For the first time, Stella’s defiance took a dent. She looked momentarily uncertain, glancing at Guy, who was too busy lighting a fresh cigarette off the end of the previous one to notice. “You’re full of shit,” she said, but her eyes told a different story to her words.

“I’m not the bullshitter in this room. As we say where I come from, Stell, the ball’s on the slates. The party’s over. I’ve read the paperwork.” Lindsay turned to a neat pile of papers behind her on the desk. As she went through them, she slapped each document down hard on the desk in front of Stella. “Exhibit number one. Helen’s submission to the EU for funding for a three-part drama about asylum seekers. Exhibit number two. A letter from the EU revealing the application has been successful and enclosing a check for the cash. Exhibit number three. A forged letter purporting to be from the EU to Helen explaining her application has been unsuccessful in this round of funding awards but it will be reconsidered in the next bidding sequence when it stands a strong chance, and that she need not resubmit her application. Exhibit number four. A bank statement showing the deposit of the identical sum of money in the account of Shooting Star two weeks after the date on the authentic EU letter.”

“A real shit’s trick,” Helen said.

Stella closed her eyes and breathed heavily through her nose. “I’m really fucked off about this,” she said. “You have no idea how fucked off I am.”

“We were going to put the money back, Helen,” Guy said, moving a couple of steps closer to her and spreading his hands in a supplicatory gesture. “As soon as we’d generated enough profit, we were going to replace the money with another faked letter saying the money had come from a fresh allocation of funding. It’s a license to print money, Helen. With the profits Shooting Star generates, we can make all the films we want about things that really matter. Like Stella said, it’s not as if we’re doing hard-core stuff. And if we weren’t doing it someone else would be.”

Helen’s upper lip twitched in contempt. “Any minute now you’ll be telling me you were only obeying orders. How can you think I’d ever want to make a film with you again? Less than six weeks ago, we were sitting in my office trying to put together a proposal for a film about the evils of sex tourism. Where’s your brain gone, Guy?”

“Helen, don’t get worked up . . .”

“Don’t get worked up!” she yelled. “Don’t get worked up?”

“He’s right,” Stella said with an exasperated sigh. “Look, Helen, you get your EU money, you get to make your films, everything goes on exactly like it did before. There’s no reason why not.”