Rita nodded. ‘We couldn’t believe it when the same day we saw the Standard with her picture at his funeral. She must have come straight here. We couldn’t believe that anyone would do something like that.’

Spencer shook his head sympathetically. ‘Is Emma Ransom available?’

‘She’s over on the other side talking to Mr. Nathan,’ Rita told him. She leaned over the reception desk conspiratorially. ‘Bit of a feeding frenzy going on here . . . Not too sure what it’s about, but it’s connected to the black widow.’

Spencer crossed the landing to the other offices. John Nathan’s door was firmly closed but Spencer could hear Daniel Bergman’s voice, so walked over to his open door.

‘It has nothing to do with me. I am having no part of it. If you want the truth, nobody in this agency can be bothered running after poxy models that don’t have a hope in hell of making a career. That part of the business is running on empty.’

Spencer then heard the high-pitched, whining voice of Simon Quinn.

‘But I’m contracted for another six months and we owe three girls. Without Mr. Foxley, I don’t know who to ask to tell me what to do.’

‘I am not a fucking agent for fucking underage bimbo models! Right, now I’ve got better things to be doing than listening to you blubber all over my desk. Fuck off.’

A tearful Simon Quinn scuttled out of Bergman’s office. He looked up at Spencer.

‘I don’t know what I have to do. I’ve asked him, and I even asked Emma. I’ve got all these girls on my books and I’ve got no petty cash to pay them. Now I don’t even know if I’m going to be paid. They are all complete bitches on the other side.’

Spencer followed the agitated young man to his small cubicle office, which was lined with photographs of all the young models. Quinn grabbed some tissues from a box, blowing his nose.

‘I don’t know if the premiere is going ahead or not. No one is telling me anything. I just don’t know what to do.’

At that moment Emma Ransom came in behind Spencer.

‘I’ve been told you want to speak to me?’

Spencer turned and smiled. ‘Yes, if I can just have a few minutes of your time.’

‘We’d better go over to the other side,’ Emma said, moving ahead of him.

Unlike Charles Foxley’s office, Emma’s was remarkably clear. There were already two step ladders placed against the wall closest to Foxley’s vacated office.