‘Hello?’ said Sally. ‘Sorry! Wrong number.’

She slammed the phone down. It rang again immediately.

‘It’s fucking three o’clock in the morning, you bastard.’

‘Sorry about that, Sally. These time zones always get me fuddled.’ A woman with an American accent.

‘Who is this?’ Sally was truly in the dark.

‘Is that Sally Doyle?’

‘Who wants to know?’ asked Sally.

‘It’s Marina Martel. I’m phoning from my offices in West Hollywood.’

Sally leaped out of bed and stood to attention.

This was Marina Martel, the Oscar-winning American movie star, on the other end of the line.

‘Now, Sally,’ Marina continued. ‘Here’s the thing . . . I’m sorry if it’s the middle of the night with you, but I have a little emergency, and you might be able to assist.’

Sally’s mind raced.

Why on earth should Marina Martel be needing her help?

‘I realise that last time things didn’t work out for you, because you’d just bought that lovely restaurant with the dazzling floor, but I’m sure that, over the last couple of years, things have settled down a little.’

Sally knew she couldn’t bore Marina Martel with the details of why that last phrase was so very wrong, so instead she simply said yes.

In fact ‘yes’ seemed to be the only word she had felt able to pronounce since she knew who was calling.

‘So, now, Sally.’

‘Yes.’

‘You remember me telling you how, when I was a kid stationed with my dad in the UK, how much I admired your work as an actress. How I caught up with all your stage work and got the videos of those classic plays you did before Ssssaturday Ssssslamerama!’

‘Yes.’

Sally could not imagine where this conversation was leading.

‘Well, the thing is, I have a little project going on over in your area,’ Marina Martel continued. ‘You’re not far from Monte Carlo, right?’

Sally once more let out a feeble yes.

‘You see, we’ve been rather badly let down.’

‘Right.’ Sally felt triumphant that she had managed to find a new response.

‘And, Sally, I would like you to take part in the filming, which starts tomorrow.’

Sally had images of herself doing the catering, serving in a commissariat or from the chuck wagon.

‘It’s only small, but it’s actually a wonderful part. And I want you to play it.’

Sally was dumbstruck.

‘She’s a nagging wife. Very funny role. And she always gets the last laugh. The husband’s a real twit. In fact they’re both a pair of bumblers. But they come out on top.’

‘But, Marina, I . . . I haven’t acted for years . . .’

‘Don’t be silly, Sally. As well you know, acting is just like riding a bike.’

‘But I can’t ride a bike.’

Marina guffawed down the line.