He picked up her tone at once. ‘Why do you find that distasteful? This is a class script and you know it. Do you know how many actresses we saw for this part? Over one hundred and fifty, real stars, actresses much more well-known than you, actresses in their mid-fifties who would have given five years off their fucking life to play this part because there’s not many parts like this for women of your age, women who are getting old. I don’t like to be made a fool of. You’re a very experienced actress. We pay you not to be embarrassed if it’s embarrassment you’re talking about. But it’s ridiculous to be embarrassed at your age, I don’t understand you.’

Juliet took a long long swallow of whisky. ‘Nothing embarrasses me,’ she said.

‘Including sex?’

‘Sex isn’t at the root of everything,’ said Juliet. ‘That’s such an immature, American way of looking at things.’ Outside the long window, outside the double glazing that reduced the city sounds to a murmur, Los Angeles was lit up, hummed below them.

Bud Martin got up, went to the telephone, still watching her. ‘It is at the bottom of everything,’ he said, ‘in a way.’ He spoke into the telephone for a moment and then came back to the bed.

‘Let’s leave sex out of it just for a moment. When you did Dreams on Broadway I loved your performance because of what it promised about the woman if only it could be found. That’s the quality I thought you could bring to this. That quality was also on the film test you sent me. But in this film that quality has to be pushed further – that –’ he struggled with the concept for a moment ‘– that elusiveness, that enigmatic quality has to break, reveal something. Otherwise it’s nothing, there’s nothing there. In the rushes that – that revelation, that thing that leads to the audience understanding – it simply isn’t there. I need to know why.’

He saw that she would not or could not answer; sighed, leant forward, tried again. ‘Look Juliet, I’m your director, I’d like to help you if I can, for both our sakes. This isn’t a press conference, you don’t have to protect yourself from me and I am a man who has kept many secrets. But I will fire you from this film if you can’t do it.’

Juliet stared at her glass, said nothing; saw that the glass shook, the liquid moved in the glass, shone in the light from the lamp. Everything was happening as she had predicted in her nightmares. The past would come back. She would lose everything. She wished there was more whisky in the glass. She drained what was there, felt it warming her throat, her stomach. Her heart.