‘No problem.’ I cut him short. ‘I’ve got another date. Best to those mates of yours. I’ll take the train back to town.’

I hang up, and then finish my WhatsApp message to Evelyn. Of course I’ll come down for the event. Might I beg a bed afterwards?

She’s back within seconds, absolutely delighted. Of course I can stay the night – in fact I can stay forever if the mood takes me. The message ends with one of those cheesy emoticons, which is a bit of a departure for Evelyn.

I study it for a moment, and then reach down for my suitcase.

‘Later, eh?’ I know Pavel is listening. ‘Some other weekend?’

TWO

Not going to Prague turns out to be a godsend. Getting back to my apartment in Holland Park, I find a message waiting for me on my landline. My agent, Rosa, has been trying to raise me but without success. I apologize for having my cell phone switched off but she says it doesn’t matter. She has some interesting news. One of our favourite BBC development executives has been on. Like me, by some strange twist of fate, he’s been thinking hard about ways to mark Pavel’s passing and has caught wind of a script, or perhaps a long treatment, he evidently never showed to anyone.

The honchos at BBC drama, bless them, have always held a candle for Pavel, recognizing his distinctive voice and doing ample justice to script after script. Rather than wasting resources on some dutiful retrospective, with warm words and extravagant curtsies from his favourite thesps, they’re keen to lay hands on this rumoured masterpiece.

‘Any ideas, my precious?’

‘None, I’m afraid.’ I’m thinking hard. ‘Have they got a title? Subject matter? Lead names? Any other clue?’

‘Alas, no. They rather thought that you might be able to help.’

‘They think he told me everything?’

‘They think you were his muse. It might be the same thing.’

‘Christ, no. He didn’t even tell me he had a son. As you know, the guy had to fly halfway round the world and knock at my door before I twigged that bit of the back story.’