Mystified, he called the number. It was answered by the incredible hulk.

This was getting more Dan Brown by the minute. ‘It’s me.’ Feeling stupid, Gabe said. ‘The photographer.’

‘That’s a polite way of putting it.’ The hulk sounded amused.

‘You could call yourself paparazzi scum.’

‘If there weren’t any of us,’ Gabe retorted, ‘you’d be out of a job. Why am I ringing you anyway?’

‘The boss wants to see you.’

‘Who?’ Why ever would his boss be asking to see him?

Evidently sensing his confusion, the hulk explained in a caring, gentle fashion, ‘Savannah, you dozy pillock. Wait on the corner of Irving Street and Charing Cross Road. We’ll be there in ten minutes.’

This was downright weird. Looking around to see if he was having an elaborate prank played on him – was Get Back atthe Paps some new reality TV show? – Gabe zipped the Leica inside his jacket and headed away from the crowds. Lost in thought, he made for Irving Street. Was he out of his mind, even going there? If the hulk turned up with a couple of readyfor-trouble friends he could end up getting more than his camera broken.

Thirteen minutes later a limo with the obligatory blacked-out windows slowed to a halt beside Gabe. The door slid open and the hulk said, ‘Get in.’

‘You must be joking,’ Gabe retorted. ‘Do I look stupid?’ The hulk grinned, flashing a gold incisor. ‘Now you come to mention it ...’

‘Oh, stop that,’ exclaimed a despairing female voice and Gabe’s mouth fell open as Savannah Hudson’s face came into view. Beckoning to Gabe she said, ‘Ignore him. Just please get into the car.’

It was something of a novelty, checking there were no paps lurking around the entrance to the Soho Hotel before diving out of the limo, through reception and into the lift.

The hulk waited downstairs in the bar. Up in her suite Savannah disappeared into the bedroom to change out of the liquid silk gown and into one of the hotel’s oversized towelling robes. When she returned Gabe sat in a chair over by the window and she perched cross-legged on the vast bed.

‘I wanted to say thanks properly,’ she ventured at last, ‘for doing what you did.’

‘That’s OK.’ Gabe was nursing a bottle of tonic from the minibar.

‘And for not doing what you could have done.’ As she spoke, Savannah’s hand fiddled nervously with a tendril of styled blond hair. ‘I should have thanked you when you deleted those pictures. I was just in such a panic at the time, you have no idea. Then when you’d gone I was convinced you’d only pretended to delete them. But it’s been over a week now. If you’d still had them they’d have been everywhere by now.’

‘I deleted them. Actually,’ Gabe pointed out, because it had been her index finger on the button,

‘you did.’

Savannah shrugged. ‘You didn’t tell anyone, either. My manager’s been bracing himself for a barrage of phone calls about my health and there haven’t been any. Not one.’

‘When I make a promise I keep it.’

1 didn’t trust you. I’m really sorry’

‘That’s all right. To be honest, I don’t think I’m cut out for this paparazzi business. Can I ask you two questions?’

Savannah took a deep breath then exhaled like a diver. ‘Go on then, fire away.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be sitting in that cinema watching the film?’

For a moment Savannah looked nonplussed.Then the corners of her mouth began to twitch.

‘You’re new, right? We might turn up at a premiere but it doesn’t mean we watch the film. Most of us walk up the red carpet, disappear into the cinema and then head straight out again through the back door.’

‘Oh’

‘That’s so sweet. If it’s any consolation,’ said Savannah, ‘I love it that you didn’t know that.’

‘There’s lots of things I don’t know about this stupid job. Can I ask my other question now?’

She nodded, took a sip of water.

‘Do you have cancer?’ said Gabe.

Flushing, Savannah shook her head. ‘No I don’t. And thankgoodness I don’t, I’m truly grateful I don’t. But if I was bald because I had cancer at least people would feel sorry for me.’ She put the bottle of water down on the bedside table and said, ‘But I don’t, I have alopecia, which is something actresses like me aren’t supposed to get because it’s not glamorous and it’s not attractive, and p-people would make f-fun of me ... oh God, and my career would be over .. ‘ As she spoke, the tears spilled out and rolled down her cheeks. Shaking her head, she buried her face in her hands and began to sob, great heaving sobs that shook her tiny, towelling-clad frame.

‘Oh don’t do that.’ Appalled, Gabe jumped to his feet.

The next thing he knew, she was in his arms, as fragile as a baby bird, weeping helplessly and soaking the front of his grey sweatshirt.A spider appeared and Gabe brushed it away in horror then realised when. it landed on the white carpet that it was a clump of false eyelashes.

‘You’re so k-kind,’ Savannah hiccupped, her eyes now bizarrely lopsided.

