The head chef straightened his kerchief and wiped his hands on his apron. ‘It is not your business. This is my staff.’

‘I know they are your staff, but I can’t stand by while you treat them like that . . .’ began Grace in a furious voice, annoyed at the chef’s actions, when the doors behind her banged open and Wayan Toni hurried in.

‘Madam, please leave. Thank you, but we know what to do.’ He nodded his head at the frightened young chef, who fled outside as the other staff went back to what they’d been doing. Chef Emile hurried away through another door as Wayan gave calm directions in Balinese to the remaining staff.

Grace hastened after the young chef. She caught up with him in the corridor outside, grasping his arm.

‘Are you all right? ’

‘It is all right. I am okay.’

‘Has this happened before?’ she asked gently.

He looked down and didn’t answer.

‘It’s all right, you won’t get into trouble,’ said Grace.

The young man nodded. He seemed to be barely twenty. ‘I want to keep my job,’ he murmured.

‘I’m sure you won’t lose your job. Why was Chef so angry?’

He hesitated. ‘We see him. He do bad things.’ He stopped, looking fearful.

‘Okay, there’s no need to say anything more if you don’t want to.’ Grace gave him a small smile and patted his shoulder.

‘Thank you. I will go outside, to the fresh air, then I’ll get back to work,’ he said, looking around nervously.

Grace watched him walk away, feeling anger welling inside her. She thought briefly of Lawrence, and of Spencer; she was becoming increasingly fed up with people who thought they could bully and mistreat anyone who stood in their way.

Back in the main bar she found the others busy shooting. She decided not to say anything for the moment. The bar food appeared, and it looked exquisite.

‘It’s more than picture perfect,’ she exclaimed. ‘The presentation is stunning.’

‘That’s why it’s called edible art,’ said Steve.

They’d filmed the ‘guests’ – staff and friends invited to fill the room for the filming – as well as the rows of bottles of rare and expensive wines, the exotic and original cocktails, the stunningly presented food, Andy in a wild silk shirt, his ponytail tied back and wearing a gold chain, managing to look like a raffish ageing movie star.

‘Are you ready for your close-up, Andy?’ called Steve.

‘I want to see this.’ Grace laughed as she sat down at a table with a few of the staff, who were tucking into some delectable tapas.

On cue, Andy grinned and took his position behind the bar. With a great flourish he lifted two impressive, ornately garnished, deep red drinks onto the bar in front of him.