‘Well, he wasn’t,’ said Minerva sitting up and tucking her shirt back into her slacks. ‘You want to know what? He was re-dressing that goddamned dummy. That’s what.… that’s how we found him. I told him Lilli was the designer on the movie and he said come right in and have a look round. And that’s what we did. And that’s what we found. Beat that?’

‘I’m amazed. He had put it away? Because of Grottorosso.’

Minerva brushed her sleeve, adjusted a gold nugget on her finger. ‘Who is not coming back. Finito. Goodbye. Adieu. Let Charles tell you. All I know is that he said he loathed the script, that he wouldn’t put his name to it in any shape or form, and that the conversation this morning was fraught, that Grottorosso was stubborn and that Nando Belluno said that they didn’t need his name, or his permission to go ahead and so what the hell was all the fuss about? So Charles said Goodbye and that was that. He’ll tell you… these are just the bare facts. It’s sad.’

Scarlatti laughed scornfully. ‘But of course he couldn’t work with Grottorosso. It is like Attila the Hun being converted by Francis of Assisi. Impossible!’ She managed to reach a chair, open her bag and fished about for her cigarettes. ‘I am furious, you know? Furious. Sir Charles has so much wonderful information… so many things I could use.’ She shrugged hopelessly, put a lighter to her cigarette and coughed.

‘I’m certain that Charles would let you…’ Cuckoo started to say, but Scarlatti waved a hand through the haze of smoke, thumping her chest with the other.

‘No… no,’ she said when she had gained her breath. ‘No. It is kind of you. But if he does not approve, he does not approve. I do not approve. But it is not my job to disapprove, only to dress the actors. I am paid. So I do.’

Cuckoo got up and wandered over to the windows. ‘Oh dear. I thought such a lovely day, such a success, nothing awful had happened… and now this.’

Minerva cracked four fingers, noisily. ‘There’s more,’ she said.

‘More?’ Cuckoo turned sharply. ‘What more?’’Grottorosso wants Lilli to take all Marcus’s measurements.’

Cuckoo stood as rock.

‘Head, neck, waist, inside leg, etcetera.’

‘Marcus? They did meet then?’

‘Sure they met. Bet your ass.’ Minerva leant forward, elbows on knees. ‘Cuckoo my dear, I told you… those yellow pants. He stood out like a Bride at a Funeral.’

‘How did they meet, when?’

‘I don’t know! I wasn’t standing about like a chimney.’

’I didn’t see… of course, they were bound to meet. A small picnic… it wasn’t a Royal Garden Party.’ She turned anxiously to Lilli. ‘But what for? I mean, the measurements?’