It was a beautiful, balmy night, the stars twinkling brightly in a soft purple sky. The air was fragrant with mimosa and lavender, mingling with delicious garlicky wafts from the red-awninged waterfront restaurants. Waiters in pristine white aprons weaved in and out of tables, wielding plates, bottles and corkscrews. There was a tangible buzz in the air as Natalia looked out at a sea of smiling, happy faces of myriad nationalities; people who had nothing more arduous to do than laze on the beach or by a pool the following day. The exception was the film cast and crew, of course, but even they seemed not to be giving much thought to tomorrow’s duties, as they downed carafe after carafe of rosé wine, congratulating one another on a great day’s work.

It was a magical night; the kind of night where anything might happen.

Her mind made up, Natalia slipped downstairs to her walk-in wardrobe to get changed. When she emerged, she was wearing a backless chiffon Lanvin minidress in shades of turquoise and mint green, her white-blonde hair swept up in an elegant chignon. She stepped off her yacht and onto dry land. Having slipped her feet into a pair of mint-green Chanel ballet pumps, she walked to the far side of Bar Sénéquier, the side adjacent to the restaurant occupied by the film people, and sat down with her back to them. This way she could overhear snatches of their conversation and not be seen to be listening. She laughed at herself internally for being such a film groupie, but felt that she deserved a little light relief after the turn taken by recent events. She still didn’t know how she was going to stop Georgiou bleeding her dry; it was taking her considerable internal resources not to go to pieces over her current situation.

Ben was laughing at a particularly pertinent comment Eloise had made about Amy when something made him glance over at the bar next door. There, only a few feet away from him, was the most beautiful back he had ever seen. It was long, elegant and lightly tanned, topped with an exquisitely swan-like neck supporting a graceful head of pale blonde hair.

He had read somewhere that Johnny Depp was first attracted to Vanessa Paradis by her back. At the time he had dismissed it as fanciful nonsense, but now, gazing at the goddess at the next bar, he knew exactly what Johnny had been on about. Occasionally, her perfectly shaped head would turn just a fraction and he would catch a glimpse of sensationally high cheekbones.

The waiter brought her drink and the goddess thanked him. Ben could tell she was smiling by the way the shape of her face, still less than a quarter visible to him, changed ever so slightly. Without a moment’s further hesitation – well, if it was good enough for Johnny Depp, it was good enough for him – he leapt to his feet and walked over to the next bar, leaving a slightly miffed Eloise mid-sentence.