mber groans as she rolls over and hits the alarm clock, sinking back into the pillows as she tries to force herself awake. Not that she should be tired, last night wasn’t, after all, a late night, but every morning it seems to be harder and harder to rouse herself from the cocooning comfort of her bed.

In the old days Jared would come in and wake her. She’d be woken by a little hand on her shoulder, or a whispered, ‘Mommy? Are you awake?’ And she’d throw back the covers for Jared to climb in and snuggle up next to her, stroking her face and relishing this alone time with Mommy.

Jared, Jar, was her first, and the one great love of her life. When she became pregnant with Grace, she spent months carrying this secret fear that she would never be able to love another child as much as Jared, that however fond she would be of this second child, Jared would always have her heart.

And it’s true, it did take her a long time to bond with Grace, far longer than with Jared, although the fact that she handed Grace over to a nanny two weeks after the maternity nurse left may have had something to do with it.

The nanny, Lavinia, used to bring Grace in for cuddles with Amber, who would hold her for a while, breathing a sigh of relief when Jared would demand her attention so she could hand Grace back.

Yet now she finds she adores Grace, is quite as much in love with her as she is with Jared, albeit in a different way. Jared was her gentle child, sweet, sensitive; she and Richard smugly prided themselves on never having experienced the terrible twos with Jared because they were obviously such wonderful parents.

All that changed with Grace. Grace who is stubborn, wilful, strong. Grace who is absolutely sure of what she wants and has no fear whatsoever. Grace who suffered such terrible twos there were times when Amber wanted to just sit down and cry or, failing that, send her back for a new, improved model.

But Grace is also funny. She makes faces and puts on voices and has an imagination so extraordinary that Amber and Richard constantly look at her in amazement that they created such an incredible little girl. She has sweetness and charm, and the ability to wrap anyone she wants around her little finger. And she is cuddly in a way Jared never was; passing Amber in the kitchen Grace will often just lean her head on Amber’s back, kiss her on the knee, climb onto her lap and fold into her body.

Amber finally forces herself out of bed knowing that if nothing else she will have to battle with Grace soon to get her dressed for school. At only three years old Grace already refuses to wear anything Amber picks out for her. Naturally, because Amber didn’t grow up wearing beautiful clothes, never had the money for them, she now spends hours browsing European children’s clothes, flicking through the more upmarket catalogues.

Grace’s wardrobe is chock-full of Bonpoint and Tartine et Chocolat, Jacadi and Petit Bateau. Stunning French clothes with elaborate smocking, piqué Peter Pan collars, beautiful Liberty-print dresses, with classic black patent Mary Jane shoes.

Grace refuses to wear any of it. No subtle colours or clothes for Grace. No plums, nor peaches nor soft cornflower blues. Grace is all about pink. Pink clothes, preferably sparkly, and if there are transfers so much the better.

Her current favourites are hot-pink velour tracksuit bottoms. She has one pair with a stripe down the side, and one without, and the tantrums that ensue should Amber try to force her into something else have become not worth Amber’s while. Although she can’t help but wince when Grace teams the tracksuit bottoms with pink Disney sweatshirts, or polyester T-shirts with shiny pictures of princesses all over them.

Not that Amber would ever buy Grace anything like that. Unfortunately her mother does. Amber barely sees her mother now, but Richard has met her and she was at the wedding, much to Amber’s distress, although she managed to sit her out of the way; anyway, by that time it didn’t really matter what Richard’s family thought of her as it was ever so slightly too late.

Amber’s mother is longing to get to know her grandchildren. She knows she wasn’t the best mother she could have been, but also knows she was the best mother under the circumstances. ‘Thank God, you’ll never know what it was like,’ she said to Amber at Amber’s wedding, shocked into speechlessness by the family and the money that Amber was marrying into.

Sue – Amber’s mother – phones from time to time, and from time to time great big packages arrive, gifts for Jared and Grace. Amber made the mistake of admitting that Grace had loved a particularly disgusting lurex hoodie Sue had sent, and since then the clothes have got progressively louder and more sparkly. And Grace is in heaven.

It’s only pre-school, Amber tells herself. It doesn’t really matter what anyone thinks, she adds, although she doesn’t even believe that herself, but she doesn’t have the energy to fight any more.

