Rendez-Vous in Cannes. Jennifer Bohnet

      ‘Just spotted an old mate over by the bar,’ Marcus shouted in her ear. ‘Didn’t expect to see him down here this year, he’s had a few problems. Come and meet him,’ and catching hold of her hand he led her across the room.

      Marcus tapped a tall man on his shoulder, saying, ‘Nat, how you doing? Meet Daisy, she’s covering the festival for the first time.’

      Daisy recognised Cindy’s minder instantly. She could see, too, that he recognised her.

      They smiled at each other. ‘You!’ they said in unison.

      ‘You two already know each other?’ Marcus asked.

      ‘We’ve just seen each other around,’ Nat said. ‘Good to meet properly.’

      ‘Sorted your problem yet?’ Marcus asked.

      Nat shook his head. ‘Still working on it. Hope to get it sorted during the festival.’

      Marcus turned to Daisy. ‘This guy is a brilliant writer but insists on working as a nanny.’

      ‘A fellow’s got to eat,’ Nat protested, smiling at Daisy. ‘Especially when the rogues in this business insist on pinching my ideas,’ he shrugged. ‘At least I’ve got a roof over my head. Besides, I like children. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m hoping there’s a taxi waiting for me downstairs. I’ll see you around.’

      Impulsively Daisy said, ‘I think I’m staying in the same direction as you – could I share your taxi?’

      ‘Sure,’ Nat replied easily.

      Daisy looked at Marcus apologetically. ‘I’m sorry but I am about to drop from exhaustion.’

      Marcus placed a kiss on her cheek. ‘Go home. I’ll ring you tomorrow.’

      Daisy looked at him. Now, why had he done that? Still trying to act like a Frenchman rather than the cocky leather-clad Northerner he was? Or trying to stake a claim in front of Nat for some reason?

      ‘I’ll see her home safely for you, Marcus,’ Nat said.

      Daisy bit her lip. Nat had obviously got the idea from the kiss that she and Marcus were an item. Was that deliberate on Marcus’s part?

      The taxi was waiting when they got downstairs and Nat held the door open for Daisy before climbing in himself.

      ‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.

      ‘I’m lucky that my sister lives down here.’ Daisy gave him the address and took a ten euro note out of her bag and offered it to Nat, who shook his head.

      ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s almost on my doorstep.’

      ‘Thanks,’ Daisy said. ‘The little girl you’re looking after, Cindy?’ she said. ‘Are her parents famous?’

      ‘Verity Raymond and Teddy Wickham the director.’

      ‘Her mum is the actress Verity Raymond?’

      Nat nodded. ‘Cindy’s a sweet kid. Bit lonely at the moment. Misses her friends. At least her father is here now. She adores him. Not that she’s going to see a lot of him during the festival. He’s head of the jury this year.’

      ‘Would she like to meet up with Tom, my nephew, d’you think? Tom is six. Be a new friend for her.’

      ‘That’s a great idea. Cindy is almost six – big day next week! You and I could have a coffee together then? Look here’s my number, give me a ring. I guess it will be easier for me to fit in a time around you as you’re here to report on the festival.’

      Daisy put the card Nat handed her in her bag. ‘I’ll find out what Tom is up to over the next few days and give you a ring,’ she promised. ‘Many thanks for the lift home.’

      Cleaning her teeth before collapsing into bed, Daisy thought about Bernard’s remarks regarding Philippe Cambone. If he was such a nice guy, why were there rumours starting to fly about him? And what exactly were those rumours?

      Before snuggling down under the duvet, Daisy opened her laptop and updated her ‘To-do list’: go to another screening tomorrow; write up her ‘clothing the stars for the festival’ piece; find more info about Philippe Cambone.

      And, of course, there was still the little matter of trying to uncover a scoop for Bill.

      6

      Thursday morning and Anna was up early, wanting to fit in a swim before breakfast and getting ready to go down to her company’s temporary office in one of the hotels on the Croisette. It was a beautiful morning and, sitting out in the garden eating her breakfast, she decided to walk down into Cannes rather than call a taxi. It wasn’t as if she had to clock in at a certain time.

      Unknown to Anna, she was following in Daisy’s footsteps of the previous evening when she turned onto rue Saint Antoine and began the steep descent. Because of the relatively early hour, many of the shops still had their shutters closed, but the cafés were already busy serving breakfasts to bleary-eyed festival goers. By the time Anna reached the bottom of the rue, the souvenir shops, their pavements and windows full of Cannes Film Festival memorabilia were open for business and the enticing smell of coffee being roasted hung in the air.

      As she turned left at the bottom, Anna caught a glimpse of the amazing large trompe l’oeil on one of the buildings opposite. A tribute to Hollywood and the important part cinema had played in the growth of Cannes, Anna smiled as she recognised the famous faces depicted so brilliantly in movie scenes across the wall.

      Rick, her business partner and office manager back home, and Fran, their PR and Personal Assistant, were both already in the office when Anna reached the hotel room they regularly booked during the festival. She was immediately absorbed into the meticulous, detailed organisation events at the festival demanded.

      ‘As you know, Future Promises is screening Sunday evening, so I’ve managed to get a hair appointment for you with the salon here in the hotel for the morning,’ Fran said, handing Anna an embossed card with the details on it. ‘You’ve got your dress and everything organised?’ She glanced at Anna who nodded. ‘The limo will collect you and Leo at seven o’clock to take you to the Palais des Festivals and again afterwards to take you down to the Palm Beach for the party. There’s also a couple of invitations here for various other parties.’ Fran glanced at Anna. ‘I know you said you didn’t really want to get involved with the party scene on your own, but this one in particular sounds fun. It’s up in Super Californie in one of the big villas there tomorrow night.’

      Anna hesitated and glanced across at Rick. As always he was in total charge of things for Cannes week. She knew he’d been surprised when she’d told him she was coming to Cannes this year. The deal had always been, Anna didn’t do Cannes. A couple of the other festivals, yes, but Rick was on his own for Cannes. He’d never asked why; just accepted it as a perk that he got to spend nearly a fortnight in the South of France every year. The networking he did was invaluable to the business and Anna had no intention of cramping his style in that regard.

      ‘It’s usually a good evening,’ he said now. ‘The Americans attend this one in full force. There will be several people there who would love to meet you, including the eccentric Rosa Cruft.’

      ‘Isn’t she on our party guest list? I’ll meet her then,’ Anna said.

      Rick nodded. ‘Yes, she is. No guarantee that she’ll come though. We can go together if you like,’ he offered. ‘Pick you up at nine o’clock.’

      ‘Okay and thanks,’ Anna said, glancing at him. ‘Rick, did you ever have any contact with Philippe Cambone down here?’

      Rick shook his head. ‘Shared a couple of cocktails with him at various parties down the years, but that’s about it. Different ends of the business, so we were never going to be in regular contact. Seemed an okay sort of bloke. Did hear on the grapevine that he was