‘Nothing,’ Kit snapped.

Julian, who had been laughing, immersed in the memory, seemed to cotton on to Kit’s profound displeasure. His smile faded at the faux pas. ‘Nothing interesting, Kit is right. It was just an old joke from when I was trying to sign him up. Nothing relevant to what you are here for,’ he said blandly.

But Clover wasn’t buying it. Everything about Kit Foley’s life was up for grabs in this documentary. Monaco. She made a mental note to get Matty onto finding out more. Frankly, it didn’t look like it would be difficult for her friend to elicit quite a few secrets from their handsome host.

‘Excuse me, Mr Foley.’ The alto tenor of the voice made them look around as one. A young boy, maybe seven or eight, had come over to the table and was standing beside Kit. ‘Please could I have your autograph?’

Clover watched Kit, not the boy. He looked astonished by the request. Surely he was used to signing autographs? Or had he simply not signed any lately? ‘. . . Sure,’ he said after a moment, sitting up straighter. ‘Have you got something to write on?’

The little boy looked panicked suddenly, as though he hadn’t got as far as thinking of that. He twisted around to look back at his parents, who were discreetly watching from their table at the other side of the room.

‘Don’t worry. Here, this’ll do,’ Kit said, winking at him as he whipped his napkin off his lap. He reached inside his jacket pocket and retrieved a fountain pen. Clover was surprised. She had fancied him a Biro man. ‘What’s your name, kid?’

‘Elias.’

‘Okay, Elias,’ Kit murmured, writing a message and signing his own name across the heavy white linen in black ink.

Julian looked horrified.

‘That okay?’ Kit asked, handing it over to him.

The boy nodded, seeming overcome.

Kit watched him. The boy seemed reluctant to leave. ‘. . . You want a selfie too?’

The boy brightened. ‘Yes please.’ And he held out the phone that he’d been hiding in his other hand. Kit took it and activated the camera screen. He looked up at her, hesitating. She knew he didn’t want to ask her for a single thing, not even on behalf of a fan.

‘Here, allow me,’ she said, reaching across the table for it and saving him the agony of asking.

‘Like this,’ Kit said, putting one arm around the boy’s shoulder and holding his fist up for a fist pump with the other. The boy delightedly pressed his small fist to Kit’s and they both looked straight at her through the lens.

Clover felt a jolt of the usual panic she was coming to accept as normal whenever Kit Foley looked directly at her. ‘Say cheese.’

‘Cheese,’ the little boy replied obediently.

She took a couple of shots as quickly as she could. ‘There you go.’