I wasn’t sure what to wear to meet with Ms Lovejoy. She knew I was a mad scientist, I only knew her as an agent, or actually as a voice on the phone. She sounded somewhere in her late thirties or early forties but I wouldn’t know until I met her.

I decided to go all professional, and dressed in the navy suit with a white blouse, and black court shoes. The suit is a Chanel type, with boucle material and round collar on a short jacket, which has quite large buttons. My mother had something like it, twenty years ago—I remember because when I cuddled her my face was all red marks from the rough material.

I found her office and waited in the car until five minutes to three. Then it was up the stairs in quite a modern block of offices. Her office was on the first floor, which is the one above ground or street level. I entered and her secretary, asked me to take a seat.

“Don’t you want to know who I am?” I asked.

“No, I recognise you from your picture in the poster.” She pointed at the poster on the wall, one of High Street Bank’s. I also recognise you from the clip on You tube, that is so funny.”

“I certainly didn’t think so at the time.”

“It’s had over two million hits.”

“Don’t, I want to retire to the country and breed dormice.”

“Aww, they’re such lovely looking things aren’t they?”

“You mean when they aren’t actually jumping down my front? Yes, I suppose they are.”

“Are you making a film on them?”

“Yes, which is why I’m here.”

“Ah, of course.” The intercom beeped and the dizzy secretary said, “You can go through now.”

I pointed at the door behind her and she nodded. I knocked and entered. I was at a disadvantage here, she knew what I looked like, I didn’t her. I was soon to find out. She rose from her desk to shake my hand. I was dwarfed in all senses. She was over six foot tall and broad, dark brown hair with a peaches and cream complexion. She looked about thirty five but it could have been five years either way.

“So, the famous Cathy Watts, soon to be Lady Cameron. Delighted to meet you.”

“I’m pleased to meet you.” I replied, “Someone has done their homework.”

“It pays to know my clients, it means I can give them better assistance.”

“So what do you know about me, apart from being engaged to Simon?”

“You told me you’re making a film about dormice, Imogen, my secretary, found the clip on Youtube. You said you work for Portsmouth University, and prefer field biology to doing stuff in a lab.”

“I didn’t say the latter, but you’re quite right. I’m better at walking around woods and hedgerows than dissecting things.”

“From the point of view of the film, that’s probably a good thing. Can I see what you’ve brought with you?”

She spent the next hour looking at the paperwork, including the script, asking intelligent questions and showing tremendous insight into the film. “This script is very good, and you’re narrating it?”

“Yes, why?”

“I hope you’re going to be on camera as often as the dormice.”

“Possibly more often.”

“You have the looks and figure to sell it to every man under seventy.”

“That’s a bit sexist isn’t?”

“Honeybunch, the object of making a film is to sell it; firstly, to the broadcasters, secondly, to the public. If the former think the latter want to see it, they’ll buy it. What you have to do is bury the educational material within the script, so while they’re wondering how good you’ll be in bed, you’re getting your own message across.”

“Don’t women ever watch natural history documentaries?”

“Yes, but not as many as men. The reverse is generally true of soaps.”

Somehow that didn’t surprise me, although the latter held no attraction for me. “So can you do a contract that will protect my film against Alan White’s plagiaristic tendencies?”

“Of course,” she smiled.

“How long?”

“I’ll email it to you tomorrow sometime.”

“Tomorrow, that would be brilliant.”

“Of course it is. Just because this is Whiteladies Road, not Wardour Street, doesn’t mean we can’t be the best, does it?”

“Absolutely,” I said and she rose and we shook hands again. That was it, I left and went home to do yet more paperwork. Whilst I was there, Simon phoned to say things were still looking bad, but he’d be with me for the weekend. He couldn’t stop to talk, he had crises to sort out.

I did some work on the mammal survey and looked at some data from my own team at Portsmouth: it seemed they could do quite well without me. I wasn’t sure if I was saddened or worried by that.

I had an email from Alan White reminding me that we were filming the day after next. I emailed him back saying that I was hoping to have the contract by then and that I hadn’t forgotten.

I then drove over to Des’ cottage and picked up various bits of equipment, I thought we might need. I brought them into the house for safe keeping, as I knew two of the cameras were worth thousands of pounds. I did miss him, and it grieved me that somehow he could fall in love with me, whilst Stella was there waiting for him. I suppose we’re all victims of our hearts and hormones. Okay, in one sort of way I did quite fancy him, but I liked him as a friend. The saddest thing is I knew that friendship would grow and we’d have collaborated on other projects too. I had to go and make myself some bread to stop me thinking such maudlin thoughts.

I made myself a cuppa afterwards, and wondered what the next few days would bring. I also reflected on my meeting with Erin Lovejoy, who seemed to think I was attractive. She obviously needs to see her optician more often or doesn’t know I used to be a boy–sorta.

I called Stella, she was feeling much better and the sickness was only occasional now. She said she was huge, which probably means she put on about ten grams, at this stage she’d hardly show if she was naked. I felt envious, although I was pleased for her, and for my little niece or nephew, whom I was going to spoil to death.

I spoke to Tom, he asked how I was and what the new film producer was like. “According to Des’ agent, Erin, I have to be careful about plagiarism. He’s good but not as good as Des. She’s drawing up a contract which is more binding than a straitjacket. “

“Let’s hope he adheres to it.”

“I’m keeping editorial control.”

“How are you going to exercise that, you’ve never edited anything more than an essay.”

“A few published papers,” I said indignantly.

“That’s what I mean, this is a very different medium requiring very different skills.”

“If I don’t like how it’s going I’ll get in someone to do it until I do like it.”

“This could become quite an expensive film at this rate.”

“Yes I know, if only that silly bugger hadn’t killed himself,” I sighed.

“I don’t think he did it intentionally. He was very tired I expect and he possibly fell asleep.”

“Yes, you’re probably right. I’m tired myself and feeling that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.”

“Maybe this new bloke will do a good job?”

“It’s still not Des, is it?”

“No. Did you have more feelings for him than you’ve told us about?”

“I don’t know.”

“My advice is to lose them, girl, your future is with Simon.”

“I know, Tom, I know.” He was only giving me fatherly advice, but I felt almost as if he was telling me off. I felt a tear roll down my cheek, guilt or grief? Take your pick.

I finished my call and went to turn out my loaf. I ate a little with some cheese while it was still warm. I didn’t have much appetite to cook for myself and after a glass of wine I went to bed with a nice book.