‘Really well, thanks!’ I beam at him. ‘Bryce, these are my friends, Suze and Tarquin.’

‘Here’s your ball,’ says Suze, handing it to him. She flicks her hair back a little self-consciously, and I can see her sucking in her stomach, not that she needs to.

‘Thank you.’ Bryce turns his dazzling smile on her. ‘Welcome, both of you.’ His eyes fall on Tarquin’s shooting coat. ‘Cool jacket.’

‘Oh,’ says Tarquin. ‘Ahm. My shooting coat.’

‘Shooting coat.’ Bryce’s eyes light up. ‘Now that’s a great idea. I guess it works in all weathers, right? And great pockets. May I?’ Bryce picks up the coat and examines it admiringly.

‘Useful for cartridges,’ says Tarkie.

‘You shoot on film?’ Bryce glances up, interested. ‘Old school, huh. Excuse me for asking, but … do I know your work?’

I hear Suze give a sudden snuffle of laughter, just as I catch on myself. Bryce thinks Tarkie’s a director. Tarkie! I cannot think of anyone in my life less likely to direct a film.

‘My work?’ Tarquin looks slightly hunted. ‘You mean … the work on Letherby Hall?’

‘Letherby Hall.’ Bryce frowns. ‘I didn’t see it, I’m afraid. Was it released worldwide?’

Tarquin seems totally baffled. I catch Suze’s eye and try not to burst into giggles.

‘Anyhow.’ Bryce bounces the ball a couple of times. ‘You want to join in?’

‘Join in?’

‘Volleyball.’ He gestures at the guys waiting for him on the beach.

‘Oh.’ Tarquin looks taken aback. ‘I don’t think—’

‘Go on!’ says Suze. ‘Go on, Tarkie. It’s just what you need after the flight.’

Reluctantly, Tarquin gets to his feet and follows Bryce down on to the beach. A few moments later he’s in the game, and hitting some pretty good shots, I notice.

‘Tarkie’s excellent at volleyball!’ I exclaim.

‘Oh yes, he’s quite good at that kind of thing,’ says Suze vaguely. ‘He played Fives for Eton. That Bryce is something, isn’t he?’

She’s not even watching her own husband. Her eyes are fixed on Bryce. This is what he’s like. Everyone gets a crush on him, male and female alike.

A waiter comes over and I order lots of different juices for us and the children, and I’m about to ask Suze what she wants to do first, like maybe the Walk of Fame or Rodeo Drive or the Hollywood sign … when I notice someone out of the corner of my eye. A blonde someone, wandering down towards the beach in white yoga pants and a pink racing-back top.

‘She’s here,’ I mutter, turning my head away swiftly. ‘Don’t look.’

‘Who?’ Suze immediately swivels her head all around. ‘Someone famous?’

‘No. Someone hideous in every way.’

Suze suddenly spots her and gasps, ‘Alicia Bitch Long-legs!’

‘Sssh!’ I pull at Suze. ‘Turn away. Don’t engage. Aloof and flinty.’

‘Right,’ says Suze vaguely, without moving.

I related the whole awful Alicia encounter to Suze on the phone, but she was waxing her legs at the same time, and I’m not sure she was listening properly.