‘Here, let me just do something ...’ Gently Gabe peeled the strip of lashes from the other eye.

With a handful of tissues he wiped away the dregs of the professionally applied make-up. It was surreal, doing something as intimate as this to a face he’d seen so many times on cinema screens.

Everyone in the country knew Savannah Hudson from her TV and film roles. She was beautiful, talented, fragile. And he was sitting with her on a king-sized bed, consoling her as she wept. To lighten the mood he said, ‘I was just thinking I can’t believe this is happening. But I bet you never thought you’d be here doing this with someone like me.’

She managed a watery smile. ‘Not in a million years.’

‘Everyone hates us,’ said Gabe. ‘We’re right up there with traffic wardens, tax inspectors and those people who club baby seals to death.’

‘And bitchy journalists,’ Savannah added, ‘who always manage to find something horrible to say about you, like how knobbly your knees are, or how unflattering your trousers. One of them wrote a piece last year about my eyebrows looking ragged. The headline was "Savannah Needs a Damn Good Plucking".’ She paused and tapped her wig. ‘Can you imagine the field day they’d have if they knew about this?’

‘But it’s not your fault.’

‘They don’t care about that.’ Two more tears popped out. ‘All they want is a good laugh and to sell a few more copies of their rotten magazine.’

‘Listen to me,’ Gabe said firmly, ‘you’re beautiful.’

Savannah shook her head. ‘Not without hair I’m not. My agent told me I looked like a wing nut.’

‘That’s not true. I saw you,’ Gabe insisted. ‘And you didn’t.’

‘You must have caught me at a flattering angle. Trust me, I do.’

‘You don’t.’

In response, Savannah reached up and peeled off her wig. She sat before him on her knees and gazed steadily at him.

How had he not noticed before? Minus the hair, her ears stuck out. She looked exactly like a wing nut. A weary, fearful, deeply ashamed wing nut.

•

‘See?’ whispered Savannah.

Gabe did the only thing he could possibly do. Reaching forwards, he cupped her damp, tear-stained face between his hands, drew her towards him and kissed her on the mouth.

He’d meant it to be a brief, reassuring kiss but Savannah clung on, wrapping her arms around his neck. Time stood still for Gabe; bloody hell, this was Savannah Hudson he was kissing and now she was the one making sure it carried on. All he’d wanted to do was stop her crying. Then again, he wasn’t going to be the one to pull away .. .

Finally Savannah did, but only by a couple of inches. Touching his cheek she whispered, ‘Do you really like me?’

‘You’re beautiful. Why wouldn’t anyone like you?’ Gabe stroked her head, as warm and smooth as a new-laid egg.

‘No wedding ring.’ She reached for his left hand, double-checked it was unencumbered.

‘Girlfriend?’

‘No girlfriend.’

‘You’re very good-looking.’

Gabe smiled. ‘Should have seen me before the plastic surgery.’

‘Oh no, you definitely haven’t had that. When it comes to men having plastic surgery, trust me, I’m an expert. Are you really single?’

He nodded. ‘Since just before Christmas!

‘I haven’t been with anyone for over a year! Savannah’s smile was wry. ‘Isn’t that pathetic? My manager says it’s no wonder my hair’s dropped out. But it’s so hard to trust people, you never know what they’re going to do or say. And now with all this business going on ...’ she indicated her head, ‘it’s even worse. It just seems like everyone lets you down, they can’t help themselves.

Every last one of my exes has done a kiss and tell. In the end you just think it’s easier not to bother.’

‘Right.’ Gabe realised he was still stroking her face. ‘Complicated.’

‘It is complicated. Nothing’s ever straightforward. You have no idea.’

‘My God, I’m glad I’m not a stunning, Oscar-nominated actress.’

Savannah broke into a smile. ‘I’m glad you’re not too.’ Then she kissed him again. Longingly.

And this time it didn’t stop.

’Hey, Gabe, any joy?’

Gabe stopped dead as he emerged from the hotel at nine o’clock the next morning. Lenny, one of the other paparazzi, was leaning against a wall smoking a roll-up and keeping his camera out of sight.

‘What?’Aware of the eyes of the bellboy on him, Gabe prayed he wasn’t giving himself away.

‘Any sign of Savannah Hudson? She’s meant to be staying here.’ When Gabe hesitated, Lenny said, ‘Isn’t that who you were looking for?’

‘Oh right, I didn’t know’ His pulse racing, Gabe gestured vaguely behind him. ‘I just called in to use the loo.’

Lenny rolled his eyes and grinned. Gradually Gabe’s heart slowed down. The bellboy, less amused, murmured, ‘Well, don’t do it again.’