‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She looked around her. The two of them were alone. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘If there’s something worrying you, you can tell me. I’d like to think we’ve known each other long enough to consider ourselves friends.’

To her surprise, the girl was looking at her with something close to horror. ‘No!’ she exclaimed, then more quietly: ‘I mean … you’re very kind, Miss James. But the thing is … I’ve just been having a few problems at home. Dad’s been worried about his knee, going up and down all those stairs.’

Only a moment ago Nancy had said that her parents were both fine. As an actress herself, Melissa knew immediately when someone wasn’t telling her the truth. She was actually getting quite irritated with the girl. ‘Well, it’s just that you are the public face of the Moonflower,’ she warned. ‘To be honest with you, Nancy, you can’t sit here looking like that. If you don’t feel well, you should go home.’

‘I’m sorry, Miss James.’ Nancy did her best to pull herself together, forcing a smile onto her face. ‘I’ll just go to the ladies’ room and powder my nose and then I’ll be fine.’

‘That’s right. You look after yourself.’

Melissa gave her a brief smile and continued on her way. There was something about the encounter that worried her. It was her suggestion that the two of them were friends. Anyone else would have been flattered, but Nancy had seemed shocked. Had the Gardners said something to her? Did she know something about the hotel’s financial difficulties?

She decided to put the girl out of her mind, but her troubles were far from over. As she reached the car, there was a man standing there and Melissa knew, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that he was deliberately waiting for her. The man was small and thickset, dressed in a dark suit that had got crumpled after being in the rain. His hair, what little he had of it, was also damp. Although he had shaved, there were dark shadows over his chin and upper lip. He looked completely out of place in a seaside village, like a small-time gangster who had just been released from jail. Even before he spoke, with an accent that betrayed his Eastern European origins, it was obvious that he had come from abroad.

‘Good evening, Melissa,’ he began.

‘Simon! This is a surprise. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’

‘Because if I had told you I was coming, I think I would not have found you here.’ He beamed at her as he said this, as if he was making a joke. But they both knew that he was serious and that what he had said was true.

‘You know I always love seeing you,’ she replied, gaily. ‘But I wish you’d told me because I’m afraid I can’t talk to you right now … ’

‘Five minutes, Melissa.’

‘I have to get home, Simon. Francis and I are going to the opera.’

‘No. I have driven for five hours from London to see you. Five minutes is not so very much to ask.’

She couldn’t have an argument with him. Not here, in front of the hotel. There were guests who might come in or out. Anyway, perhaps it was best to get this over with. She raised both hands in a gesture of surrender and smiled. ‘Of course. Let’s go into the bar. Are you staying at the Moonflower?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t offer you a drink. These stupid licensing laws. But I can get someone to put on the kettle … ’

They walked back in together.

Simon Cox wasn’t his real name, of course. He would have anglicised it when he arrived in the country. He was probably Simeon or Semjén or something equally unwieldy. Her agent had introduced him to her in London, explaining that he was a successful businessman who had made a fortune in insurance and banking and was now wanting to move into film. Melissa had met plenty of those, but to be fair, Simon had gone further; he had actually gone out and bought the rights to a book and then commissioned a screenplay. He wanted Melissa to play the lead part.

The film was called The Queen’s Ransom and it was a historical romance, set in the twelfth century. Melissa would be playing Eleanor of Aquitaine, who had become queen of England after her marriage to the duke of Normandy – later Henry II – in 1152. The screenplay focused on her relationship with her favourite son, Richard, and her time as queen dowager, fighting to raise the enormous ransom that had been demanded for him when he was captured after the Third Crusade. Shooting was due to start in two months’ time and all the terms had been agreed, but Melissa’s contract was still sitting, unsigned, on her desk.

She had decided that she didn’t want to do it.

She had been impressed to begin with. The screenplay was strong, written by a former history teacher who had worked with Roy Boulting and Anthony Asquith as a technical adviser before he had started writing himself. The character of Eleanor was absolutely central to the action. In fact, she would barely be off the screen … the sort of performance that would demand attention once the awards season came around. It had been years since she had made a film in England and her agent had assured her that, despite the relatively low budget, her fans would be thrilled. He had sold it to her as the perfect vehicle for a comeback.

Unfortunately, it now turned out that the dates clashed with the film she hoped to make with Alfred Hitchcock. Dial M for Murder (she wasn’t sure about the title) would be bigger, glossier, more international and better paid. It would be shot in America, in the sunshine – not in the drab backwaters of Shepperton Studios. Looking at Simon Cox as he perched himself on one of the leather banquettes in the hotel bar, she felt a stab of annoyance – with herself as much as with him. What had possessed her to lend her name to a producer with no experience and no credits to his name? And how dare he come here and approach her in this way? He should have called her agents in London or New York. If he had something to say, he should say it to them.

Well, she would get this over with as quickly as possible. It was unlikely, she reminded herself, that they would ever meet again.

‘Melissa—’ he began.

‘I’m sorry, Simon,’ she cut in. ‘I don’t think we should be having this conversation. Not here. Not now.’

He gazed at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

‘This isn’t the right way to do things. If you had more experience of the film industry, you’d understand. You don’t talk to the talent! You have to talk to the agent.’

‘I did talk to your agent and he told me he sent you everything, but I don’t hear from you. Nothing! And filming is now only three months – ten weeks – away. We have everything in place, except you. Where is your contract? Why do you not come for meeting the director, for costume fittings, for script!’

Melissa couldn’t take any more of this. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Things have changed and I’ve decided I’m not interested in The Queen’s Ransom.’

‘What?’ He looked as if he had been punched in the face.

‘I’m not doing it.’

‘Melissa … !’

‘It’s a good script. There are lots of great things in it. But I don’t think it’s right for me.’

‘But it was written for you! Your agent said it is perfect for you!’

‘There are plenty of other actresses who could do it.’ She wanted to stand up and walk away but he was staring at her. ‘I haven’t signed my contract because the truth is that I’ve had a better offer and I’ve decided this project isn’t right for me. Even so, I wish you lots of success—’

‘You’ll ruin me!’ The words caught in his throat. He had difficulty getting them out. ‘All the money I have borrowed, it is because of your name. The director, the designer, the studios, the scripts, the cast. Already we have built the palace, the tower, the walls of Jerusalem … This is all happening because of you. If you say now that you do not do it, I am finish!’ His English was deteriorating the angrier he got.

‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you. If you knew the first thing about film production, you’d know this sort of thing happens all the time. People change their minds. I’ve changed my mind!’ She tried to find some hint of sympathy. ‘My agent represents some very big names. Maybe I can talk to him—’

‘I don’t want big names. I want you. That is what we agreed.’

‘We never agreed anything. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Honestly, Simon, this is all wrong. You shouldn’t have come down here. You can’t put pressure on me.’

The man looked as if he was going to have a heart attack. Melissa had had enough. She broke free of him and got to her feet.

‘I suggest you go back to London and find someone quickly,’ she said. ‘Please don’t try and speak to me again.’

She left.

Simon Cox stayed where he was. He seemed to have shrunk into his chair. His hand was stretched out on the table but slowly his fingers curled into a fist. Outside, he heard the slam of a car door and the quiet cough of an engine starting. Still he didn’t move.

Someone else had come into the bar. It was the girl from the reception desk, Nancy. She was looking at him with concern. ‘Is there anything I can get you, sir?’ she asked.

‘No. No, thank you.’