A Random Act of Kindness. Sophie Jenkins

that’s right!’ I reply brightly.

      ‘I’m ringing to invite you to tea to thank you and I’d also very much like to show you my collection of haute couture. It’s evident to me that you’re a woman who’ll singularly appreciate it.’

      The words thrill me. Haute couture is dressmaking perfection, with garments made from the most extravagant fabrics, in the most intricate designs, with meticulous detailing and the finest needlework. And she thinks I’ll appreciate it! (That’s understating it slightly.) Haute couture is stratospherically out of my price range so it’s my equivalent of treasure. ‘I’d love to come to tea.’

      ‘Ah! We’re agreed! And also, I have a business proposition for you that I believe will interest you. But I won’t talk now; I’m in the library. So, now I have your number. And you take my number, too,’ she says imperiously.

      ‘I’ll get a pen.’ I go into the shadowed, smoke-scented flat to find one and she gives me her home number. I read it back to her and write it down on my wall calendar with her name next to it, smiling to myself: Dinah Moss. Moss, Fern, Banks. We agree to meet on Monday afternoon, my day off.

      ‘Excellent! Goodbye. I’ll look forward to it.’ Her voice fades as she says to the woman on the desk, ‘Here you are, I’ve finished now.’

      The call ends and I put the phone back in my pocket. I have to say, I’m excited about the phone call, because Dinah Moss who wears Chanel says I have a very distinctive style and a compliment always means more coming from an expert.

      I try not to speculate about the business proposition.

      I have a good feeling about it, all the same.

      From time to time over the past few days I’ve been mulling over David Westwood’s comment that no good deed ever goes unpunished. Not that I’m superstitious or anything, but the fire did come shortly after my good deed.

      More than anything, I’d like to prove him wrong.