‘How nice to see you, Ewan,’ Harriet said brightly and even in that greeting and the cold smile that accompanied it, I got a sense of the game she was playing. She was enjoying herself, watching us squirm. I thought there was an American twang to her voice, but maybe it was just her extreme self-confidence, the way she targeted her words. ‘How have you been keeping?’

‘I’m very well, thank you, Harriet,’ Ewan said, his eyes blinking more rapidly than ever.

‘What a delightful idea to have a party in a Turkish restaurant, although I have to say I’m not a big fan of foreign food. Olivia and I had half an hour in the Savoy. Excellent cocktails, although those big hotels don’t exactly light my fire. And they’re shockingly expensive too.’ She changed the subject without pausing. ‘I hear Sheffield have their new artistic director. I thought you might have been in the running.’

‘No. I wasn’t interested.’

‘Really? You do surprise me. So, you’re trying your hand at comedy thrillers. Very hard to get right. I saw … who was it? … in Deathtrap a few years ago. Simon Russell Beale, of course! I never forget a face! I thought he was excellent, although the play had rather dated. Ira Levin. I used to like his novels. As a matter of fact, I recently read one of yours.’ It took me a moment to realise that Harriet was now addressing me. She had a strange way of avoiding my eye while she spoke, looking over my shoulder as if hoping someone more interesting had come into the room.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘I’ve always been a fan of crime fiction. I used to write about crime. Non-fiction. I didn’t find it entirely satisfying, though. Criminals are so boring. Not all of them – but most of them. What was the one I read? I can’t remember now. But Olivia used to read your books too. Didn’t you, dear!’

‘Alex Rider.’ The girl looked embarrassed.

‘You used to like them. They were stories about a young assassin.’

‘He’s not really an assassin,’ I said. ‘He’s a spy.’

‘He did kill people,’ Olivia contradicted me.

Her mother leered at me. ‘And now you’re writing for the theatre.’

‘Yes.’ I couldn’t stop myself. ‘Did you enjoy the play?’ Ewan glared at me. Tirian and Sky looked embarrassed. It was the one thing I’d been told not to do but I’d gone ahead and done it.

Harriet ignored me. It was as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘So, you’ve been cast in a big film,’ she said. Now she was talking to Tirian. ‘Personally, I have to say that I think it’s a shame, all our young talent going over the Atlantic.’

‘I’m only crossing the Channel,’ Tirian replied. ‘We’re shooting in Paris.’

‘You know what I mean, dear. I suppose the Americans pay so much better, but what does that do for our own theatre and television?’ Again, that malicious gleam.