He snorts derisively. "No I looked like the Phantom of the Flea Market," he says, recalling an impressively dated array of drab argyle's and corduroys.

He is a snob, no doubt. But the way he wields that snobbery often keeps people guessing about him.

He turns to Roxy before they reach the top of that escalator and puts his hand firmly on her shoulder and looks her in the eye. "Rule number one of existing in rich-people-spaces. Never for a second doubt that you belong there even more than the sales people do. They can smell trepidation. Look bored and unimpressed by the whole thing and they'll mistake it for the scent of money."