Jack also got to his feet.

‘I’ll say it again,’ he said to Damian. ‘You’re a very lucky man. And, whatever she says, I doubt that you deserve her.’ And he walked out of their apartment, off into the hot New York night.

The rest of the guests dissipated pretty quickly after that.

‘So what the fuck was going on in there? I don’t believe you, Poppy, falling for his lines. Fucking gobshite son-of-a-rock-star twat. We haven’t even been married three months …’

‘What do you think, Othello? We were having a line, he tried to snog me and I said no.’

‘He tried to snog you?’ Damian shouted, conveniently choosing to ignore the ‘saying no’ bit.

‘Oh, just fuck off, you arse,’ said Poppy wearily as she set about tidying up. ‘You were being a cunt all night. Go and stay with Lars if he’ll have you.’

Damian looked at her once more, then walked angrily out of the door, slamming it behind him so loudly she thought it might fall off its hinges.

Poppy stared at the door for a minute or so, before sitting down with a thud on the floor. Resting her head on her knees, she finally allowed the tears to come.

‘Desde-fucking-mona,’ she said to her perfectly pedicured feet.

Chapter 9

‘I am not drinking that goddamn French crap!’ screamed Amy Lascelles, America’s latest sweetheart, throwing a bottle of Badoit at the floor manager, who ducked. ‘It tastes like piss! I only drink Evian.’ She pronounced it Ay-vee-orn.

Ben snorted with laughter as he picked the bottle up off the floor, where it had landed at his feet, and took a swig.

‘I suppose you think Evian comes from the good ol’ US of A,’ he drawled. ‘Sweet home Alabama, perhaps?’

Amy Lascelles looked at him with confusion and dislike painted all over her pretty little features, then stalked back to her trailer, slamming the door behind her.

Shooting Beyond the Sea, Ben’s first proper feature film, was not proving nearly as enjoyable as he’d hoped. This was largely due to the spoilt-madam antics of his co-star. Amy looked like a little doll, with large, round, china-blue eyes, a snub nose and pouty pink mouth. Today, in full costume, she was wearing a pale-blue-and-white gingham full-skirted, wasp-waisted frock, her golden-blonde hair tied up with matching ribbon into a swingy ponytail.

The scene they were shooting was the one where Ben’s character, the dastardly Englishman, first encounters Amy’s innocent American abroad. It was taking place in a picturesque fish restaurant, in a pretty square just off the Saint-Tropez main drag. The entire square, and several beyond it, had been taken over by the film crew. At the height of the tourist season, it was costing a fortune to pay off the restaurateurs, bar owners and shopkeepers who were losing business as a result, so the aim was to get the scene shot in as few takes as possible.

With Amy in her current mood, this was easier said than done.