The cast and crew had taken over one of the restaurants on the vieux port. Relieved that the long day’s filming was finally over, and that Amy had finally buggered off back to the hotel for her nightly meditation and ego-massage, they were letting their hair down. The mood was drunken and raucous.

Ben and one of the make-up artists, Eloise, were having a good old bitch about Amy.

‘God, she’s a stupid little cow,’ said Ben, a forkful of fennel-stuffed sea bass en route to his mouth. ‘How the fuck does anyone put up with her?’

‘You’ve been more patient than most,’ said Eloise, who was trying not to let on what a crush she had on the outstandingly good-looking supporting actor. Dressed down this evening in jeans and a plain white T-shirt that showed off his tan and fantastic physique, Ben looked even sexier than he had earlier in the day, the casualness of the get-up only serving to emphasize his breathtaking beauty. ‘It’ll be interesting to see how Jack reacts. He’s not known for suffering fools gladly.’

Jack Meadows, the proper Hollywood A-list leading man, had not been needed on location yet. Ben was rather glad. It meant that, for the time being at least, he was without question Hot Actor Numero Uno.

‘Ben Jones?’ They were interrupted by a teenage girl with a pierced eyebrow and a Home Counties accent. ‘Could I have your autograph, please?’ She added shyly, ‘I loved you in People Like Us.’

Ben flashed her his megawatt smile.

‘Thanks, darling, of course you can. What would you like me to sign?’

‘Um – I don’t know! I hadn’t thought that far,’ the girl giggled nervously.

‘Would this do?’ Ben picked up the paper napkin next to his plate, and she nodded.

‘So … who’s it to?’ he asked, trying not to show his impatience. He was longing to get back to bitching about Amy.

‘To Sophie.’

To beautiful Sophie with love and kisses from Ben Jones xxx

Ben wrote his message with a flourish and handed the napkin to the teenager. When she saw what he’d written, she blushed to the roots of her dyed-black hair, then turned on her heel and ran, clutching the napkin to her breast.

‘You’re quite a piece of work,’ laughed Eloise.

‘Never take the fans for granted,’ said Ben seriously. ‘We wouldn’t be anywhere without them, after all.’

Natalia, sitting reading on her yacht as she ate her dinner of salad and calamari, could hear the chatter and laughter from the large group that had taken over the restaurant just across the way, adjacent to the internationally renowned Bar Sénéquier. That must be the film crew that her florid-faced neighbour on Lady Garden had excitedly told her about that morning. Maybe she’d wander ashore in a bit. For all her billions and apparent aloofness, Natalia loved the movies, especially Hollywood romcoms. She could escape for hours in a film, fantasizing about the happy ending she knew could never be hers. What harm could there be in taking a nightcap at Sénéquier, soaking up the atmosphere of the film people?