“We have to do the filming first,” she tried to explain to the queue. “It’s going to be a bit of a wait . . . if you want to go away and come back again?”

The faces turned toward her were steely. Nobody was going away and coming back again.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you in till we’re done?”

The wind whistled through the stairwells, up the hill and over the top of the terrace. Clouds scudded overhead, occasionally letting in a flash of light, but mostly reminding you that daylight had not arrived before 8:30 A.M. and would be leaving promptly at 3:30 P.M. and would not really show its face much in between, so if there was ever an opportunity to be somewhere nice and cozy inside, nature couldn’t give you much more of a clue than to do it now.

Still, the feisty women were in no mood to desist, so Carmen smiled apologetically at them and made her way indoors, even as she could feel the daggers shot at her back.

The camerapeople did mysterious things with lights and trailing cables and tried not to drop more books on the ground than was strictly necessary under the circumstances. The woman with the clipboard smiled and spoke into a walkie-talkie and told them to turn off the train set. Carmen reminded Mr. McCredie that they were bringing the superstar in through the back door (i.e., the alleyway that led into his house), and he smiled weakly, then promptly forgot all about it again.

Finally, the shop was looking as lovely as it could. The TV people had brought along a lot of extra holly garlands and had hung them on the shelf with little sparkly fairy lights that, while they looked very pretty, Carmen had to admit would be absolutely useless for anyone actually attempting to browse or buy a book on the shelves. The people trying to peek in the window were politely shooed away and everything was cued up, and at 10:45 A.M. “He’s on the move!” was heard over the walkie-talkie, and Carmen scampered up to the back alleyway to escort the great man through the McCredie home and in through the stacks.

The young publicist was slim, blond, and as pretty as a model, and she grinned broadly as she bustled forward.

“Well, isn’t this charming,” she said. “Come on, Blair, it’s just over here.”

A tall man behind her shuffled slightly. He didn’t look at all like the snooty, über-confident man of his publicity. He was wearing owlish glasses, his hair looked rumpled, and his mouth was pulled shut so you couldn’t see his bright teeth at all. He sighed.

“It won’t be long,” said the girl in an encouraging manner, as if explaining things to a small child. There was another long sigh.

“Okay,” he said.