The Daily Mirror was lying on the table. Brenda’s chap must have left it there. Evelyn began to flick idly through it. They were calling it the ‘Winter of Discontent’, and the country was starting to feel very jumpy, edgy almost, as more and more trade unions called their members out on strike. These were strange times indeed. And Sid Vicious was dead, apparently. That was a shame, she thought, but not really a surprise.

If she got this part, she would be a success, maybe even a household name. Then Joan would no longer be able to scoff at her and accuse her of wasting her life on a pointless whim. In fact, Joan would have to congratulate her and admit that she had been wrong all along.

And how Evelyn was going to enjoy that moment.

8

Evelyn sat in the chair opposite Julian and grinned as she waited for him to give her the news.

‘Well, you certainly impressed them,’ he said. ‘They thought you showed’ – he paused, running his finger down his notes until he came to the right place – ‘“remarkable insight” in your reading of the character.’ He looked up at her, his eyebrows raised and a quirky smile on his lips. Then he dropped his gaze back down. ‘Apparently you brought an “added dimension” to the character that even the writer himself hadn’t considered.’ He sat back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. ‘Well done, Evelyn. Very well done indeed.’

Praise as fulsome as this was rare, and Evelyn could feel heat rising in her cheeks. She gave a modest smile. ‘And DC Karen Walker features in every episode?’ she asked, even though she already knew this to be true, having clarified it several times since the audition.

Julian put his stockinged feet up on the desk as if he were in his living room rather than his office. Evelyn found this state of undress a little disconcerting, but she tried to ignore his scarlet socks and focus on his face, which was now smiling broadly at her.

‘Yep,’ he said. ‘It’s a big part, Evie.’

Evelyn nodded, but then a wave of anxiety twisted in her gut. It was all very well them liking her, but as yet they hadn’t formally offered her the part.

‘What’s your feeling, Julian?’ she asked him. ‘Do you think it’s mine?’

Julian examined his nails and gave them a quick buff on his trousers. ‘I think quite possibly. From what they said to me, anyway, darling, but it all depends on MacMillan. If he likes you then you’re in. But then he does like you, or so you said. So it shouldn’t be that hard to convince him that you’d be perfect.’

Evelyn’s stomach hit the floor. What if she had imagined it all? What if MacMillan had said exactly the same thing to every young actress at the party? She swallowed hard and tried to push the thought out of her head. She needed this job. Her life in London was depending on it.