The car doors were opened, and two men handed them out. Like the driver, they were inconspicuously dressed in grey suits. Maya thrust her bag at one of them and led the way, hobbling across the broken road surface in her enormous fetish-inspired shoes. Isabelle stood for a moment, uncertain whether or not to follow, but a strong hand on her arm steered her from the car and into the warehouse.

Once inside, the doors rolled shut behind them.

‘Where’s my fucking PA?’ said Maya. ‘There’s supposed to be someone to meet me at every place we go to.’

‘I don’t think this is a scheduled stop,’ said Isabelle.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Maya,’ said Isabelle, clutching her handbag close to her chest, ‘I rather think we’ve been kidnapped.’

Rocky Rodean sat in the Royal Courts of Justice with what the newspapers would describe as ‘a dignified expression’ on his face, as Jessica Rodean spilled out a long account of his infidelities with women a quarter of his age. She spoke of girls being brought to hotel rooms by well-paid minders, she spoke of drink-and-drug-fuelled parties that often ended in fights – in fact, by the time she’d finished giving evidence-in-chief, Rocky was starting to make Gary Glitter look like a wholesome family entertainer.

The press was not quite ready to start believing her – yet. For the next day or so, they would stick to the party line that had got them through all of Rocky’s previous divorces – that he was a good, decent bloke, one of us, and that his wives were gold-digging whores. Even so, nobody was setting up the VICTORY FOR ROCKY headines just yet. Jessica’s counsel seemed to have rather a lot of witnesses to present. And in newspaper offices across the capital, reporters were dusting off scurrilous old stories about the nation’s favourite old rocker, stories that, for a long time now, had been suppressed and disbelieved. Was it possible that they were sitting on the scoop of the century – that Holy Grail of popular journalism, the fall from grace of a major public figure? Rocky Rodean had always been impervious to criticism – but nobody could sustain a scandal of these proportions, if Jessica’s allegations turned out to be true. Even Rocky, with all his money, couldn’t buy his way out of that one. If Jessica won the amount that she was asking for, and Rocky’s professional fortunes took a nosedive, he’d be broke within a year.

The court rose for lunch, and a gaggle of panicky-looking personal assistants surrounded Rocky in the main hall.

‘It’s Maya,’ they gabbled. Rocky was not really concentrating; Maya always wanted something, even at the most inopportune moments.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said. ‘Just deal with her. It’s not a good time.’

‘She’s been . . .’

‘Look, mate, I’m busy.’

‘Kidnapped.’

‘What?’

‘In Tokyo. Kidnapped.’

‘You’re taking the piss.’

‘There’s a ransom demand.’