Sam's phone was ringing.

'I'd better take it,' he muttered.

For a moment, he didn't recognise the plummy voice on the other end of the line.

'Helen Pierce,' she prompted.

'Oh, Helen, sorry. I was miles away. How are you?'

'Well, thank you. And how are you, Sam? I enjoyed Robotics Robotics.'

'You saw it?'

'Yes, I took my nephew. It was wonderful.'

Sam smiled to himself. He would put money on the fact that Helen Pierce didn't even have a nephew, and if she did, they would not enjoy a movie that had been universally panned by the critics. Then again, Helen Pierce was part of his entourage; one of the sycophants and yes-men who agreed with everything he said and thought everything he did was fabulous.

'So, Helen ...'

'Just a heads-up about a story that was going to print about your latest house guest.'

Sam frowned.

'My mate Mike.'

'Well, the Bugle Bugle were going to splash with "Sam Charles Moves Hunky Male into Chelsea Penthouse". You can see where that story was heading. Fortunately we managed to head it off at the pa.s.s.' were going to splash with "Sam Charles Moves Hunky Male into Chelsea Penthouse". You can see where that story was heading. Fortunately we managed to head it off at the pa.s.s.'

'Thank you.'

'What is Mike there for?'

Sam had no intention of telling the lawyer about their proposed Edinburgh show. Word would get back to Jim and Eli, both of whom knew nothing about it on the grounds that they would vigorously oppose it.

'Just a holiday.'

'Very good. Anyway. We should meet. Have a catch-up while you're in town.'

'How's Anna Kennedy?' he asked suddenly as the female lawyer sprang into his head without warning.

'Fine.'

Sam looked at Mike, then walked into the bedroom to continue the call.

'I want to apologise to her,' he said. 'I went a little over the top. I was rude. Very rude, in fact.'

'It's not necessary,' said Helen coolly. 'You're our client. You were dissatisfied. These things happen. You know how sorry I am for the way she dealt with it. She was suitably reprimanded.'

'Is she in the office today? I should say h.e.l.lo.'

'She's busy at court.'

'Could you give me her mobile number?'

'She'll be busy.'

'Well, for later then.'

Helen sighed. 'Very well. I'm sure she'll be very relieved to hear from you.'

Sam peered out of the window, watching as the silvery curve of the Thames snaked away below them. Sloping away to the left of the road was a long green hill; beyond that, water meadows running down to the river.

Anna certainly lived in one of London's smartest areas, he thought, surprised that he had never noticed how beautiful the city was before. Idly he wondered if he should have chosen a more sedate, stable career like the law. He could see that his acting skills such as they were might come in useful in a courtroom, but he was useless on the details, and that was everything in the law, wasn't it?

They turned off the main road into a network of residential streets, dozens of tiny chocolate-box cottages crammed together. On the corner of one was a cute little deli-c.u.m-general-store, and for a second he wondered if he should take her anything. Flowers? Bottle of wine? As Mike had pointed out, he had a concierge service on speed-dial; he felt sure they could get an albino peac.o.c.k delivered to Anna's house if he asked them to.

However he did it, apologising to Miss Kennedy had suddenly become important to him. He'd never believed in Jessica's New Age claptrap before now, but it was worth a shot. Treating people a bit better might bring a turnaround in his own luck.

'Here we are, sir,' said the driver. 'You want me to wait?'

Sam looked up at the little cottage with the wisteria climbing around the door, wondering what sort of reception he was about to get.

'Yeah, better had,' he said, climbing out.

He paused on the path, glancing left and right.

'Don't worry. The coast is clear,' said a voice.

Sam looked up in alarm. Anna Kennedy was standing in her doorway, a wry grin on her face.

'No paparazzi in Richmond,' she said. 'Too posh and refined for that.'

Smiling, Sam walked up the path, but Anna didn't move aside to let him in.

'I was surprised to get your call,' she said slowly.

'I wanted to come and apologise for the way I treated you after the injunction,' said Sam in a rush.

