“I don’t know. I’m an adaptable sort of chap. And I’m not too proud to take lowly work. Assistant director or something. Anything would be better than chasing cows on a ranch.”

“Well, I suppose you could come with me in the morning,” I said dubiously.

“I say, you are a brick, old bean. What time?”

“The car will come when I call it. Say nine o’clock.”

“Could we make it closer to ten, do you think? I’m not exactly an early riser. They had to yank me out of bed by my feet every morning at school.”

I laughed. “Then I don’t think the film industry is for you, Algie. My mother has to be on set at six.”

“Six?” The word came out as a yelp. “As in six a.m.? I’ve only ever seen six a.m. when I’ve been returning home from a party.”

“Well, that’s when film directors expect you to show up. And I’m sure ranchers go to work before sunup too.”

He swallowed hard. I watched his Adam’s apple go up and down. “Well, I suppose I could learn anything if I really had to. All right. I’ll jolly well do my best to be there at nine tomorrow. And thanks awfully, Georgie. I really appreciate this.”

As he turned to go a thought struck me. “Just a minute. How did you manage to find me?”

“Ah well. Old Tubby, you know. He’s on the trail of your mama.”

I felt the blood draining from my face. If Tubby had been following my mother then he’d know all about the divorce and Reno and my mother’s double. We’d be doomed. Homer Clegg would never divorce Mummy now. Mummy would never forgive me. “Tubby has been following us? All the way from New York? That’s absolutely despicable.”

“Steady on, old girl. It wasn’t like that. Tubby’s editor cabled him in New York and said he’d got wind that Claire Daniels was making a picture and he wanted him to go out to Hollywood and try to get an exclusive interview—‘My return to stardom.’ You know the kind of thing. So we hopped on the next train and here we are. It seems that everyone here has heard about your mama and knew where she was staying.”

“I see,” I said. “Well, don’t you dare bring Tubby to the studio with us. He’ll have to approach my mother himself if he wants an interview, and let me warn him that she doesn’t like newspaper reporters.”

So off he went. I let myself into the bungalow. Mummy was now reading her lines out loud, declaiming, “Thou daughter of a whore. Get thee from my sight!”

I tiptoed past her, undressed myself, hung up my own clothes and went to bed with a heavy heart.