After biting each and every one of my nails down to stubs I gave myself permission to text Jess before my flight took off, just in case I hadn’t been hired to be Juliette’s personal assistant but had accidentally somehow become involved in a human trafficking ring. Without giving away any details that would lead to my great-grandchildren still paying off my legal battles, I told her I’d got the job and turned on my location services, gently but firmly suggesting she add me to her Find My Friends app. Just in case.

The flight passed quickly enough, nervous excitement speeding up the clock while I stared at the window and wondered what the next few days might hold. What would Juliette be like? Would I like her? Would she like me? I’d worked for so many different kinds of people, but never a celebrity. I assumed there would be considerably less photocopying and marginally more sycophancy, but the truth was every single person I’d ever worked for enjoyed having their ego fluffed up at least a little bit. It was hard to find someone who didn’t.

When we arrived in Naples, another man in another smart black suit was waiting for me in the airport, my name on an iPad, glinting in the bright Italian sunshine. The air was cold, but the sky was sharp with brilliant sunshine and, as I followed him out to his car, I took a surreptitious photo of his number plate and sent another, slightly stronger worded text to Jess along with a second Find My Friends request, given that her response to the first was ‘ha-ha, very funny’.