‘Sally Doyle!’ A tall man in a sheepskin-collared leather jacket held out his hand. ‘Daniel Sullivan. I’m the director of this little caper. So pleased you’re joining us. Marina is producing from LA, the London casting director’s gone into premature labour, and, well, you don’t want to hear about our problems. But the upshot is, at the eleventh hour, in total desperation, we’ve got you here with us, and . . . hoorah.’

Sally wasn’t sure whether the young man was aware how rude he had been, but she smiled as best she could manage without moving her lips for Judy.

‘So, anyway . . .’ He glanced down at a clipboard in his right hand. ‘We’re off to a flying start with a few scenes from towards the end of the movie, on the day of the heist.’

‘It’s a heist movie?’

‘What other kind of movie gets shot in Monte Carlo?’

The Red Shoes? thought Sally. Grand Prix?

‘So far we’ve had terribly bad luck. Bloke originally playing Gilbert, your husband, caught mumps and had to pull out a week after we started rolling. Who gets mumps in this day and age? We’d already shot some of his scenes, but on the last day he looked less like a suave Englishman and more like a pantomime Mr Toad, so . . .’ Daniel kicked his foot out. ‘Order of the boot for him. New fellow has some relationship with the pregnant casting director, and managed to squeeze himself into the role as replacement. Then Lia, the silly cow, whose plum part of Louise you’ve managed to snitch, decides, contrary to clearly stipulated contractual rules against such Eddie the Eagle recreations, that she’s a downhill racer and—’

‘Will I get a full script at all, Daniel? Only I’m a bit in the dark about the story.’

‘I’ll get all your sides printed out and delivered to your hotel room . . .’

‘I’m actually coming in each morning from my home in Bellevue-sur-Mer.’

‘Ooooh la la!’ Daniel said. ‘A proper little vedette! We’re all staying at a frightfully posh place here in Monte Carlo. The Grand Hotel Astor. All mod cons, gym, 24-hour room service, ravishing views of the Med, swimming pool, bar, four-star restaurant. But I suppose your own place must beat that.’

Sally hated the way everyone assumed that if you lived down here you owned a moated palace. But she had more pressing worries than correcting his presumption. ‘And the story?’

‘Blah-blah-blah, really. All you need to know is that you are playing one of a cameo couple of amateur burglars, who accidentally ruin things for the main characters who are pros at the burglary business. They of course are being played by Marina Martel and Steve Baxter, real stars, who arrive over here in a few days, by which time hopefully you’ll be gone and out of our hair . . .’

Judy coughed, and threw a glance at Daniel.