Score!

‘She insisted Mrs Bodkin unpack for her, then grumbled she couldn’t find anything, then pushed Taggie’s divine food round her plate all lunch going on and on about Beattie and nurturing a viper in her bosom. Daddy said, “Any self-respecting viper would die of malnutrition trying to survive on all that silicone.” He’s such a bitch but he does make me laugh. Oh, God, Luce, isn’t Tristan divine? I’m not cured at all.’

Glancing surreptitiously across at Tab, Tristan found her gazing at him with such longing it burnt him. He mustn’t weaken. If only he could bring himself to explain about Maxim.

‘Stand by to shoot,’ shouted Bernard.

‘We’ll have to wait thirty seconds for this cloud, Tristan,’ called Oscar, lowering his view-finder from his eye.

‘Oh, here’s Timothy. I wonder if his wife liked her present,’ said Rozzy, as Gablecross, Karen and two uniformed men with their hats on forced their way in.

‘The Grand Inquisitor,’ sang Baby. Then, as the music died in the speakers, he launched into ‘“A policeman’s lot is not a happy one, happy one”.’

‘Hello, Tim,’ cooed Chloe, kissing him on both cheeks.

‘Tristan de Montigny…’ began Gablecross, furiously wiping off lipstick.

‘Oh, go away,’ said Tristan irritably, ‘we’re about to shoot.’

‘Tristan de Montigny,’ repeated Gablecross sternly, ‘you are being arrested on suspicion of the murders of Roberto Rannaldini and Beatrice Johnson. You don’t have to say anything but you may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something you rely on in court. Anything you say may be given in evidence.’

There was a scream from Rozzy, and a rumble of horror that rose to a roar. No, thought Lucy, in dread, I shopped him. Only the people hemming her in kept her from fainting. As chests were thrust out in outrage and the moon went in again, the maze seemed even more terrifyingly claustrophobic.

‘You cannot arrest me,’ said Tristan haughtily, ‘I am making a film, and I have to fly out first thing tomorrow to Toulouse where my aunt is seriously ill.’

And that’s the last we’d see of you, matey, thought Gablecross.

‘Unfortunately that’s irrelevant,’ he said. ‘You’ve been arrested on suspicion of murder.’

‘At least we finish the scene’ said Bernard firmly.

There was a murmur of assent. Gablecross looked round at the solid phalanx of crew, muscular arms folded like a rugger team, blocking any escape, and felt there was no way an English lorry could get through a French blockade.

‘Stand by to shoot. Nice and quiet behind the camera,’ called Bernard.

Up started the strings, out sailed the moon. Gablecross had to admire the professionalism, particularly Tristan’s.

‘Roll sound, turn camera,’ he said quietly, standing there, as if without a care in the world, never taking his eyes off his singers.

Eboli, with heavy sarcasm, was now attacking Elisabetta’s hypocrisy for posing as a virtuous wife when she was all the time having an affaire with Carlos, until Mikhail whipped out his.22, spinning it over and over like a hired killer.

The yew walls seemed to expand as people flattened themselves against them. Suppose the gun was loaded? Then Baby leapt forward, squeezing Mikhail’s hand like a dog’s muzzle.

‘Why d’you hesitate?’ taunted Chloe, yellow eye flashing.

Everyone jumped as the.22 clattered to the ground.

Lucy felt her eyes filling with tears of despair, as Mikhail begged Baby to hand over to him any incriminating papers he might be carrying to stop them falling into the hands of the Inquisition.

‘To you? The favourite of the King?’ sang Baby, in bitter irony.

It is the only moment in the opera when Carlos doubts Posa’s loyalty. Mercifully, no helicopters interrupted the long, long pause. Then, puppy-like, Carlos became all apology, handing over his ‘important papers’, not realizing he was fatally incriminating his friend, before falling into his arms.

The acting had been so wonderful that for those few moments people had forgotten the murders. As the entire orchestra pounded out the friendship theme, Lucy frantically mopped her eyes.

‘I have betrayed my friend,’ she thought in agony.

‘Cut. That was perfect,’ Tristan told everyone. ‘Well done. If the gate’s clear, print.’

‘We’ll wrap now, call a weekend break,’ said Bernard, who was quivering with rage, ‘and by then you’ll be bailed.’

‘I may not. You, Oscar and Valentin know exactly what to do.’ Taking off his director’s cap, Tristan plonked it on Bernard’s head. ‘Now’s your chance to play Truffaut.’ Then he kissed Bernard on both cheeks, handed him his shooting script and added, with a break in his voice, ‘Here are my important papers.’

Finally he turned to Gablecross, mockingly holding out two clenched fists.

‘Put on the handcuffs.’

Ogborne and the crew closed in menacingly, but when Tristan shook his head they fell back.

All this was too much for Tab. With a scream of rage, she flew at Gablecross, hammering him with her fists.