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Back The Actresses Save as PDF
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. THE ACTRESSES
  3. About The Actresses
  4. Contents
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. About Barbara Ewing
  49. Also by Barbara Ewing
  50. An Invitation from the Publisher
  51. Copyright

‘Thank you for the offer Waylon,’ she said. ‘I’m very flattered of course but I have a very jealous lover, you don’t want another murder to deal with. See you tomorrow. ‘ And she smiled at him again and walked out of the caravan.

Outside, the two sound men still waited which was strange, all the camera crew were usually away in minutes when a wrap had been called. As she walked past them to where she knew her car would be waiting the sound recordist said, loud enough for her to hear, ‘Good. We were right.’

Molly stopped. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You just won us two hundred quid.’

‘What?’ She pushed at her hair, puzzled.

‘It was a bet,’ he said, shrugging. ‘He bet you would, that you’d be dying for it at your age. We bet you wouldn’t, that you were past it.’

Molly felt the colour rush to her cheeks in the darkness of the hotel courtyard.

‘Well there you go,’ she said shakily, ‘you owe me a drink,’ and the men laughed.

*

In the car being driven back to Clapham she was still shaking with anger. She tried to laugh it off to herself as she would have once, but somehow the words he said you’d be dying for it at your age, we said you’d be past it stayed there in her mind, and his words to her a little – tired – fun.

As the driver neared Clapham she was filled with such a longing to see dear good uncynical Banjo, feel his young arms hold her tight in their bed, the man she loved most in her life.

But Banjo was out, his saxophone gone from the corner.

24

Although it was pouring with rain and very cold, Emmy Lou’s press night was packed. Somehow word about the new play had got around, the literary manager from the National Theatre had been to the preview the night before and tonight several other people from the National were there. The theatre, really a room above a pub, was only small, could hold about seventy people. Tonight they all cramped together, there were probably nearer eighty and people had been turned away. There was a buzz of excitement.

Eurydice Smith, who had finally been let back into rehearsals, had almost lost her sullen look. She was too good a writer not to see in the end what Pamela Angel and the actors had done, how they had taken her already remarkable play and made it fly. She wished all the actors good luck nervously, pulling at her short orange hair.