Liam winked at her. ‘I just got a congratulatory text from Steve McQueen,’ he whispered as she settled herself. ‘And Lewis Hamilton’s agent. He’s suggesting lunch next week.’

Clover arched an eyebrow, knowing exactly what he was implying: Hamilton could be the subject of their next film. The viral reach of her fresh-out-of-film-school debut – a documentary on the life and tragic death of fashion stylist Isabella Blow – had been followed up with critical acclaim for her gritty and often harrowing account of three Grenfell survivors as they navigated homelessness and trauma following the fire. She was acquiring a reputation for empathy and warmth, and an instinct for championing the underdog.

‘Come on. Diversity in F1, a knighthood . . .’ Liam whispered. ‘You know it’s got legs.’

‘That’s what you said about Angelina Jolie,’ she whispered back. Ms Jolie’s team had made preliminary contact after their Golden Globes win.

‘Well, she’s definitely got legs,’ he grinned.

She looked at him sidelong. A former banker who preferred the excitement and cachet of film finance to investing in big tech stocks, his head was turned by the glamorous world in which he now found himself. He loved staying at the grandest hotels, drinking cocktails in the bars, flirting with actresses at parties and lounging on yachts in Cannes. She couldn’t deny the thrill of sharing space with these starry people either, but unlike him, though she might now move among them, she wasn’t one of them – and never could be. By the very definition of her job she had to be an outsider, a mere face at the window peering in. She had to ask the difficult questions that peeled back the artifice, film shots that captured the truth of a situation.

‘Listen, James Bond knows my name. I can afford to take my time a bit,’ she said as the film clips ended. The audience began clapping again, Daniel Craig tearing open the envelope like it was a lace negligee.

‘Yeah, but just don’t take too long, that’s all I’m saying,’ he murmured. ‘We can’t wait another three years before we release another title. The momentum’s with us, and you know what I always say: consolidate—’

‘Or capitulate. I know,’ she sighed. Hardly a day went by when he didn’t say it.

‘We’ve got to keep swimming with the current. You never know when the tide will turn . . .’ He took a deep inhale, as if smelling one of his favourite Montecristo cigars. ‘Which is why I want the next title to debut at Cannes.’

‘Next year?’ she almost yelped. Several heads turned in their direction.