‘The public loves her. National Treasure and all that.’ Judy gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘But in the business, it’s quite another story. She’s always rather been known for being cruel and catty to the wardrobe and make-up departments. Always complaining, throwing tantrums. She threw a hairbrush across the room on the last one. Smashed a mirror.’

‘Good grief!’

Sally thought back to her own time as an assistant stage manager, the theatre’s equivalent to make-up and wardrobe. Of course she herself had had similar treatment at the hands of Phoo.

Sally was rather sorry for poor old Eggy, who must by now be feeling pretty embarrassed at his wife’s antics. To know that he himself had not wanted Phoo to have a role in this film spoke volumes. And it can’t have helped his home life, either, especially if Phoo had the tiniest inkling of the truth. And then again . . . if Sally hadn’t misinterpreted what she’d overheard in the car yesterday and Eggy was off getting young casting directors pregnant, perhaps Phoo had good reason for behaving badly.

‘Mind you,’ said Judy, clearly not wanting to seem to be bad-mouthing someone who was going to be around the set, ‘I did love her in that sitcom she did with Dermott Presley.’

‘Paddy and Pat?’

‘Dermott was such a lovely man. A real charmer. And had such a lovely family too. We all adored him.’

Sally remembered seeing photo shoots of Dermott Presley riding horses with his wife and five children, or taking picnics with them on remote Irish beaches. He was the very picture of wholesomeness and family values. Always seemed to be smiling, and wearing those cream-coloured Aran sweaters and corduroy trousers. Sally wondered how on earth he had coped, working all those years with Phoo. Paddy and Pat had run for about eight series, with a couple of Christmas specials thrown in.

Judy gave Sally’s face the final brush-down with powder and sent her back to her hutch, where she had to change into her all-black burglary costume, complete with hood.

Sally sat in her tiny trailer cubicle for a short time, studying her lines. She was shattered. The big scene wasn’t till after lunch, which, after last night’s surprise visitor, was just as well.

Marianne had talked solidly for hours and prevented Sally going to bed, with accusations that she, as a mother, ought to be interested in her daughter’s life. Well, of course she was interested, but at that moment she had other things on her mind as well, like learning her lines for today. But she knew her daughter certainly wouldn’t have understood that necessary task.