Joseph Wain frowned at once. ‘Ah, then he hasn’t. Well we only met on Friday afternoon and he’s been at Stratford of course. Still, I’m rather surprised he hasn’t even mentioned it.’ For a moment he frowned again. ‘Anyway: I’m just beginning work on a fantastic television project. I’ve got – we now own – the core of six one-hour scripts, wonderful wonderful stuff about treachery in international politics – it’s frightening how much of it there is about apparently – and these scripts are – or will be – excellent, quite excellent, outstanding in fact: America, England, Bosnia, the UN, South African diamonds, Mandela’s government, nuclear testing in the Pacific – the lot, absolutely perfect for the international market, and we’re going to make it as the first really international television production, stars from every one of the countries involved but set in London with the sleaze set. It’s to be called The Immoralists and we’ve been talking about Anthony for the English lead, as the British Prime Minister.’

‘Oh,’ said Pauline. ‘Well, that’ll be nice for him.’

‘But there’s almost as big a part,’ continued Joseph, ‘as the Prime Minister’s wife, and I’ve suggested you.’

Pauline’s heart – she couldn’t help herself – lifted, leapt up. ‘Go on,’ she said, noncommittally.

‘Well as you can imagine there’s talk on the board of the company about a second English star etcetera – you know, the usual stuff – what the Americans will put money into...’

‘Yes of course,’ said Pauline. ‘I understand how it works. But it was good of you to try.’