Grace isn’t in her bedroom, and as Amber walks down the corridor towards the back staircase she hears the sound of laughter drifting up from the kitchen. At least, she thinks, they’ve woken up in a good mood.

Lavinia is always in the kitchen preparing breakfast at seven. Recently there have been times when Amber has been about to come downstairs and she has heard shouting, or crying, or whining coming from the kitchen. After hesitating at the top of the stairs, she is ashamed to admit that she has very quietly turned around and tiptoed back to bed.

‘Mommy!’ Both kids turn as she walks through the doorway and climb down from their chairs, flinging their arms around her.

‘Hello, darlings,’ she says, giving them big kisses. ‘Morning, Lavinia. Did Richard leave already?’

Lavinia turns from where she’s making French toast, and nods. ‘Off to the gym before work, he said. Coffee?’

‘Mmm. Lovely.’ Amber sits down at the table as a high-pitched whine escapes from Grace.

‘No, Mom, sit next to me!’

‘No!’ Jared shouts, pushing Grace off the chair she’s attempting to climb up. ‘Mommy’s going to sit next to me.’

‘No!’ Grace shrieks, and hits Jared hard on the head; he immediately starts wailing.

Amber grits her teeth and prays for patience. ‘Stop it, both of you!’ she snaps. ‘Grace, no hitting. And Jared, stop pushing Grace. I’m going to sit in the middle so you can both sit next to me, okay?’

Peace is restored as Lavinia brings the French toast over to the table and places a much-needed strong cup of coffee in front of Amber.

At ten o’clock the kids are in school – Jared at kindergarten, Grace at the little pre-school down the road – Lavinia is busy doing the laundry, and Amber is busy whizzing round the house cleaning up before the cleaning team arrives. Yes, she’s paying them to clean, but they also clean the houses of several of the big names in the Ladies League – how do you think Amber found them? – and she doesn’t want anyone gossiping that she keeps her house a pigsty.

Not to mention that Julian and Aidan are coming this morning. They’re the decorators that everyone in town is talking about. Recently moved to Highfield from Manhattan, they’ve been the subject of various editorials in the Highfield Gazette, not to mention much speculation as to who will be their first clients.

Amber knew exactly who they were. She may live out in the suburbs but she still subscribes to AD and Vogue. She knows which pop stars’ homes they did, which fashion editors they’re friendly with, even where they went on holiday last year (‘Phuket, and isn’t it so dreadful about the tsunami…’).

Nobody expected Julian and Aidan, or Amberley Jacks as they are known professionally, to move out to ‘the boondocks’. ‘Darling,’ as one society matron had said to them when she ran into them a few months before at Da Silvanos, ‘if you’re that desperate for the country get a summer house in the Litchfield Hills, for God’s sake. Don’t leave us permanently.’ But Julian and Aidan were ready to settle down. Aidan missed living near the water, plus Lincoln, their schnauzer, needed more room to run.

They bought a beach shack, which naturally they ‘did up’ in super-quick time, and after the Gazette ran a double-page spread celebrating their arrival in Highfield and featuring their ‘stunning new home’, everyone who was anyone, or who indeed wanted to be anyone, tried to take them on.

But Amberley Jacks is hardly desperate for business. They can afford to be choosy, don’t like taking on more than a handful of clients at any one time, and certainly don’t want to work for just anyone.

The call from Amber Winslow, though, they just had to take. ‘Do you think it’s that Winslow?’ Aidan had said to Julian, who, although born in Ireland, had taken to America and all things American like a duck to water.

They made a few calls, found out that indeed Amber Winslow was married to Richard Winslow of the known Winslow family, and so she was one of the lucky few they called back. They had heard that she had come from nothing, that no one knew what her background was; the rumour said the mother was – gasp – a cleaner from Long Island.

Whatever the truth, Julian and Aidan loved nothing more than a good story, and so Amber Winslow was one of the few people they set up a meeting with.

‘We like to interview potential clients first,’ said Aidan during that initial phone call, as Amber’s heart fluttered with fear and all her inadequacies rose to the surface.

‘Good Lord, that sounds scary,’ she managed. ‘What if I fail?’

