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Lucas was still kneeling beside her, oblivious to the rest of the room. Stephanie reached down to stroke the stubble on his cheek, and Lucas smiled, suddenly feeling that everything was going to be OK.

‘All right,’ Stephanie agreed, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘That’s amazing! You’re amazing,’ Lucas grinned, leaping up and reaching out a hand to help her to her feet. ‘And I cannot wait to make up for lost time. But this fashion show is starting in about thirty seconds, and my mother is going to have a heart attack if we don’t get you into your outfit right now. Follow me.’

He set off backstage, pulling Stephanie along behind him, and she giggled with excitement and happiness. ‘Let’s do this.’

Isobel paced up and down inside the banqueting room. The door was locked, and outside she knew that the security guard was still there standing sentry; she could hear him on his walkie-talkie speaking in Spanish.

Isobel kept thinking back to what Camille had said about being blackmailed. What were the words she had used? The smashed wing mirror, the blood …

She thought of Nicolas and Camille standing together, then she thought of Lucas …

There was something that was gnawing away at Isobel’s consciousness, a memory …

Then something clicked.

She realized instantly that she needed to get out of this room as quickly as possible. If the police arrived and she was taken away for questioning, it would be too late.

She looked around her. The windows in the room looked out over the extensive gardens, but they were all locked when she tried them. She looked around her once more at the large room. It appeared to be the type of space where a wedding might be held. At the end of the room there was a set of large double doors. Without much hope, she walked towards them. They were room-height, perhaps hiding a big storage area for furniture. She turned the handle and the door opened towards her but, instead of another storage area, she found another big room. It appeared to be an overspill area overlooking one of the hotel’s pretty patios.

She walked through into the second room and towards a set of large French doors. She tried one of the door handles and to her delight they opened silently, and she stepped out onto the terrace, free at last.

So much for security.

The show was starting, and time was running out …

Camille was on autopilot, checking over the models’ looks, making final tweaks before they stepped out onto the runway. The atmosphere was as exhilarating as ever, a maelstrom of make-up artists and stylists and dressers, enormous spotlights looming above them and whirring fans to try to combat the heat. There were rails of garments with photographs of every look taped to the wall above, and thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes were slipped off and hastily discarded as the models raced to make their quick changes.

But finally, it seemed as though everything was coming together. The show was running smoothly, and the audience were enjoying themselves, seemingly forgetting the earlier delays.

Camille was thankful for that, but her mind was racing. Nicolas had convinced her that Isobel was the one responsible for the notes, and they’d left her in the banqueting suite to be watched by security. As soon as the show was over and the VIPs had departed, the police would be called. Camille didn’t want them arriving mid-show, interrupting the spectacle with sirens and flashing lights. Camille Andre’s first collaboration would make headlines for all the wrong reasons.

But something still felt wrong to Camille. How could Isobel have known the details of Andre’s death? How could she have learned the secret Camille had been keeping for all these years? It didn’t make sense. Camille was terrified that they’d accused the wrong person, and the real blackmailer was still out there, biding their time …

‘Camille, thank you so much. This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn – and I’ve worn a few!’

Camille looked up to see Catherine Zeta-Jones beside her, the image of a bombshell in a silver silk gown which clung to her curves. It was overlaid with sheer lace panels and decorated with hundreds of hand-sewn beaded flowers.

Camille was almost speechless. Despite all of her anxieties, this was a moment to be savoured, the purpose that gave her so much joy; beautiful clothes that made women feel beautiful. ‘It’s I who should thank you, Catherine. You look divine; it’s exactly how this dress should be worn. I couldn’t have chosen anyone better for Camille Andre.’

The two women hugged, with Camille taking care not to disturb an inch of Catherine’s look, before the Welsh siren stepped out onto the runway, receiving a deafening cheer from the crowd, sashaying down the catwalk like she belonged there. It was almost over, Camille realized with relief, and the show had gone without a hitch. But there was still something …

She turned around and saw Nicolas. As ever, he was standing at a discreet distance, but close enough that he could be there in moments if she needed him. He was always there for her. She caught his eye, and he moved towards her.

‘Everything OK?’

‘I just can’t shake the feeling that Isobel was telling the truth, Nicolas. I’m terrified something’s going to happen. She could be the key to solving the riddle.’

‘You could be making a mistake,’ Nicolas said.

‘I need to be sure, and the only way I can do that is by speaking to her.’

‘We can do that after the show,’ he told her, before Camille’s attention was taken by Catherine, returning backstage followed by a wave of applause. She was glowing, a beaming smile across her face, and Camille could see that she’d had a ball out there.

‘Your turn,’ Catherine winked, holding her hand out to Camille. ‘It’s time for you to take your bow.’

Camille took her hand with a smile. ‘I want Stephanie too. Has anyone seen her?’