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`Saw you waking up.' He grinned down at her over the top of his sunglasses. `Thought you might need these. Want me to pop the pills out of the foil for you?'

`I don't understand.' Moaning gently, Miranda shieldedher own eyes from the sun. She had a pounding hammer-drill of a headache and - mysteriously - the most disgusting taste ever in her mouth. `The last thing I remember, I was sitting at that table over there, you weren't here and Florence had long hair. The next minute,' she frowned and held up her glistening arms, `I'm waking up on a sun-lounger with gloopy suncream all over me and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.'

`And a knotted handkerchief on your head,' Danny said helpfully. `Don't forget the knotted hanky.'

`Oh God.' Miranda whipped it off.

`Not to mention the cigarette butt lodged in your cleavage,' he went on. `Well, I say cleavage…'

Great. Peering down, Miranda fished it out. How cool must she look?

She peered suspiciously up at Danny.

Did you put that there?'

`I did not.' He sounded amused. `According to Florence, you smoked eleven black Sobranies in seventy-five minutes.'

Oh well, that explained the diabolical taste in her mouth. Hmm, thought Miranda, won't be trying that again in a hurry.

`Two at a time, at one stage.'

`Okay, okay.' She flapped a feeble arm at him to give her a break. `It's my birthday. You're supposed to be nice to me.'

`This is nice. This is me being extra-nice on your birthday.'

Miranda swallowed two of the paracetamol, sloshed them down with orange juice and eyed him with suspicion.

`What are you doing here anyway? I didn't tell you it was my birthday.'

`I know. I rang to fix up a date for filming in the salon.' Danny sat down on the grass next to the sun-lounger. `Florence happened to mention it.' He hesitated, his expression masked by his dark glasses. `She also told me about the… Greg thing.'

Oh God, the Greg thing.

`Why am I not surprised?' Miranda said flatly. She gritted her teeth, making a mental note to tell Florence that, actually, she'd prefer it if details of her private life weren't blurted out to all and sundry the minute she sank into a drunken stupor.

`I'm sorry,' said Danny.

Miranda closed her eyes as the horrible details, like stampeding wildebeest, came thundering back over the horizon to haunt her all over again.

`Well, there you go, another one bites the dust.' Her voice was brittle. `Wouldn't it be great if it was an Olympic sport?'

`What - getting plastered, smoking a million fags and falling asleep with a hanky on your head?'

Miranda smiled briefly, because he knew that wasn't what she meant. He was just trying to cheer her up, make her laugh.

`Getting it wrong. Getting it completely wrong every bloody time. Honestly, I'm better at it than anyone else I know.'

`Come on, that's not-'

`True? Of course it's true,' Miranda wailed. `Look at you, I was convinced you were married and you weren't. Thenwith Greg it didn't occur to me for one second that he might be married, and he is. So how clever does that make me?'

Since there was really no answer to that, Danny rose to his feet.

`Look, come on over and join in the rest of your party.' He held out his hands. `Hang on to me and I'll pull you up.'

`Ouch,' Miranda grumbled as he hauled her, in turn, efficiently to her feet. Her arms, slippery with Ambre Solaire, had required a firm grip. `What time is it?'

`Four o'clock.'

`Already? Oh God, and Greg's coming round to collect me at six.' Feeling fragile, she allowed Danny to guide her across the daisy-studded lawn.

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

`Cancel.'

`No way! I want to tell him what I think of him,' Miranda said bitterly. `Then I have to tear him limb from limb. And when that's all done, I'll finish with him.'

Florence beamed; this was celestial music to her ears. `Darling, back with us at last.' Reaching up, she patted Miranda's shoulder. `Feeling better now?'

`Oh yes, tons.' Miranda collapsed on to the wrought-iron chair next