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sortsa trouble.’ His stance; his sad, almost regretful smile; the huskiness of his voice – it was as if he had staged a significant moment and was playing it to perfection.
    ‘I… I have to go. I promised myself a good night’s sleep.’
    He checked his watch again. ‘You’re right.’
    Feeling vaguely as if she were missing something, she followed him back down to the front courtyard. Talbot showed her into the car and Levine drove her away.
    Emerson waved until the car had crossed the bridge, then walked back into the vaulted hallway, where Frost now stood, talking into her mobile phone.
    ‘Yeah, about fifteen minutes from now. Rue de l’Ancienne Poste, that’s right. No, I can’t say any more than I told you this morning, except that it’s definitely happening. If Emerson knew I was talking to you, he’d fire me.’ She snapped the phone shut.
    ‘They’re ready?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘That was quick.’
    ‘It’s a good story.’
    ‘Well done on all this, Judy. I don’t know how I’d manage without you.’ He climbed the stairs whilst, behind him, Frost’s face was a picture of pleasure.
    ‘Do you have a girlfriend back home? A wife?’
    Levine glanced at her in the rear-view mirror.
    ‘Now why would you wanna know a thing like that, Miss Palatine?’
    ‘I’m just wondering what sort of life you have outside of Harry Emerson. You seem to spend all your time around him.’
    ‘That’s the job, Miss. When H.E. is shootin’ a movie, it’s twenty-four-seven. Other times, it’s week on, week off.’
    ‘And what do you do with your weeks off?’
    ‘Sleep, mostly.’ He pulled off the main road into Beynac, found her street and stopped at her front door.
    ‘So, no girlfriend?’
    ‘nothin’ permanent. This kinda life ain’t good for relationships.’
    ‘I know what you mean. Anyway, goodnight and thanks for the ride.’
    ‘Goodnight, Miss.’
    She stepped from the car and an explosion went off in her face.
    ‘Hey!’ she squealed, shielding her eyes. She heard footsteps then the explosion went off again, accompanied by a whirring sound. ‘Bloody photographers! Stop it!’ Levine jumped out, but a shadow ran across the street, where it joined another, bigger shadow. She heard a grunt, then a man’s voice shout
‘Allez’
, and a motorbike engine gunned into raucous life. Before Levine had even rounded the car bonnet, the bike was away, mercilessly revving under the weight of two passengers.
    ‘Are you all right, Miss?’
    ‘Bloody photographers!’ she repeated.
    ‘I didn’t see them, Miss.’
    ‘Me neither, until they shoved a bloody flash in my face. Now I can’t see anything!’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘What was that all about?’
    ‘Shit like this happens around H.E. – they musta thought you was him.’
    ‘I know it’s dark, but come on – how could I be mistaken for Emerson? I’ve never been papped before!’
    ‘Papped?’
    ‘Ambushed by photographers.’ The whine of the bike faded in the distance.
    ‘The boss ain’t gonna like this.’
    ‘Oh, tell the boss not to worry his pretty little head. Nobody got hurt, and you’re right – they must have thought I was him. Good night again.’
    He sounded doubtful. ‘Good night, Miss.’
    ‘Don’t call me Miss – it makes me feel like a schoolteacher.’
    ‘Just tryin’ to do my job, Miss.’
    She dug her key from her pocket. Once inside, she made straight for the mobile phone on her bedside table and saw that, yet again, she’d missed a call from Jimmy. He’d left no message. She rang back immediately, but his phone diverted.
    ‘It’s me. I can’t talk but–’
    She hung up and scrolled through her contacts. Donnie Driscoll, the band’s manager, was not someone she liked speaking to, but if there was a post-gig party, he would be at it. His number rang several times.
    ‘Come on…’ she muttered.
    It answered. ‘Heyyy!’ There was a lot of noise in the background, music and laughter. ‘Whozis?’
    ‘Donnie,