There's laughter.

'Has anyone seen Sigourney Seymour?' I ask. 'Did she come out this way?'

The crowd murmur 'no's' and 'don't think so's'.

'Thanks.' I'm about to turn and head back on set when I see Marc in the crowd.

My stomach does a flip.

Marc?

He's right at the back, a head taller than almost everyone else. And he's staring at me. But when I catch his eye he turns and walks away.

I frown. Then I pull out my phone to see if he's tried to call me. But he hasn't.

'Bye everyone. Thanks,' I say distractedly, backing away from the gates.

I still want to find Sigourney, but I need to know what Marc's doing here. So I give him a call.

He doesn't answer.

Strange.

I head back towards the set, feeling misty rain on my cheeks.

Oh no. I'm ruining my makeup and the makeup girls have gone to lunch.

I head to the ladies toilet. There are tissues and mirrors in there maybe I can still save my face.

As I push the door open, I know straight away I'm not alone.

52.

'What do you want?' Sigourney is leaning over the sink, slender hands holding the porcelain, looking at her tired face in the mirror.

I notice a rolled up bank note and a few lines of white powder on the sink.

'What you've never seen anyone do c.o.ke before?' says Sigourney, putting the note to her nose and snorting up a line.

She pats her nostrils and looks in the mirror. 'f.u.c.king ruins your skin, this stuff. But it keeps me going. You know what I mean? Want some?' She holds out the banknote to me.

'Um ... no thanks.'

'Of course not. Squeaky clean Sophia. Little miss perfect wouldn't dare do drugs.' She turns to me, her eyes cloudy and hollow. 'Who do you think you're fooling, anyway? With that b.u.t.ter-wouldn't-melt act of yours? What are you even doing on a movie set? You don't belong here. You only got a role on this movie because of who you're sleeping with.'

'You know, sometimes I think that too. I'm very lucky. I know that.'

'How self-aware.' She leans down and snorts up another line.

'Listen Sigourney, I didn't come here to argue with you. I came looking for you, actually. You're upset-'

Sigourney laughs. 'Don't give me that bulls.h.i.t. You don't care. You're just pretending. Trying to look like the nice girl. I can see through you. It takes one to know one.'

'Honestly, I really do care. I don't want you to be upset. How can I help you?'

Sigourney turns her big, beautiful eyes on me. 'Give me Marc.'

'Sigourney, I'm really sorry Marc hurt you-'

'Like f.u.c.k you are,' Sigourney snaps. 'Why is it always the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds I love? I would have done anything for Marc. Anything. One day I was in his bed, the next day he told me it was over. Just like that. No explanation. Nothing. I tried to make him jealous with Leo, but he barely even noticed.'

'You used Leo?'

Sigourney gives a harsh laugh. 'Marc said he hoped I'd be happy. Happy. With some whiter-than-white surfer b.u.m. America's f.u.c.king hero, Leo Falkirk. When I had Marc. Someone with a worse dark side than me. Someone who understood me ...'

She places the banknote in a little silver case and snaps the lid closed. 'So why did you get him? What's so great about you? Does he tie you up?'

'Sigourney, I'm not having this conversation.'

'Do you love it? I loved it. G.o.d! I miss him. The things he used to do ...'

'You know I think Baz really likes you-'

'Baz can't keep his d.i.c.k in his pants for more than five minutes. When the next pretty girl comes along I'll be history.'

'You shouldn't be messing around with him,' I say. 'If you're not really interested.'

'I didn't say I wasn't interested. But I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to totally put myself out there to be chewed up and spat out. I can't believe Leo's getting married. That hurts. You know? He always said he didn't believe in marriage. He didn't give a s.h.i.t about me.'

'He cared about you. He told me.'

Sigourney slides the silver case into her bag. 'Maybe once. But not any more.' She pushes open the toilet door. 'The rain has stopped. Time to start filming. Don't tell Nadia about the c.o.ke, okay? She has a stick up her a.r.s.e about drugs.'

