The waiter explained that there was only one cab service in the village, but he was an old man and he never worked after nine at night or before nine in the morning.

Sally asked for the time of the first bus.

‘There are only four buses a day which pass through here. The first at nine-thirty,’ he replied. ‘And it takes about an hour to get to Nice centre ville.’

Well, that was a blow!

She turned back to Eggy. ‘There are no cabs, Eggy.’

But it was as though he had not understood what she’d said.

‘Very impressive, Salz, the way you just spin off into French without so much as a by-your-leave.’

As the waiter moved back behind the bar and started washing their glasses, Eggy rested his head on Sally’s shoulder.

‘It’s a devil’s life, sometimes, living with Phoo, you know. But, remember, we said “for better for worse”, so there we are. We just have to grin and bear it, dontcha know. But I also think she’s very misunderstood.’

Sally wasn’t in the mood for marital confessions. Or for explanations of Phoo’s foul behaviour.

The only thing on her mind was how the hell were they going to get back to Bellevue-sur-Mer.

They both had a company car picking them up at nine in the morning. They were due to go to Make-up and be ready to go on set at the location by eleven.

If the worst came to the very worst, Sally supposed they could take rooms somewhere in this village and phone the production company to see if they could get picked up from here.

She called the waiter over again and asked if there was a hotel nearby. He told her there was one, and it had one room available. He said it was owned by the bar – a kind of inn.

‘Sally?’ Eggy pulled his head up. He was starting to slur. He turned laboriously to face her. ‘You know, I’ve always thought you were a very attractive woman . . .’

‘Do you want to take the room?’ the waiter asked them, in French.

Eggy returned his head to Sally’s shoulder. Simultaneously his hand landed on her thigh and his plump fingers started squeezing at her flesh.

‘No thanks,’ she replied, briskly removing his hand. ‘We have to get back to Bellevue-sur-Mer.’

How she could achieve this she had no idea.

‘You know, I’ve not told anyone this, but Phoo and I, well, we’ve not lived together as, well, as husband and wife, for about forty years now.’

Sally realised he must be so drunk he was getting things muddled. They’d only been married for fifty years.

‘Come on, Eggy,’ she said, standing up and thereby shaking him off. ‘Time to go home.’

As they made their way to the door, Eggy raised his hand and pointed at the WC sign.