Aidan had laughed. ‘Oh we’re not scary at all. It’s just that we only tend to work with people that we really like, and this is just to make sure we get on. But don’t worry, I can tell already that we’re going to like you.’

Amber relaxed. But only a little.

She has bought beautiful flower arrangements and placed them in every room. Has hidden the TV guides under piles of Architectural Digest, and has hidden the odd vase that she suspects will not pass muster.

Her clothes have been planned two weeks in advance. In fact the minute she put down the phone to Aidan she sat in her wardrobe and planned what she would wear to make the very best impression. She didn’t want to wear her daily uniform of Gap pants and sneakers, nor her smart little Chanel suits she wears for Richard’s work do’s or the rare occasions they go up to Brookline for family get-togethers.

In the end she decided on a pair of chocolate-brown pants with a soft pink cashmere sweater, and flat brown suede Prada pumps. Classic, elegant, with a slightly trendy twist thanks to the shoes, she’d team it with a huge chunky diamond and rose quartz ring that had cost several thousand dollars but that she hadn’t been able to resist.

The very fact that she was able to go into a store and walk out less than five minutes later with a diamond ring, without having to think about it, still managed to amaze her. She knew by now she ought to be used to it, and in many ways she was, but this not having to think about how much she spent, nor about what she spent it on, still, even after all these years, felt slightly odd.

And Richard had always encouraged her. ‘You deserve it,’ he’d say as she showed him the fur scarf she’d just bought, or the Balenciaga bag, or the Loro Piana shawl. ‘I know you never had any of this before, and what’s money for if not to spend?’ His generosity was one of the things she loved most about him. She couldn’t bear to be married to one of those men who questioned everything, who gave their wives a strict budget and expected to be consulted on everything outside the budget.

Recently Richard had been slightly less generous, slightly more questioning about the amounts she spent, but he had a point. The market wasn’t as good as it had been, and wouldn’t it be better to set aside savings for a rainy day, and really, didn’t she already have everything she needed?

Still, she hadn’t shown him the ring yet. She’d bought it just last month when she’d been in the city for the day. She’d walked past a jeweller on Madison and had stopped when she’d seen this ring in the window.

‘It’s a fun piece,’ the sales assistant had said as she fetched it. Fun for the women on the Upper East Side. Fun if you consider several thousand dollars on a semi-precious stone to be fun.

‘It’s gorgeous.’ Amber had held her breath as she slipped the ring on her finger. It was gorgeous. And it fitted her. Perfectly.

‘I think this must be fate.’ The sales assistant had smiled, and really, who could argue with a statement like that?

Amber left the shop five minutes later, the ring on her finger, the amount having been split between two credit cards and a cheque.

‘Don’t worry,’ the sales assistant had said, ‘lots of our ladies do this all the time. One of our regular ladies keeps buying pieces from the same collection and she tells her husband she picked them up on eBay for fifty bucks apiece.’

Amber had smiled, hadn’t given anything away, although she hoped the assistant wouldn’t recognize the Winslow name, wouldn’t gossip to anyone about how she couldn’t tell her husband how much she was spending.

Although she was sure Richard wouldn’t mind. She was just trying to prove to him that she could be responsible with money. That she didn’t have to immediately and automatically buy everything she fell in love with, without thinking about the cost.

Amber has just finished spritzing herself with perfume when the doorbell rings. She reaches the door at the same time as Lavinia, waves Lavinia away with a smile and opens the door to find Julian and Aidan standing on the doorstep.

‘What a wonderful position,’ the taller of the two, Aidan, says as he introduces himself and walks inside, looking up and down and around the foyer before turning back to Amber.

‘I love that you’re on the top of this hill,’ Julian says. ‘We were just saying how jealous we are of your views.’

‘But you’ve got that divine beach house right on the water.’ Amber smiles, leading them in and taking them into the formal living room. ‘The article in the Gazette had the most wonderful photographs. Isn’t the balcony off your bedroom right over the water?’

‘Well yes,’ Julian admits. ‘It is rather wonderful. But what do you want us to do for you?’

Amber shrugs, because the truth is she hadn’t really even thought of employing a decorator until everyone in the League started talking about Amberley Jacks and how they were coming to town and how desperate everyone was to use them.

