‘I’m not going to piss around here. It’s bad.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Bad! Bad!’ Jared said impatiently. ‘What about the word “bad” do you not understand? How many sodding pills did you pop this morning?’ ‘I . . .’ Amber stuttered. ‘You need to come into the office,’ Jared ordered. ‘What, now?’ Amber had been watching TV with her mother when Jared rang. They were cosily ensconced in the kitchen, silently sipping diet Lucozade, Slava crocheting lace, happily settled in for the day. Amber had been planning to go for a walk later; she always tried to do a constitutional in Hyde Park for about an hour, stroll around the Serpentine and over the bridges. ‘Yeah, now! There’s something you need to see!’ Jared said impatiently. ‘Don’t piss around like you usually do, OK? Now means now, not three hours’ time!’ But that was impossible for Amber, trained since birth by Slava never to leave the house without looking her best.
