Theresa feared that that could be the last either she or Imogen would see or hear of Chloe for some time.

Imogen chased up the hill after her, but Chloe was young and fit and she soon disappeared into the dark, narrow alleyways of the Old Town.

Seventeen

SEVENTEEN

Sally’s afternoon went slowly. On every take she was aware of Phoo, lurking behind the camera.

The scene was very wordy. And as the two characters were quarrelling, it was rather physical too, with slaps and hair grabbing.

After the master shot was completed, Sally was taken to one side to have her hair put back into the state it had been at the top of the scene, ready to start again, this time with the camera, over Eggy’s shoulder, on a single close-up shot on her.

‘Who is that peculiar woman lurking among the camera crew?’ asked Judy, as she touched up Sally’s mascara.

‘She’s Eggy’s husband . . .’ Sally laughed. ‘I meant his wife.’

‘Ah, I see!’ replied Judy, with a knowing nod. ‘That explains it.’

‘Explains what?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ said Judy. ‘I need to do your lips again, can you . . . ?’

Sally presented her lips. Silenced by the make-up brush, she went through it all.

She must not let Phoo’s presence unnerve her. But it was hard.

She took her place and Daniel called, ‘Action’. Every time she started a bit of dialogue she would catch eyes with Phoo. The woman had an uncanny way of moving around and getting into her eyeline.

Did Eggy also seem rather put out, or was she imagining it? He had none of the fire he’d had in earlier scenes. It was almost as though he was holding back.

They finished the quarrel on the beach to Daniel’s satisfaction, although, if everyone hadn’t been so pressed, Sally might have asked for another take just to make it that little bit better.

The next set-up was lower down on the beach, at the water’s edge. A small motorboat was anchored there. She and Eggy, still fighting, balancing the spoils of their robbery, still visible in the beret, had to wade out into the sea, climb aboard and drive the boat away, doing some fancy curls on the water, as though they had no idea how to steer. But this was one of those things like singing. In order to make something look bad you needed to be really good at it.

Eggy was scratching his head. ‘I don’t know . . . I’ve never driven a boat before, I . . .’

‘I’m qualified,’ said Sally, stepping forward. ‘I could take the helm.’

From the crowd, Sally heard Phoo’s sarcastic laugh, clear as a clarion call.

‘Thing is,’ said Eggy, ‘I get sick at the sight of water. I don’t think I can even climb aboard without puking.’