“Yes,” said Sophie. “Wow. Yes. Did he really say he was going to follow it up?”

“Yes, he did,” said Emma. “And I’m not like you, Sophie; I don’t get carried away and imagine things, I only talk about things that really happened. And this most definitely did happen. So I think you need to talk to your agent—Maggie?—to find out what’s going on.”

“Wow,” said Sophie. “Yes. Wow. I’ll find an excuse to go to see her today. I’ll go on my lunch break, I’ll just casually drop by. Should I take her some chocolate? She likes chocolate, but sometimes she goes on a diet. Would it be good to take her some chocolate, or would she think I was encouraging her to get fat?”

“I don’t know, Sophie,” said Emma. “Because, you see, I’ve never met the woman. But I do think you should talk to her.”

“Wow,” said Sophie again. And again, “Yes. Wow.”

There was another silence.

Then, “What else did Colin say about me?” she asked.

“He said you were a grubby little nightmare,” Emma told her. “But once we’d both agreed on that, he said you were quite a nice sort of grubby little nightmare. And he said he thought that once you’d had some experience, you’d be a very fine actress. Ow.” She held the phone out at arm’s length and massaged her ear with her free hand. “I hope you’re saving your money,” she said after a moment. “Because when I go deaf at fifty, I shall expect you to pay for my treatment.”

Maggie Gallagher, Sophie’s agent, was a small-framed woman in her forties, with a whispery voice, flowing light brown curls, and a fondness for ruffled dresses. She was known in theatrical circles as the Pit Bull.

“Choccies!” she cooed delightedly when Sophie handed her a gold-ribboned box. “What a lovely thought, how clever of you! All for me!” With a dainty hand, she swept them firmly into a drawer. “How are you, my precious? How was Coventry? Did you manage to keep your tootsies dry in all that rain?”

“It was really good.” Sophie sank herself into one of the overstuffed chintz armchairs with which Maggie decorated her office. “Rhys is amazingly creative, and it was an awesome experience. But something a bit, well, weird has happened, and I want to talk to you about it.”

“Something weird?” Maggie wrinkled her brow sympathetically. “That’ll never do, my precious. Tell Mummy.”

“Well, a couple of weeks ago, my sister had coffee or something with Colin Hobbes, you know, the one who plays Dr. Brodie on St. Luke’s?”

“Colin.” Maggie smiled fondly. “Such a sweet boy.”

“Yes, that’s what my sister said. And she mentioned my name to him, and he told her he’d really liked working with me and that he’d asked them to ask me back to the show, and he was wondering why he hadn’t seen me since. But you haven’t mentioned them calling, and I’m just wondering what’s happened. Have they called?”