Then she came with voiceless gasps and shudders, her eyes still tightly closed. It was a long, long time since he had serviced her but he knew if she was on HRT she could probably come again and again; he relaxed his fingers only for a moment and then plunged deep inside her again.

Juliet Lyall had four orgasms, her first for four years, her first since he had been there last time. She briefly forgot the nightmare at the theatre, forgot Hollywood, she briefly forgot Nicola Abbott and Terence Blue, all the pain and panic left her for a few moments as she flew away from her life, silently shuddering over and over again.

After a few moments she subsided, lay there, her breathing deepened, and then the world slowly came back. When she finally opened her eyes Grover had already dressed and was packing his oils.

She sat up at once, pushed her hair out of her eyes, reached for her chequebook.

‘Thanks,’ she said coldly.

20

Harry Donaldson flew back to London from Morocco bronzed, satiated, rested, healthy – and with a heavy heart.

He had had a call twelve hours before that Michael had suddenly taken a turn for the worse.

He was to start the Thomas Hardy serial, in which he would be kept very busy for several months, in two days’ time. He knew the make-up department would berate him for being so tanned; had told himself that such a peculiar old character as he was playing could look like anything, and anyway he had kept his face out of the sun whenever he could. But it had been so seductive, lying there, sometimes he simply could not move. He knew he had behaved unprofessionally. Actors couldn’t get casually sunburnt on their holidays, like other people.

As they landed at Heathrow it was raining and was suddenly terribly cold. He could see hail. The headline on the Daily Express said: AUTUMN STORMS LASH BRITAIN. On the tube coming into London he decided to call in and see Michael before he went home; jumped off at Earls Court, hailed a taxi.

The ground-floor flat in Camberwell had its curtains drawn although it was after eleven in the morning. He used his key, calling Hello gently as he did so.

Michael lay asleep in the big bed and Harry was shocked at the change that had come in the two weeks. The sores on his face were bigger, the bones of his face were sharper, like pieces of shell. Michael, who was thirty-eight, looked like an old, old man.

Annabel, Michael’s best friend, was dozing on the couch, jumped up in confusion when she saw Harry.

‘Oh my God sorry, is it two o’clock already?’

‘No no, I’ve just got back, thought I’d call in.’ He kissed her.