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months.’
    Lana presses her lips together. She was very drunk last night, but she is sure he said one month. ‘Can I speak to him?’
    ‘Of course.’ He picks up the phone and speed dials his client’s number. ‘Mr. Barrington, Miss Bloom would like to have a word about the length of the contract.’ He pauses to listen to something Blake says. ‘Yes, she has.’
    Then he passes the phone to Lana and quietly leaves the room. Lana waits until he closes the door before she speaks. She is dismayed to hear her voice sound uncertain and timid.
    ‘Hello, Blake.’
    ‘Hello, Lana.’ His voice is different than she remembered. Colder; he seems a total stranger.
    She swallows. ‘About the duration of the contract. The lawyer says…’ she begins.
    ‘Sorry, Lana, but that is not negotiable,’ he says, not sounding sorry at all.
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Was there anything else you wanted?’
    ‘Er… No.’
    ‘Well, have a good day then, and I will see you tonight.’
    There is a click and the line goes dead. Lana replaces the phone slowly. It dawns on her then that Scott Fitzgerald was right—the rich are different. They are unashamed by their ruthlessness. The lawyer, who must have been watching an extension light, walks into the room.
    ‘All sorted out?’
    ‘Yes. Where do I sign?’
    ‘You do realize that you will have to read it at some point as there are other clauses than the ones we have discussed in there that you must adhere to.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Do you acknowledge that you have received, read and understood the terms and conditions outlined, and agree to abide by the said terms.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘All right,’ he drawls and looks at her expectantly. She realizes he has opened the contract up at the last page.
    ‘Sign here.’ She signs. Her hands are dead steady. ‘And date it here.’ She dates it. He opens another contract.
    ‘Sign and date again please.’ When she raises her head he is watching her steadily. He smiles coldly. It occurs to her that he believes his dealings with her to be beneath him.
    She is expensive trash. He has thoughts about her that are unflattering.
    ‘Well, that’s that, then. Here is your copy.’ He presses a buzzer that brings his secretary.
    ‘Helen here will take your bank details and tell you everything else you need to know.’ He half stands and holds his hand out. ‘Thank you, Miss Bloom. Please do not hesitate to call me if you have any further queries.’
    In the back seat of the Bentley, Lana finds a Boots bag and inside it her prescription.
    She asks Peter to stop at a cash machine. She pops her debit card into the hole in the wall and can hardly believe it. One hundred thousand and thirty-two pounds, seventy pence. By heaven!
    At the precise moment that Lana is staring at her newly resuscitated bank balance, Blake is ending a call from his solicitor. Looking up, he sees a reflection of himself in the highly polished doors of the lift he is waiting for. He watches himself curiously. He is grinning quite foolishly.

Nine
    i, I’m Fleur Jan,’ the publicist says, coming ‘Hforward, her hand held out to Lana. She is Polish and her eyes are very large and a much deeper blue than Lana’s. She is wearing false eyelashes that she bats with great effect and her hair is cut very short around her lovely face. Dressed in a brown pencil skirt and a pink top she is effortlessly chic. ‘What we will be doing today has nothing to do with publicity for the company, but Blake knows how much I love shopping so he asked if I wouldn’t mind going shopping with you. Of course I said yes,’ she explains with a twinkle in her eyes.
    ‘Cool,’ Lana says, some of Fleur’s enthusiasm already rubbing off on her. Fleur is a good change after the drawling Mr. Benby.
    ‘He mentioned formal attire, beachwear and a pair of new trainers.’ Lana nods. The man is thorough, she will give him that. ‘Do you want a coffee or tea or shall we hit the road?’
    ‘Hit the road.’
    They walk