He walked up to her, rested his hand softly on her head, then turned to the rest of the students and shouted, ‘Now, what about the rest of you? Do you wanna learn? Yes, Jeremy?’

‘Yes Jeremy,’ they shouted.

‘Let’s do it,’ he said.

For the next fifty-five minutes, his accent more Americanised than I had heard it before, Gill ran through a presentation on his films, how he’d made them, triumphs and successes achieved, hiccups and disasters overcome, at each stage engaging with individual students, getting them up to demonstrate shots or camera angles, asking their opinions, listening to their answers as if he truly believed they had something interesting to say.

‘Why do you think I did that?’

‘What do think happened next?’

‘Good answer.’

‘Interesting.’

Every time Carmel, the schoolgirl in the green uniform, spoke, Gill gave her a smile or a wink, no matter how inane the comment. Apart from that, Gill’s attentions were evenly spread through male and female. Except for Carmel at the beginning, there was no touching of any of the students. Though Gill’s language had been overfamiliar and borderline inappropriate throughout, the workshop was drawing to a close and I was assailed by doubt again. What did I know, ultimately? Only that he was an egotist – which was probably a prerequisite for being a successful film director. He had given no sign of having noticed me in the back row. Maybe he hadn’t thought of me since our encounter the previous evening. Why should he? In the end, I had nothing on him. Was that because there was nothing to get?

‘Film is a visual medium,’ Gill said, then. ‘It’s about the moving image. Break that down. The first part is technical, about how our brain processes what we see. You’re smart kids – I don’t need to go into the science of it. But the image. What the camera sees. Action or stillness. Landscape or people. What about sound? Crucial, of course. But secondary. The image is primary. Some of the most powerful scenes in cinema history have been silent. Hitch – Alfred Hitchcock – knew that.’

Gill paused, steepled his hands in front of his mouth, put his thumbs under his chin, and started to rub the sides of his index fingers up and down on the tip of his nose.

‘This is my thinking face,’ he said, and the group laughed. ‘No, honestly, ask my assistant, whenever I get this face on it means I’ve had an idea, am I right?’

Boyband made a half grimace, half smile, and said, ‘Oh yeah, I mean, yes, Mr Gill.’ He sounded like he was off the set of 90210. The group laughed again, more loudly this time.

‘You,’ Gill said, talking to the girl in the green uniform. ‘Carmel, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Well, Carmel. You’re the one giving me ideas. Any idea why?’

Carmel blushed, shook her head.