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help!’
    ‘Good.’ He looks at me thoughtfully. His eyes aren’t brown, as I thought, but a sort of honey-hazel colour . . . or amber, even? ‘I’m kind ofhaving writer’s block at the moment and I could use your help.’
    ‘Well – that’s what we’re here for!’ This is encouraging: it already seems as though he’s motivated.
    ‘You know, Sam here doesn’t think I can finish the book, but we’re going to prove him wrong, OK?’ He gives me a wicked grin, and my stomach flips.
    ‘Sure, man,’ says Sam, smiling but not looking up from his paperwork. ‘You proveme wrong.’ I can tell he’s been listening to our entire exchange, not missing a thing.
    Someone’s coming out of the house. An elegant lady with beautifully coiffed grey hair, wearing a blue apron over a black dress, has appeared with coffee, which she pours for me and Luther. Of course: the staff.
    ‘Alice, this is Maria Santa,’ says Sam. He adds something to the lady in Italian, which I don’tunderstand. She looks at me and then at Sam, asking him something; he smiles and shakes his head and they both laugh – he’s being uncharacteristically charming to her, I notice.
    I watch, fascinated, as Luther adds milk to his coffee, and starts eating some figs. I’m watching Luther Carson have his breakfast . Maria Santa gives me some bread and butter, but I’m not totally sure if I can eat anythingright now. Sam’s phone starts ringing. He excuses himself and walks away, talking.
    ‘What a wonderful place to work on the book!’ I say toLuther. My heart is racing with adrenaline and I’m pretty relieved to find myself talking so fluently.
    ‘Hey, I’m glad you like it,’ Luther says. ‘I’m just sorry it’s not Ibiza; I know how you Brits love it there.’
    ‘I’ve never been,’ I tell him. Though hecould probably tell that just from looking at me.
    ‘I guess the best part about this place is we can lose the photographers, more or less,’ Luther continues. He points to the bay with his knife. ‘Unless they sneak up in a boat with long-range cameras.’
    ‘We’ve been pretty discreet,’ says Sam, rejoining us at the table.
    ‘It’s so beautiful,’ I say. I feel as if I’m in a huge blue heaven, suspendedbetween the sky and the sea. I can see lemon trees in the terraced garden beside us, and cactuses, and growing over the white walls is a brilliant hot-pink flower, the one you see everywhere in films set in the Mediterranean – bougainvillea, that’s it. I realise for a second I’ve almost forgotten where I am. It’s a shock to come back to earth and realise I’m here in Sicily, discussing the possibilityof a paparazzi approach with Luther Carson and his agent.
    So the good news is that he seems utterly charming and down-to-earth, just as I knew he would be – much nicer than his agent. He’s not necessarily spilling his innermost thoughts yet, but that will come. The bad news is he’s so attractive that I’m going to have to keep calm and concentrate, and do my best not to stare at him. I decideto gently introduce the topic of the book.
    ‘So – I don’t know what your plans for today are, Luther, but maybe some time this morning, we could sit down together and – talk about the book so far?’
    He nods. ‘Sure thing. We can have a creative chat.’ He smiles at me. Wow. I’ve seen that smile so often on film,but to be on the receiving end of it – I’m almost knocked sideways. I’m so happy heseems to like me; maybe this is going to be easier than I thought.
    ‘Want me to sit in?’ Sam asks.
    ‘No, I got it. Hey, lady.’ For a second I’m confused, but then I realise Luther’s talking to someone behind me.
    Padding across the terrace, wearing a white bikini with a transparent pink shirt floating over it, is one of the most stunning girls I’ve ever seen outside the pages of a magazine. Foran awful second I think it’s Sienna Miller, but it’s not. Her bikini is effortlessly set off by a few