It all happened very quickly. The nutter was restrained by the guards, and then everything went dark for Poppy, as somebody threw his dinner jacket over her head and dragged her inside, into safety. Her saviour took her by the hand until they were ensconced in the VIP area, out of harm’s way. Only then did he remove her makeshift burka.

Her heart still racing with fear, Poppy looked with amazement at her knight in shining armour.

‘Jesus Christ, Ben,’ she said. ‘What the fuck?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Ben, for the fifth time in a row. ‘I was such a self-centred bastard last year. I don’t know what was wrong with me. You’re looking great, though.’

They were sitting underneath an enormous crystal chandelier on a purple velvet banquette. Everywhere they looked, film and TV royalty meandered in extraordinarily over-the-top evening dress (Poppy really did stand out in her 1960s-inspired get-up). In the last minute, Owen Wilson, Jennifer Aniston and Reese Witherspoon had wandered past their table. The actual awards were due to start shortly; in the meantime everybody was enjoying the glamorous hospitality.

‘Great enough to appeal to religious lunatics with food issues, at any rate.’ Poppy giggled. The ‘knife’ had turned out to be a silver crucifix, and the fat man a harmless enough saddo known locally for his crushes on up-and-coming female stars. ‘But come off it, Ben, you’ve always been a self-centred bastard. What’s different now?’

‘I was. I know that, Pops. Please accept my apology?’ Ignoring her question, Ben gave her his beseeching, puppy-dog look and she melted a little.

‘Well, we were both self-absorbed twats, weren’t we?’ said Poppy, draining the dregs of her blackcurrant Martini. ‘I don’t think Bella’s forgiven me, still.’

‘Really?’ Ben was amazed. He’d always thought that Bella was the ultimate soft touch. ‘Wasn’t she your bridesmaid?’ He’d heard it on the grapevine.

‘Yup, and she was lovely in the run-up to the wedding. But – oh, I don’t know. She really seems to resent me now.’

They were both silent as they remembered the cause of that resentment.

‘So how’s married life?’ asked Ben, after a bit.

‘Just wonderful, thanks!’ Poppy couldn’t let Ben know how shit things were with Damian – that would be the ultimate betrayal. In fact, she had already decided that Damian must never know at all that she had met Ben here, in LA. It was unlikely to go down well, to put it mildly.

‘And you?’ Deftly, she changed the subject. ‘You’re not really having a bromance with Jack Meadows, are you? Believe it or not, he came to one of our parties in NY …’

‘What? Poppy, you’re kidding! Jack’s here. And even though I cannot abide the word ‘bromance’ – yes, we’re friends. He’s a good guy.’

‘Yeah, he seemed it …’

Poppy’s mind drifted for a second. She was still feeling sad, about Damian, and Bella, but more importantly about her father – she had just found out that he couldn’t feed himself any more. She struggled to rally round, and found something: