that weighty sheaf of A4 paper, each page unfolding another
step of the story. He scanned the first page. You could always tell straight away if a script was going to be a turkey or
a diamond. At least he could. Which was why he had chosen hit after hit. Until the bloody booze got the better of him.
He scanned the stage directions and the dialogue. By the fifth speech he was already smiling, and could feel the fizz in the
bottom of his stomach – the fizz that made him want to carry on reading. He put the script down hastily. He didn’t want to
look too eager. Any glimmer of enthusiasm and Dickie would start working on him. It had been a long time since he had been
courted. It was only too easy to be flattered and cajoled. He wanted to make this decision with a clear head.
It was strange, being a household name yet not carrying on the work for which you were famous. It was like being in suspended
animation. He felt as if he was half living. And he knew one thing – he didn’t want to carry on as he was, playingsecond fiddle to Delilah. Immersing himself in tennis and rowing, writing film reviews for that poncy arts magazine, sorting
stuff out for the girls and their various ventures, teaching himself guitar – he kept himself busy on the surface but nothing
had ever filled the vacuum.
This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. He knew without reading it that the script was a winner, because he trusted
Dickie’s judgement. He completely understood what he was trying to do with this film. It would be romantic, heartwarming,
sexy, thought-provoking. It would make you laugh and it would make you cry. And he knew he was perfect for the role of Hugo.
He knew he could portray Hugo’s agony, the dilemmas of an attractive man of a certain age. He knew he could make Hugo sympathetic
even though he was being unfaithful to his wife.
By taking the role he would be taking a huge risk. Not because he thought he couldn’t do it, but because the very thought
of doing it made him want a hefty slug of vodka in his soda and lime, and it was all he could do not to beckon the waitress
over. And he hadn’t even started acting yet.
He put his glass down carefully.
‘Who’s going to play my wife?’
This was an important question. If the actress was a contemporary, there was every chance that Raf would have had an affair
with her. He didn’t particularly want to open any of those cans of worms.
‘Genevieve Duke.’
Dickie couldn’t help shooting Raf a triumphant look. Genevieve Duke was his ace. She was better known for theatre than for
film, notoriously picky about what she chose. She was the thinking man’s crumpet, incredibly sexy in a way that couldn’t be
pinpointed. Icy reserve, fabulous tits and a voice like dark treacle, all combined with a scathing wit. Sexually voracious,
too, if the legends were to be believed. One famous actor had a particularly filthy anecdote involving a very short ride in
a lift.More than anything, though, Genevieve Duke was a wonderful actress.
Raf could almost feel himself salivating. The chance to work with Genevieve was tempting. Their paths had never crossed in
his acting days. She had spent most of her time treading the boards at the RSC in Stratford or the National. If he was going
to make a comeback, she was the actress to do it with. And Dickie obviously knew that only too well. They would be dynamite.
He wasn’t going to let Dickie see his excitement. Instead, he frowned.
‘I can’t see Genevieve Duke playing a fifty-something woman who’s gone to seed.’
‘Ah, but here’s the twist: when she hears about Hugo’s affair, his wife re-invents herself and runs off with a man ten years
younger. And at the same time Saskia – the mistress – realises that Hugo has feet of clay and dumps him. So by the end of
the movie, he’s lost both his wife and his mistress. The final scene is him alone in the park with a double buggy