‘Not so fast, beautiful,’ said Sandra. ‘I brought someone with me, hope ya don’t mind? I’m an old friend of his family, y’might say. I was very close to his dad.’ She gave an extravagant wink.

‘No, of course not, more the merrier,’ Poppy started, then tried not to gasp at the man who stepped out of the shadows. Jack Meadows was the hottest actor of the moment, combining the indie-cool kudos of your Gyllenhaals and Cusacks with the big box-office draw of your Pitts and Clooneys. The son of a legendary hell-raising bass guitarist, his rock’n’roll pedigree and ludicrously good looks had given him an enormous advantage pretty much from the day he was born. The fact that he was a genuinely talented actor, with a knack for choosing quirky, clever scripts, had guaranteed worldwide, knockout success.

And he was standing here, in her kitchen, looking just as gorgeous as he did on screen. At least six foot three, taller than most film stars by about half a foot, his mop of curly black hair framed a boyishly handsome face that was lit up by a genuinely sweet smile as he held out his hand.

‘Hi. Good of you to have me.’ The accent was cultured, educated NY. ‘I’m Jack.’

‘I know.’ Poppy laughed, quickly pulling herself together and marvelling at her own sang-froid. ‘I’m Poppy. And these are Marco, Chase and Fabrice.’ She gestured at the gay triumvirate, all of whom seemed, for once, lost for words. Chase looked as if he was about to offer Jack Meadows the poppers, but Marco grabbed the bottle and put the lid on it, hiding it in his back pocket.

‘Hi, Marco, Chase and Fabrice,’ said Jack, remembering all three names and shaking each of their hands in turn.

‘Hi, Jack,’ they chorused, wide-eyed.

‘Hey, let me getcha a drink,’ said Sandra, taking control of the situation, and Poppy flashed her a grateful smile, wondering what to do next. When somebody who is bona fide internationally famous turns up at your downtown apartment, do you parade them around as the guest of honour, or just casually leave them in the kitchen with your gay mates? She guessed the latter, but wanted to introduce him to Damian. Perhaps this would snap him out of his mood?

Jack leant down towards her, smiling that sweet smile again.

‘I’m a big fan of your show.’

‘Really?’ It came out as a squawk. ‘Gosh, thanks. Can I introduce you to my husband? He’s next door somewhere, but maybe you want to stay here in the kitchen for a bit …’

‘No, that’s cool, I’ll come with you. He’s a lucky man.’ He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary.

‘And I’m a lucky woman.’ Poppy tried to ignore the heart-thudding excitement that she was being chatted up by a totally gorgeous film star. I must find Damian.

Damian was telling Eleanor about his screenplay and for the first time all evening felt that somebody was paying him a gratifying bit of attention. In fact, Ellie seemed to think his idea was brilliant, and was just on the verge of giving him the name of a friend of hers in the film business that he just must contact, when—