‘I don’t believe it. Sally Doyle! Salzy, old darling! How faberoo de vous voir.’

Sally shielded her eyes but could still not make out the identity of the man and woman who loomed over her.

‘It’s Eggy, darling! Eggy and Phoo.’

Sally sat upright, rather quickly.

Edgar Markham and his wife Phoebe Taylor were the most famous married couple of English showbiz, known to the tabloid press as ‘The Magical Markhams’. Edgar – ‘Eggy’ – was renowned for playing classical roles on stage and diplomats and barristers on film, while his wife had been the queen of TV sitcom, in particular the immensely popular long-running TV series, Paddy and Pat. Taking the role of Pat, Phoebe, known in the business as Phoo, officially became a ‘National Treasure’.

‘Oh God! Eggy! Phoo! What on earth are you doing here?’

‘En vacance, darling; like you, I suppose.’

‘No, no.’ Sally scrambled to her feet. ‘No. I live here. Well, not here, exactly, but just along the coast.’

‘And you come to this beach to run around like a woman possessed!’ Phoo laughed. ‘Eggy and I almost expected you to leap on to a broomstick and fly away.’

Sally took the implications of this remark with a pinch of salt.

‘How lovely to see you both. Are you staying here in Cagnes-sur-Mer?’

‘No, no, darling. We’re in a very chi-chi establishment in St-Tropez. But as we have the car we thought we’d take a spin along the coast to see the rather less salubrious areas.’

Sally winced. How could anyone even think of this lovely little town as anything less than gorgeous? ‘Will you be here long?’

‘Only a few days left of our fortnight, malheureusement. I’m loving it, of course, cos I’ve a cosmopolitan soul. But Eggy’s missing his home comforts, aren’t you, darling?’

Eggy pulled a hound-dog face. ‘Haven’t had a decent cup of tea since we arrived. And no toast for breakfast for ten whole days. Never seen the point of those crescent things. Bacon, eggs, toast, marmalade and a nice cup of builder’s for me. I’m finding the froggy food insufferable. Yearning to go home and get a proper meal.’

‘Oh, Eggy darling, you are so silly. You know you’re enjoying Odile’s food well enough. You practically lick the plate clean. Or are you just hypnotised by her 48 double D?’ Phoo laughed and elbowed Sally in the ribs. ‘Odile is our landlady. Well, she’s an old friend really, I suppose.’ She giggled like a schoolgirl, something strange to see in a woman who must be in her mid-seventies. ‘Men are so transparent, aren’t they? I’ve often said that Eggy’s a bit of a twitcher. He’s always transfixed the moment he sees a pair of great tits looming.’

‘A mature man’s hobby.’

‘Second childhood, more like.’

‘You’re right, of course, Phoo. Nanny did have a pair of big balloons.’

The three had strolled away from the sands and were now sauntering aimlessly along the seafront.

‘But enough of all us, Salzy.’ Phoo turned and stood facing her, hands on hips. ‘You’re being as evasive as ever you ever were. Come along, woman, tell all. You’re living over here – is there a handsome rich chap on the scene? Do you still tread the boards? Or are you wildly, independently rich? Five kids? Run an orphanage? What gives?’