“Good one.” Then I said, “Well, I can’t help you. I don’t know what’s going on. Ask Rachel.”

“I can’t. We’re not talking.”

“What now?”

“The invitations. I want nice silver italics on nice white paper.”

“And what does she want?”

“Twigs and twine and shells and woven papyrus stuff. Would you have a word with her?”

“No.”

A startled silence came from Mum’s end, then I explained, “I’m the daughter who’s been recently bereaved, remember?”

“Sorry, pet. Sorry. I was mixing you up with Claire for a minute.”

It was only after she hung up that I wondered how she knew about Jacqui. Luke, I presumed.

Straightaway, I rang Jacqui, but she wasn’t picking up either of her phones. I left messages for her to call me immediately, then went to work, bursting with curiosity.

She didn’t call all morning. I tried her again at lunchtime but still no reply. Midafternoon, I was just about to ring her once more when a shadow fell over my desk. It was Franklin. Very quietly, he said, “Ariella wants to see you.”

“Why?”

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Her office.”

Oh God, I was sacked. I was so sacked.

Ah, well.

Franklin walked me in and I was hugely surprised to discover several people already there: Wendell from Visage, Mary Jane, coordinator of the other seven brands, and Lois, one of Mary Jane’s “girls.” Lois worked on Essence, one of our more worthy, touchy-feely brands, although nothing like as bad as EarthSource.

Was this going to be a job-lot sacking?

Five chairs were set in a semicircle around Ariella’s desk.

“Siddown,” she Don Corleoned. “Okay, the good news is that you’re not fired. Yet.”

We all laughed far too loud and long.

“Settle down, kids, it wasn’t that funny. First thing you’ve got to know is, this is superconfidential. What you hear here today, you do not discuss outside this room, with anyone, anywhere, anytime, anyhow, got it?”

Got it. But I was intrigued. Especially because we were such an unlikely combination of people. What did we have in common that made us privy to some huge secret?

“Formula Twelve.” Ariella asked. “Heard of it?”

I nodded. I knew a bit. It had been formulated by some discoverer man who had been down in the Amazon Basin badgering the locals, trying to record their lifestyle, that sort of thing. When the local lads got wounded, an ointmenty thing would be made up of ground roots and plants and other stuff you’d expect; the explorer had noticed how quickly the wounds healed and how residual scarring was minimal.

The discoverer bloke tried to make the ointment himself, but didn’t get it right until the twelfth go, hence the title.

It had been regarded as medicinal and he’d been trying to get approval from the FDA, which was a long time coming.

Ariella took up the story. “So while he’s waiting and waiting for FDA appro, Professor Redfern—that’s the guy’s name—had an idea: skin care. Using the same formula, in a diluted form, he’s created a day cream.” She handed out an inch-thick pile of documents to each of the five of us. “And the trials have been phenomenal. Like, off the scale. It’s all there.”

The funny thing about Ariella is that when she had to talk for any length of time, she stopped the Don Corleone carry-on. Clearly it was just an affectation to scare people. Mind you, it worked.

“It’s been bought by Devereaux.” Devereaux was a massive corporation; they owned dozens of cosmetic lines. Including Candy Grrrl, actually. “Devereaux is going huge on it. It’s going to be the hottest brand on the planet.” She half smiled, moving eye contact from one of us to the next. “You’re wondering where do we come in? Okay, take this to the bank: McArthur on the Park…is pitching for their publicity.”

She took a moment to let us say wow and how fabulous that was.

“And I want each of you three”—she pointed at me, Wendell, and Lois, in turn—“to come up with a pitch. A separate pitch.”

Another momentous pause. In fairness, that was fabulous. A pitch of my own. For a totally new brand.

“If they’re good enough, we pitch all three to them. If they go with your pitch, maybe you get to head up the account.”

Oh. Now, that would be amazing. A promotion. Although what would a Formula Twelve girl have to wear? Stuff inspired by the Amazon Basin? Even Warpo would be better than that.

“How much time do we have?” Wendell asked.

“Two weeks today, you three pitch to me.”

Two weeks. Not long.

“That gives us time to nix any glitches before the real thing. Not that I want any glitches.” Ariella was suddenly low and menacing. “Another thing, you do all of this in your own time. Coming in here every day, you carry on like normal, giving one thousand percent to your current brands. But you can forget about having a life of your own for the next coupla weeks.”

I was in luck. I had no life of my own anyway.

“And like I said, no one must know.”

Suddenly she switched to regal mode. “Anna, Lois, Wendell, you don’t need me to tell you what an honor this is. Do you?” Energetically we shook our heads. No, indeed, we did not. “Do you know how many people I have working for me?” No, we didn’t, but plenty, for sure. “I spent a lot of time with Franklin and Mary Jane assessing every single one of my girls, and out of all of them, I picked you three.”

“Thank you, Ariella,” we murmured.

“I am putting my trust in you.” Ariella smiled, for the first time, with real warmth. “Don’t fuck it up.”

As Franklin walked me back to my desk, he said low and urgent, right into my ear, “You heard her. Don’t fuck it up.”

Dread took ahold of me.

Lauryn looked up with eager interest. “Did you get fired?”

“No.”

“Oh. So what did she want to see you for?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s in the file?”

“Nothing.”

God, I was doing a great job at stealth. Tonight you sleep in the unemployment line.

Already I was sorry to be one of the chosen ones.