Amber had always done the house herself. She and Richard used to go to estate sales to pick up pieces – a nineteenth-century armoire that stood in the family room, some beautiful French needlepoint rugs that in fact they are standing on now.

She had kept the house fairly neutral, and had always been happy with it, but when Nadine, one of the League’s queen bees, had turned to her and said, ‘Of course you must be getting Amberley Jacks in to see you,’ Amber had nodded and said, ‘Of course.’

And now here they are, examining her living room. ‘I just thought maybe you could give me some ideas,’ Amber starts vaguely. ‘I quite like this room, although maybe it could do with some curtains. Yes. I’d love your help with the curtains.’

Julian and Aidan both stand up and turn slowly around, each of them echoing the other with their hands held softly beneath their chins in a silent prayer.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Julian takes a deep breath and looks excitedly at Aidan.

‘I am.’ Aidan smiles.

‘We’re thinking…’ Julian pauses as a slow smile spreads on his face. ‘Lavender!’ he announces with a flourish.

‘Yes! Lavender!’ Aidan says. ‘It would be fabulous in here.’

‘A gorgeous soft lavender on the walls, and then we need to bring this whole look up to date.’

‘What about my sofa?’ Amber asks meekly. ‘Would this go with lavender?’

‘Ugh no.’ Aidan looks at the sofa with horror. ‘But I’m thinking a wonderful rich-plum sofa. Very modern. It would make this room very fun. Very now.’

‘Oh yes.’ Julian claps his hands together with excitement. ‘Plum is my favourite. And then bookshelves. You need some detail.’ He turns back to Amber. ‘Mrs Winslow, can I be honest?’

‘Call me Amber, and yes, you can be honest.’

‘These new houses, whilst wonderful, are boring, boring, boring.’

‘Yes,’ echoes Aidan. ‘Dull, dull, dull.’

‘And our job is to bring in some character. You don’t want to live in a big boxy house that’s like everyone else’s, filled with –’ Julian gestures at one of Amber’s favourite pieces, an old cherry sideboard that held all her silver photographs – ‘tacky pieces of junk.’

‘Oh. Right. Of course.’ Amber’s face falls. She loves that sideboard.

‘Not that Julian is saying your furniture is junk,’ Aidan says quickly, noting her face.

‘OH NO!’ Julian feigns horror. ‘Our job is to bring beauty and grace to your home. We can rearrange your furniture so that it looks like new. We’ll bring in wonderful pieces that we find on our antique buying trips. Amber,’ he leans in to her and drops his voice, ‘we will make your home the envy of all your neighbours and friends.’

‘Well how’s a girl expected to say no after that?’ Amber laughs, and with that she takes them on a tour of the house.

‘But they’re really talented,’ Amber pleads with Richard later that evening, having cooked him a huge fat juicy steak to try and soften the blow.

‘I just don’t understand why suddenly you want a decorator. You’ve always said you never understood why people used decorators in the first place. Didn’t you go on that house tour last year and say every home looked like a show house? Isn’t it you who’s always saying you love your house so much precisely because you and I chose everything in it?’

‘Ah, well. Yes. I suppose I did say that. But I think that was just because I hadn’t found the right decorators. Honestly, Richard, I really didn’t know how talented the really good ones are, and Amberley Jacks are the best. They do everyone.’

‘Everyone? Who’s everyone?’

Amber reels off the list of celebrities and society people whose lives Amberley Jacks have transformed.

‘I still don’t get it. And lavender in the formal living room? Are you absolutely sure?’

‘Yes, I’m absolutely sure, and you’ll love it, Richard. Honestly. And anyway, they’re really not that expensive.’

‘Uh oh. Here we go. How much is not that expensive?’

‘They’re $200 an hour, plus everything we buy through them is practically wholesale.’

Richard thinks for a while. ‘But how many hours does it take? Can we put a ceiling on it? What do they expect it to be?’

‘I don’t know but I’ll find out!’ Amber throws her arms around Richard and kisses him, knowing she’s won. ‘I love you, Richard! And I’ll call them tomorrow and ask. I’m sure it’s not going to be that expensive. How many hours can it take?’