“Of course,” said Sophie. “Well, I don’t know him, but of course I know who he is.”

“Used to be a great party man, did Johnny,” said Hughie. He smiled, reminiscently. “God, we’d get wrecked and get into trouble, we made Ollie Reed and Richard Harris look like Little Red Riding Hood and Little Bo Peep. Then he married that awful shrieking Weathers woman, and all the fun had to stop. But she does let him give parties occasionally, I will say that for her, and they’re pretty damned popular parties, too. Want to come to one?”

A party with Johnny Genovese, thought Sophie. A pretty damned popular party with Johnny Genovese and Alice Weathers and all their director and actor friends.

“Do I!” she said.

“Good,” he said. “And we’re just in time because he’s off to Hollywood at the end of the month to make the Rocky Marciano thing. But he’s giving just the one last bash before he goes, if you’d be free for it?”

“I’ll make myself free,” said Sophie, carefully refraining from pinching herself for joy. She sat up straight and saluted, smartly. “Private Atwater reporting for party duty, sir.”

“That’s what I like.” He winked at her approvingly. “A girl with dedication to her craft. Let’s see. The party’s on Thanksgiving. And Thanksgiving is … when is it?” He reached into his pocket for his BlackBerry.

“A week from today,” said Sophie quietly. “My mother’s American.”

“Is she, now?” said Hughie. “Yes, you do have that wholesome corn-fed look going for you. Yes, there we are, Thursday of next week, Johnny’s place in Canonbury Square. Do we have a date?”

“I suppose we do,” said Sophie.

“But you can’t go!” said Lulu later that cold and windy night as they warmed themselves on a supper of thick vegetable soup and bread and cheese. “You’ve asked Jamie to come here.”

“Well, he can still come to dinner,” said Sophie, although a little uneasily. “It’s not like he doesn’t know the rest of you, is it?”

“And I’m sure he’d just love to travel halfway across London to spend the evening with Emma and Charlie and me while you’re out chatting up directors. Tell her, Charlie. It would be really unfair to Jamie, wouldn’t it?”

“If he did come alone, I know Javier would like to see him,” said Charlie. “He’s still a little nervous of the rest of you, but Jamie makes him laugh.”

“Don’t drag Charlie into this, Lulu,” said Sophie. “It isn’t her problem, and it isn’t your business, either. It’s between Jamie and me, and Jamie will understand.”

“Will he?” said Lulu. “I wouldn’t if I were Jamie.”

“Well, you’re not Jamie, are you?” Sophie poked with her soupspoon at a piece of carrot. It was obviously not an ideal situation as far as Jamie was concerned, but it had become apparent to Sophie that, in order to succeed as an actress, she needed to work a little harder than she previously had on her popularity. Sophie had certainly no intention of going so far as Miranda Fentiman apparently went in her quest for friends; and if and when Sophie became successful, then she was certainly not going to block other young actors from sharing in her success. But if popularity were a pathway to success, then it would be foolish of Sophie simply to ignore it. “Jamie and I are in the same profession,” she said. “We know there are certain things you have to do that you might not have done otherwise. We both want to be successful, and we’ve both made a pact that when we get opportunities, we’ll share them with each other. And who knows what opportunities this party might lead to? It could end up being good for both of us.”