As I watch her stride back to the marquee on her long legs, I think about Marc. Having s.e.x with Sigourney. Tying her up ...

I shake those thoughts away.

He has a past, Sophia. You always knew that.

But why was he at the gates?

I think about what Marc said in the woods. About feeling protective and wanting to rip people's heads off.

Was he spying on me?

I take out my phone to call him again, but think better of it. This is something we should talk about in person. Tonight.

53.

When Marc picks me up that evening he seems serious. Angry, even. He doesn't mention our flirty texts earlier or my missed phone call.

'Marc,' I ask, climbing into the car. 'I need to talk to you.'

'You look tired,' he interrupts. 'If they're working you too hard-'

'They're not. But Marc-'

'Look Sophia. Whatever you want to talk about sounds important. So can it wait until we're home? Maybe we should unwind a little before embarking on any heavy conversations.'

'Fine. Yes it can wait until then.'

I twiddle my hair, watching London glide by.

Back at the townhouse, I ask if we can sit in the garden.

Everything is growing so well out here now. Lavender, olive trees, meadowy gra.s.s ... it's beautiful. And I've strung solar lights in the trees to give it a kind of fairy land feel. Like the woods on our wedding day.

Marc and I sit together on a cushioned, wicker garden sofa. The rain has totally blown over, leaving a blue sky, tumbling white clouds and setting pink sun.

'So what is this important thing you want to talk about?' Marc asks, taking a tumbler of iced whisky from Rodney.

'You can't guess?' I say, as Rodney hands me iced soda water with lemon.

'I'm not a big fan of guessing games.'

'First of all, I totally understand that you're feeling very protective of me. And that you might do things that you wouldn't ordinarily do.'

Marc raises an eyebrow. 'This sounds interesting. What exactly are you getting at?'

'How come you were outside the set today? Were you keeping an eye on me?'

Marc frowns. 'Sophia-'

'I know you're feeling protective. But I wish you'd told me you were coming. It was weird seeing you there and not expecting to. And the fact you haven't mentioned it ...'

Marc frowns and takes a sip of whisky. 'You're mistaken. You must have imagined seeing me today. You've been very tired lately.'

'Marc I-'

'Sophia, just drop it. Okay?'

'What's going on? Why can't you just admit-'

'There's nothing to admit,' Marc shouts. 'Now I told you to drop it.'

'Marc!'

'Look ... I'm sorry I shouted.' He takes my hands again and fixes me with stomach-melting eyes. 'You see why I worry about being a father? I don't want to lose control.'

'I already told you, there's nothing to worry about.' But my heart is pounding. 'Marc. Why didn't you tell me you were coming to London Bridge?'

'Because I wasn't there. You were mistaken. Now let's just forget this, shall we?'

'Okay,' I say. 'Yes, I have been tired. Probably I was mistaken.'

And maybe I was. It makes more sense than Marc turning up outside the set without telling me.

Rodney brings out two mozzarella salads with bright red tomatoes and fresh basil. He sets them on a wrought-iron table near my elbow.

'I know you've already eaten,' says Marc. 'But I thought you might want a snack before bed. They say pregnancy gives you an appet.i.te.'

As I look at the delicious salad, a wave of nausea hits me.

I put a hand to my mouth and close my eyes.

'Sophia. Are you okay?'

I nod. 'Just a little ... sick that's all. The doctor said this might happen. Remember?'

'I remember. But as I recall she said morning sickness. It's seven thirty in the evening.'

'I think it can come at any time.' I close my eyes as another wave hits me.

'Rodney!' Marc calls. 'Would you take the salads away please?'

Rodney whisks the plates away, and I'm grateful.

'Would you like something else?' Marc asks. 'A light broth perhaps? Or a lemon tea?'

'Lemon tea sounds good.'

But when Rodney brings me tea, I can't drink it.