‘Artair! Now, now. Oh, there’s also the question of the grant. I want to make sure that it continues now that Harry has gone. There was a little confusion with the admin at the trust after Harry fell ill, but we can sort it out. The 8.10 gets to Paddington at 12.23. Can you manage that?’

‘I think I can, dear girl.’

‘I’ll send the driver to get you. He’ll wait at the barrier with a sign.’

‘That sounds fine. Fleur, are you truly all right? These things are not easy.’

‘I’m coping, darling, or trying to. The family is closing ranks a little, but still, I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll have lunch.’

Artair takes the bus into town. Birds are gathering on the shores of the estuary. He’s not good on birds, but in general he thinks they may be small ducks. Perhaps they have come all the way from Africa. That’s a very strange thing, the migration of birds. How did the first migrating bird know it had to fly eight thousand miles to get a seasonal meal? He’s supposed to have a casting session for the summer season, but he will send his assistant to make a preliminary assessment of the available talent while he goes up to London, first class, to see his dear Fleur.

When he gets to town he registers the script at the post office. The assistant is keen to learn about El Camino Drive.

‘It’s the middle of Beverly Hills, the place where all the boutiques are,’ he says airily. ‘Palm trees, shopping, swimming pools; it’s a hellhole.’

‘Sounds great to me.’

‘I prefer Bel Air. Get that off immediately. The world is waiting.’

‘Righty-ho, Mr MacCleod.’

Melissa is running her blog by the editor as promised. He likes it. He makes a few small suggestions.

‘You don’t want to be too definite. It’s a rumour at the moment, which you have heard. You’re not saying it’s true. You are interested in the cultural aspect, not the financial. Just beef that up a little. Otherwise perfect. I like the bit on shoes too. You can work sex into anything. Now it’s the shape of shoes, I see.’

‘Yes, Mr Tredizzick, shoes are signifiers.’

‘Everything is a signifier in your world, it seems.’

‘It was linguistics, module 4 at uni. It warped me.’

‘Good girl. Keep your nerve.’

She revises her copy and loads it straight on to the system, which is called INSCRIPT. All these systems have fancy names. As she leaves the office at about 6.30 she sees the outline – the ghost – of the editor through the frosted glass of his office, still hunched over his desk and no doubt smoking. He’s meeting his old friend tonight. He’s sniffing the wind.