Yet there we were, a handful of fashion editors (her husband hadn’t yet seen it although he kept texting her for progress reports) and Victoria herself with newly spikey hair, perched on gilded Louis something sofas and sipping sparkling water while three models paraded past our knees. This was so ladylike it made the Windsors look common, so demure it made the scrum in Bryant Park, New York fashion week’s official headquarters, look like a hooligans’ rout at Millwall. Over and again, when describing each outfit (all of which were dresses), the novice fashion designer used the word “classy”.

And guess what? They were.

In fact ­ and I can’t quite believe I’m writing this ­ it was a very impressive, accomplished collection, with not a single dud. True there were only ten designs, in various colours, each adhering to the aesthetic the designer has favoured in her own wardrobe of late: slender calf-length fitted dresses with raised waists. But it was the fabrics (silk, wool and organza) and the attention to detail that impressed.