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start immediately, so Erin had been forced to make the awkward call to Richard asking if she could stay at his flat for a couple of weeks while she sorted herself out and decided whether her future was in London or Cornwall. From her first day at Karin Cavendish, it had been a trial by fire for Erin. Eighteen-hour days were commonplace and the attention to detail Karin demanded was phenomenal. Thankfully, Erin was not organizing the Stop Global Warming event by herself. Karin had recruited a production company to sort out everything from furniture to lighting and a PR company whose responsibility seemed to be keeping the press away from the event rather than persuading them to cover it. Even so, the volume of work required to coordinate everything made Erin’s head ache. It didn’t help that Karin was such a demanding taskmaster. Every bit as particular and exacting as she was glamorous, Karin was the ultimate perfectionist, insisting on signing off every last detail personally. She had spent days hand-pickingthe best-looking waiters from catering agencies all over London, and would spend hours agonizing over whether to have Tattinger or Perrier Jouet champagne at the reception. As far as Erin had been concerned, champagne was champagne before Karin had explained the difference. Just being in Karin’s company made Erin feel more chic and worldly.
    ‘I’m going to Charles Worthington in ten minutes,’ said Karin. ‘So we need to run through everything now.’ She held up a finger, then touched her earpiece. ‘Hi, darling. No, can’t talk now. See you tonight, yes? Ciao!’
    She sat down at Erin’s table and fingered the cream floral centrepiece critically. ‘You understand that I won’t be anywhere near the door tonight?’ she asked Erin. ‘So I’m leaving that to you.’
    It was the thing Erin was most excited about. She was to be in charge of the guest list and would be checking people in as they came through the velvet rope. There were plenty of celebrities on the VIP list: Robbie Williams, Yasmin Le Bon, even Hector Fox, one of Britain’s hottest new actors; Erin had recently seen him as a troubled hit man in an ITV drama and he had made her feel weak at the knees.
    ‘You have got to be beyond strict,’ continued Karin, snapping her fingers to summon a waiter and barking the word, ‘water.’
    ‘Remember, no ticket, no entry. And cross-reference with the guest list, I don’t want anyone slipping through. I’m diverting all calls to you from now; they’ll all be blaggers trying to get a last-minute ticket for after dinner; you’ll get loads of press too. Tell them this is a bloody charity night and let them buy a ten-thousand-pound table if they want to come. Anyway, Tatler has the exclusive.’
    Karin ran through her list of strict rules and regulations. She wanted a car to be outside for her from 10.30 p.m. and to wait indefinitely until she was ready to go. Under nocircumstances was either Erin or any of the PR girls allowed to smoke or drink.
    ‘Not even water, Erin,’ said Karin firmly. ‘People think it’s vodka tonic and it looks really, really unprofessional.’
    Erin nodded solemnly at each instruction and, when Karin finally stalked off, she took a deep breath, part of her wanting to run all the way back to Cornwall, but another part of her more thrilled and excited than she had ever been in her life.
    Summer’s taxi arrived outside her basement flat in a slightly scruffy house in W10, a shade after 8 p.m. She had promised the taxi driver a ten-pound tip if he could get her home in fifteen minutes and he had screeched into Basset Road with seconds to spare.
    ‘Here you go, love,’ he beamed, shoving the notes into his breast pocket. ‘Hope he’s worth it.’
    As the cab pulled away, Summer turned and looked up at the tall thin terrace and sighed. It was home, she supposed, although living with her mother at twenty-four wasn’t exactly her ideal life plan. Molly had bought the