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husband.’
    ‘That I do believe,’ said Mum.
    ‘I need to see it,’ said Eulalie and it took us a moment to realize she was talking about the contract and not about the actress’s ‘improvements’.
    I carried the document over to the table like a high priest bearing precious offerings to an altar.
    ‘“Talent Representation Agreement . . .”’ read Eulalie. ‘You’re the
talent
– no?’
    ‘Indeed I am,’ I said, ignoring my parents rolling their eyes at each other. Eulalie nodded as though that was how she described me every day.
    ‘“. . . I hereby authorize the Haden Agency to negotiate contracts for the delivery of my professional services as an artist or otherwise in the fields of film, television, stage,
radio broadcasting, modelling—”’ Eulalie broke off. ‘Modelling?’ Even she looked a bit surprised.
    ‘It’s a catch-all,’ I explained. I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but it was pretty clear that I wasn’t going to be sent out for any modelling jobs any time
soon.
    ‘You pay them
twenty per cent
of all the monies you are making?’
    ‘Well, it’s eighty per cent of something or a hundred per cent of nothing,’ I said. I was new to this but not stupid.
    ‘It could be eighty per cent of nothing,’ said Mum. ‘Stella made it quite clear that Elektra might not get any parts or at least not for a long time.’
    Eulalie shrugged like that could
never
happen. ‘You need to think positive thoughts, then it will happen for sure. Close your eyes, Elektra, and imagine yourself in your dream
role.’
    I felt like a bit of an idiot, but because it was Eulalie I did exactly what she said (also that way I couldn’t see my parents’ expressions).
    ‘So, describe to us what are you seeing,’ Eulalie said like some sort of spirit guide.
    What I was actually seeing was either a) nothing if I closed my eyes really tightly or b) my dad smirking if I didn’t. Also it was hard to concentrate because Digby was licking my leg
under the table. ‘Er, Joan of Arc?’ I don’t know where that one came from, but it would be a great role (except for the traumatic haircut). This was quite hard. A mean, gorgeous
girl in
St Trinian’s
(or a nice but ‘plain’ girl who gets a makeover and turns out to be seriously fit)? Any part in
Doctor Who
? (Except for a dalek because
I’d get claustrophobic.) None of these would mean anything to Eulalie.
    ‘Juliet,’ I said because I’d practised fantasizing about that one. I opened my eyes. ‘Have any of you ever heard of an actor called Gregory Peck?’
    It was like I’d said, ‘Have any of you ever heard of the Pope or Napoleon or Queen Elizabeth?’ There was outrage at my ignorance.
    ‘So, first we watch
Roman Holiday
and
second
we go to Harrods,’ said Eulalie when she’d recovered the power of speech.
    Dad’s phone started ringing in the other room. ‘It’ll be work,’ he explained. ‘I’ll leave it.’
    ‘What are you building now, Bertie?’ asked Eulalie.
    We’d all given up explaining to her that Dad didn’t actually
build
anything. And yes, he was called Bertie. It was just a cross he had to bear.
    ‘Not enough actually. It’s quiet at the moment. Too quiet. There’s a limit to how excited I can get about kitchen extensions.’
    Dad usually got excited about things like rectilinear elevations or bespoke brushed metal cladding (nope, I’ve no idea either).
    ‘Well, you can always come over and help me renovate my
boiseries
.’
    I don’t know what Eulalie was talking about, but there was no question she was flirting. She flirts with everyone: man, woman, child, dog.
    ‘I’m not sure what
boiseries
are, Eulalie, but no doubt it would be a pleasure.’
    Sacré bleu
, he was flirting back.
    Sometimes I struggled being in this family.
    Moss turned up just when Eulalie was leaving – which in one way was bad because they adore each other, but in another way was good because they’d have spent ages
talking about fashion