‘Is this international phone call about a Royal Honour?’ he asked, chuckling. ‘Are you to be Dame Juliet?!! Are congratulations in order? Come on Juliet, a bit of paparazzi now won’t hurt you but nobody really cares, it’s all in the past, it’s between Nicky and Terence now, that’s all.’

‘You don’t understand!’ insisted Juliet. ‘It’s not all in the past, I’ve carried it with me all this time. He ruined my life, you know he did. Why should I suffer even more, all these years later? It won’t be you who has to read headlines about yourself all over the Sun.’ Her voice rose. ‘It’s all Terence’s fault, all of it, everything that happened. And yours Harry.’

The lazy doped smile went from Harry’s face.

‘All my working life I’ve always been frightened something like this would happen, hasn’t he done me enough damage, didn’t he damage me enough?’ It was true of course, Harry knew. Terence Blue, the famous film star, had done irrevocable damage, if blame was to be apportioned. But Harry Donaldson and Juliet Lyall could be blamed also if someone wanted to write a sleazy story about their past in a tabloid newspaper.

‘What do you want me to do?’ said Harry. ‘I’m in Morocco on holiday.’ And for some reason he suddenly saw himself in the cemetery almost unconscious with fear, and realised that was only yesterday.

‘When will you be back?’

‘For God’s sake Juliet, I’ve only just arrived as you know very well if you’ve been talking to my agent. I won’t be back for two weeks.’

‘Will you contact me as soon as you get back?’

Harry was silent. He couldn’t think of anything he’d less rather do. He disliked Juliet Lyall intensely.

‘But Juliet what’s the point? What can I do?’

‘What if Terence dies? I’ve got to have someone to talk to,’ said Juliet wildly. ‘Why were they back in that house? I’ve got no one I can talk to, I can’t tell my psychoanalyst all this, and I’ve got to go to Hollywood and make this film and it’s – I don’t know if I can do it – Oh God Harry I need you to talk to, you’re the only one who knows what happened, what Terence did to me!’ She sounded insane. Nicky Abbott was the one who was supposed to be insane.

‘All right all right Juliet,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll contact you when I get back.’ He should have said something kinder, something comforting, like he would have to Emmy or Fran, his friends. But he remembered, and he could not.

He heard her put the phone down at last.