‘Sorry, everyone. Especially Eddie, who’s barely got his breath back from shooting the scenes up on the autoroute.’ Daniel stepped forward. ‘I know this is unusual, but don’t blame me. Blame the stupid actors who ballsed up the schedule. Now, I’m going to turn on this rehearsal. So, though it’s a rehearsal, can we treat it as a take, please? You never know.’

‘Sound?’ called the First Assistant.

‘Speed,’ replied the sound guy.

‘Camera?’

‘Rolling.’

The clapperboard operator knelt down in front of Sally, the clapper poised.

‘Scene 102, take one.’

He snapped down the board.

‘And . . . action!’ called Daniel.

‘We did it, darling!’ Sally took a sip of her drink and leaned back, kicking her shoes off and putting her feet up on the coffee table. ‘Gilbert, darling?’ She turned to face the windows. ‘Shall we dine on the terrace? Champagne, caviar, the works? We deserve it after that haul!’

‘What? Sorry, didn’t hear you! The water was running.’ The actor playing her husband came on to the lit area. ‘But I say let’s go for everything on the menu! Money no problem, now, eh? Kiss, kiss!’

As he dived down on to the sofa and grabbed Sally’s face, she wasn’t sure who was more shocked.

She could see the panic in his eyes.

They both struggled to continue the dialogue without going off script.

The actor playing her husband, with whom an on-camera full-mouthed snog was seconds away, was none other than Eggy Markham.

Fifteen

FIFTEEN

Once back in the restaurant kitchen, Theresa took off her coat. Before she started the lunch proper, she decided she couldn’t resist opening the parcel before anyone else came in. She ripped the cardboard strip along its length, and pulled out the further wrapping …

Lying in a shiny plastic box within was a very large knife. She flipped it over to see the brand. Sabatier. The top level of kitchen knives.

How odd. And how scary. She searched the packaging for any clue, hoping for some message or note indicating who’d sent it, but there was nothing. Just in case it had been dispatched to her by mistake, she put it back into the box, ready to return it.

But what kind of a mistake could that be? It had been sent to her home, not to the restaurant, so it wasn’t a marketing thing.

She rolled up her sleeves and turned to the worktop.

What if it was some sign? Maybe Chloe had been kidnapped. Was she being held somewhere? When Theresa thought back on the phone call, her granddaughter had sounded subdued. Not at all the usual bright and flamboyant girl. When she rewound the conversation, Chloe had seemed very restrained; she’d actually been whispering.

What was going on?