‘Oh, you know. EastEnders, The Bill. The usual crap.’ He smiled, and I smiled back. I liked the way the corner of his mouth twisted as he grinned. I liked the fact he had a sense of humour about himself, which most actors I’d met lacked, and most of all I liked his dark eyes, eyes that were almost black in this dim light. Like melting tar on summer roads. I looked away.

‘I’m about to do some Shakespeare actually.’

‘Oh really? Personally I never really got to grips with the great Bard. Too much flouncy language, not enough sex.’ Where had that come from? I winced at myself. Quit while you’re ahead, Maggie, a little voice muttered.

‘No, well, he’s not everybody’s cup of tea. But, actually, there’s quite a lot of sex, I’d say. A lot of people ruined by broken hearts and jealous lovers.’

Me too, I nearly said. I am utterly ruined by my last love. My lost love. I caught myself: drunk and maudlin, a fatal combination. I tried to focus; to place his accent. Very faint. A burr, maybe Midlands, West Country perhaps. I felt a pang for Pendarlin again.

‘Which play are you doing?’

‘Twelfth Night.’

I vaguely remembered it from A-level English. I could just see him as the handsome angry prince who bangs on about music being the food of love, fighting desperately for the girl he wants. How romantic. I found I’d drained my wine.

Seb grinned. ‘Actually, if you want a bit of sex, there’s even some cross-dressing going on in Twelfth Night.’

‘It’s not sexy, cross-dressing, though, is it?’ I frowned, concentrating hard. ‘I thought it was about disguise and hiding. You’re not playing the one who burps, are you?’

‘Sir Toby Belch? No, not this time, sadly. He’s very funny, though.’

‘Or the one that wears yellow socks?’ I hiccuped gently and contemplated him. ‘I see you more as Hamlet, you know.’

Seb smiled inscrutably. ‘I guess most of us “thesps” like to think we’ve got him in us.’

I was steeling myself to ask whether Seb would like another drink when he stood up. ‘I’ve got an early start.’ He smiled at me as I bit down the disappointment, squinting up at him. ‘So, Maggie Warren.’ He was very gorgeous, and I was a bit drunk. I might be ruined by Alex, but I was still capable of rebounding heavily. It was definitely better that Seb left immediately. There was no telling what I might do when I was in my cups. My C cups. I started to smile.

Taking my hand, he held it for a minute. Or perhaps it was my imagination; perhaps it was a mere second. His skin was very cool against mine, which was burning hot. ‘It was nice to meet you.’

I stood up too. ‘Oh, yes. Likewise.’