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and whenever they got hold of one were
amazed to find that it was no longer Her Majesty the Queen’s face emblazoned upon it, but Reza’s own, complete with dazzling tan and glinting white teeth.
    Now, as his plane roared down the runway and sailed into the sky, a frisson of excitement rippled through the cabin. Reza reached into the mini-bar by his seat and pulled out a bottle of
champagne. ‘Dooooooooom,’ he chanted at Fadi, Henry and Darren, who immediately sang back in unison ‘Pé, Pé, Pérignooooooon.’ Then he shook the bottle
hard, popped the cork and unleashed his fizz all over the shrieking passengers, spraying them and the immaculate interior.
    ‘Open up, Ciara,’ he ordered, leaning forward to pour the champagne directly into the pretty teenager’s ready and willing mouth as she thrust out her chest and threw her head
back, damp hair falling wantonly everywhere.
    Henry opened another bottle and poured Reza a glass before helping him off with his loafers.
    ‘It’s showtime!’ Reza roared.

Chapter 3
    With the plane a few hundred feet in the air, its passengers could glance down and smile a satisfied goodbye to southern England, now just a series of concrete clusters divided
by swathes of green fields. Hidden somewhere among the buildings of central London stood the office blocks where both Abena and Tara worked, and the girls considered their careers from this new
vantage point.
    Tara had been employed for only three weeks the previous month. She’d fallen into temping after leaving university because she was reluctant to commit to any of the careers on offer.
She’d rather wander homeless through the streets of London than confine her lifestyle to a rigid and mundane routine. Not for her the daily grind of taking a ghastly bus to a drab office
every morning, then sitting in front of a computer with a bunch of people she would never normally have chosen as her friends, before trudging home with just enough time for some supper before bed.
She knew that somewhere there was a more glamorous life waiting for her. In the meantime she would temp, accepting only the bare minimum of work. This usually meant three weeks of
secretarial work a month in order to cover her half of the rent.
    She found it wasn’t necessary to spend much to maintain a hectic social life, having discovered soon after her move to London that if one is invited to the right parties, a diet consisting
almost solely of canapés is more than substantial. Besides, she was regularly invited on dinner dates, where, despite being a modern woman, she never had any intention, or need, to open her
ostrich-skin purse when the bill came. Cars to ferry her around from restaurant to bar to nightclub or party were normally taken care of by either the date for that evening or a friend, be it the
owner of the restaurant or the PR person for the venue. Tara had soon learnt that being fashionable and connected is not just agreeable, it’s lucrative.
    The only thing she sometimes felt she ought to accept more work for was high-end clothing. A connoisseur of fashion, Tara flatly refused to buy clothing on the High Street. Instead, she made do
with a wardrobe of beautifully cut vintage hand-me-downs from her grandmother, mixed with goodie-bag freebies from the shows in Paris and London, sample-sale finds, and a considerable collection of
designer gifts from wealthier friends and a couple of ex-boyfriends. This arrangement would have to suffice until she found herself an eligible man because the only occupations that could possibly
hold her attention were in fashion PR and fashion journalism, neither of which would enable her to afford a cutting-edge Preen wardrobe.
    Abena, too, was struggling to achieve job satisfaction. Hugely ambitious, she was determined to make something of her sharp mind and friendly nature. Exotic good looks inherited from her
Ghanaian parents might have helped her charm her way through life, but she wanted to use