'Well I wasn't fired. Not by Donovan Pierce, anyway.'

'I was feeling emotional,' he said to justify his sacking of the young lawyer.

'I would have done the same.'

'I bet you would. Feisty little thing like you takes no messing, I bet.'

They grinned at each other and his shoulders slumped in relief.

'Want to come in? I've just got home. About to open a bottle of wine.'

'If you've got beer, you've twisted my arm.'

Sam stepped into her living room. It was like a little box. He thought back to his s.p.a.cious five-thousand-square-foot Hollywood home, and wondered how anyone could live in such a tiny s.p.a.ce.

The kitchen led off the living room through foldback wooden doors. Anna poured them both a beer and handed him a gla.s.s, perching on a stool at her breakfast bar.

'So how's things?'

'Career on the skids, a gay lover moving into my house ...'

'Really?'

'Not really. About the lover, anyway. I have my mate staying with me and the press have found another angle.'

'I heard about the arrest,' said Anna.

'Yeah. Me the hard man of Hollywood.'

'You should get off. Aren't Stein and Kotter repping you in New York? They're really good.'

'Should we go outside?' he said distractedly. 'It looks like a little sun-trap out there.'

She led him out to her courtyard garden, where the early-evening sun warmed his face. He felt as if he was on a first date in some pretty country pub, an idea that somehow excited him.

They sat for a while, watching a pair of yellow b.u.t.terflies spiral around a lavender plant.

'So what are you doing back in London?'

'Can I tell you a secret?'

'That's what I'm here for.' She smiled.

'I'm putting on a show. A comedy show, with my friend Mike McKenzie.'

He was surprised at himself for telling her, especially when he had kept his plans so under wraps from Helen Pierce.

'Mike McKenzie the comedian?' said Anna, her eyes wide. 'I love him! I went to see his stand-up show at Wembley. I had all the videos and everything. Such a shame he gave it all up.'

'Well he's back.' Sam puffed out his cheeks, feeling a rush of dread race through his body. It was the first time he had told anyone about his plan with Mike, and it was almost as if saying it out loud had made it real.

'Amazing,' she said, looking genuinely excited. 'So what is it? A two-man show?'

'Two men and their gags. It's so far out of my comfort zone, it's not even funny. To think I have entered into this arrangement willingly.'

'I think it's a great idea.'

'I know you're paid to be nice to me, but if you think it's a c.r.a.p idea, then I want to know.'

'It's a radical change in direction, but that's why it's so clever and exciting.'

Her words, spoken so bluntly, her expression, so sincere and open, fortified him.

'What about you? I hope you didn't get into too much trouble after what happened.'

She suddenly looked distracted. She sipped her beer, and when she looked at him again, it was with her usual can-do efficiency.

'I'm glad you came,' she said finally. 'I want to talk to you about that. The injunction.'

Sam waved a hand. 'It's old news. Let's just get p.i.s.sed and pretend we're back in Capri.'

'I think you might have been set up,' she replied flatly.

He pulled away from the table in disbelief.

'What? Katie Grey was a set-up?'

'I don't know.'

'Well what do you know?' he said, leaning back in.

'Wait there.'

He watched her disappear back into the cottage, returning with a bundle of doc.u.ments, which she spread out over the table.

'Newspaper cuttings?' he said, puzzled. 'But not about me.'

'For a change.' She smiled.

She had beautiful hands, he noticed, as she traced a long finger over the newsprint.

'They're about the death of a model called Amy Hart.'

'Never heard of her.'

'You won't have.'

'So she died falling down the stairs,' Sam said, leaning closer to Anna to read the text.

'Found six months ago at her apartment with her neck broken. It was an open verdict at her inquest. Her sister maintains lots of little things don't add up.'

'So what's this got to do with my injunction?' he asked, frowning.

'The inquest was held on the same day as your story came out in the press. Consequently it went unreported. Convenient, don't you think, considering Amy Hart's love life?'

'What love life?'

'Before she died, she dated a soap actor called Ryan Jones.'

'So?'