the husband’s mistress, fetchingly wrapped in a bed sheet, had made her escape through the kitchen door at the back of the house. It had struck a chord at the time, because she had experienced the same situation when Maxine and the cricketers had been hammering on the door and she had been caught with Bruno.

The difference, of course, was that in this flat there was no back door from which one could safely escape, only windows and an ankle-snapping fifteen-foot drop.

The next moment, Alan opened the door himself. He grinned. ‘OK, you can come in now.

All ready.’

She hadn’t seriously doubted him, of course, but the sight that greeted her still managed to bring a lump to Janey’s throat. There were no semi-naked females in the dimly lit living room.

Instead, the small dining table had been set for two. Flickering candles cast an auburn glow over the tablecloth, and he had unearthed the crystal glasses she so seldom used. An unopened bottle of champagne stood in an ice-packed Pyrex bowl.

‘Surprise,’ murmured Alan, in her ear. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’

Unbelievably touched by the gesture, Janey could only nod. The fact that it was so unexpected made it all the more special. This, she reminded herself, was why she loved him.

‘I’m sorry about this morning.’ Taking her hand, he led her towards the table. ‘My stupid jealousy. But I’m going to make everything up to you, sweetheart. Here, sit down. Didn’t I say we should celebrate my return with champagne?’

It was actually ‘méthode champenoise’, Janey observed, glancing at the label. But that was just as nice as the proper kind .. .

Watching him ease the cork from the bottle, she held her breath as she always did in anticipation of the moment of release. When it finally happened, however, it was sadly lacking in oomph. The cork, instead of ricocheting off the ceiling, toppled limply to the floor. The accompanying silence was deafening.

Alan looked disappointed. ‘Story of my life,’ he said with a regretful grimace. ‘I suppose it was bound to happen. I always seem to get everything wrong.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Janey’s eyes filled with tears as she leap to her feet and hugged him. ‘You do everything right. You’ve cooked a stupendous dinner, haven’t you? Why don’t I dash down to the off-licence and pick up another bottle whilst you’re serving up?’

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘it might be a better idea if you give me the money and I get the bottle.You can take a look at the food. I’ve done my best, but you aren’t the only one who isn’t Superwoman,’ he added defensively. ‘It may not be stupendous.’

Janey smiled. ‘Why, what’s the problem?’

‘Well, I don’t know.’ Alan shook his head and looked perplexed. ‘I’ve never cooked a stupid chicken before. Is it really supposed to have a plastic bag full of squishy bits up its bum?’

Chapter 46

Valentina di Angelo was only temperamental when she wanted to be. Her fame had been founded upon the highly public rows between herself and her first husband, a hard-drinking but undoubtedly talented actor. Following their even more public divorce, Valentina had come to the reasonable conclusion that while displays of temperament were newsworthy, sweet, quiet, nice girls who liked sewing, reading and watching EastEnders were not.

She was always careful, though, to ensure that the temperamental outbursts didn’t affect her work. As far as the paparazzi were concerned, Valentina di Angelo never turned up anywhere less than three hours late, but her modelling career was something else altogether. Always cheerful, always punctual, she worked like a trooper and never complained about anything. No supermodel, after all, was ever that indispensable. Hurling insults at chat-show hosts, journalists and horrible hangers-on, and generally acting the drama queen, was a strictly after-hours occupation.

It worked, too, like a dream. She was famous for being a beautiful, acid-tongued bitch, and only the people she cared about knew any different.

And although she’d only just met Guy Cassidy, she had already placed him on the list of people she cared about. They had worked well together, she felt, but it was the tantalizing distance he’d kept which intrigued her more than anything else. Even during the shoot itself —

during which she’d been wearing not very much at all — he hadn’t seemed to notice the lush perfection of her body in the way most top photographers did. The end results had been faultless of course, but as far as Valentina was concerned there was a certain amount of unfinished business to be taken care of. With two short-lived marriages and seven broken engagements behind her, she also felt she had plenty of experience. She’d met her share of Mr Wrongs and got them out of her system. Now, at twenty-five, she was ready for Mr Right. And Guy Cassidy, with his talent, toe-curling good looks and enigmatic personality, was without a doubt right up her street. Better still, he had unceremoniously dumped her arch rival Serena Charlton. It therefore stood to reason, she thought happily, that the man had impeccable taste.

If Guy was surprised to receive her phone call, he didn’t show it. He was, however, curious to know how she had managed to track him down to a small hotel in Leicester Square.

‘Ah, you’re talking to a girl with two and a half GCSEs,’ said Valentina. She wasn’t entirely brainless. Not like Serena, she thought with a smirk of pride.

‘I’m still intrigued.’

‘I knew you were a friend of Mac Mackenzie,’ she explained. ‘So I rang him. He gave me your home phone number. Then I phoned your home and spoke to someone called Maxine. She told me you were staying at the Randolph and gave me the number for that. I called the Randolph, asked to speak to you ... and here I am!’ She giggled. ‘There, does that put you out of your misery?’

Guy, sounding amused, said, ‘Oh, absolutely. Thanks.’

‘Which is nice, because ‘I didn’t even expect you to be here in London,’ Valentina continued, her tone artless. ‘But since you are, how would you feel about having dinner with me?’