and internationally known. I can’t act in a cheap, tin-pot production of Persuasion in a shabby little theatre in a not very well-known seaside town in Devon!’
‘Why?’ Millie’s tone was unforgiving.
She couldn’t tell her the real reason. That she was still in love with Mike. Always had been. And, even worse, that he had a perky little blonde called Kirstie attending to his every need.
‘Why, Dora?’ Millie repeated. ‘Why can’t you do Mike’s play? If you don’t there’s no deal. I won’t talk to Jed.’
‘Oh alright, I’ll do it!’ Dora yelled. Then threw a cushion at her friend to shut her up.
Dora was confused. She’d contacted Mike (through gritted teeth) and he’d asked her to meet him here, in the Regent Theatre on the far end of Berecombe’s sea front. She’d assumed the meeting would be a private affair. The theatre, however, was buzzing with people. She spotted Kirstie briefly, who waved hello and promptly disappeared. A group in the unofficial theatre uniform of ripped jeans and black t-shirts were earnestly discussing a large piece of paper – stage designs maybe and another group of youths were sweeping and collecting litter in black bin bags. They were chatting loudly about the latest Bond film.
The place felt very different. It had been a second home to her for the two years she did A levels. She’d spent more time in here, with Mr Latham and the drama group, than she had revising. Until her parents had tried to put their foot down.
An assistant, who looked about twelve but who was gratifyingly star-struck, led her to the front of the theatre. There was nothing to sit on and no one had offered her as much as a coffee. It wasn’t how she was usually treated when negotiating a role. It couldn’t have been further from how things were organised in LA. She suppressed a frustrated giggle.
The theatre was tinier than she remembered. There was a small stalls area and a narrow balcony running in a horseshoe around the walls. It would barely seat a hundred people when the seating was replaced. She understood it had been taken out for a craft fayre, which was held once a month. That was new since she was last in Berecombe. The walls and floorboards were painted a matte and rather sinister dark blue, making it seem even more compact. At the opposite end to the stage she recognised the kitchen and bar, currently hidden behind scruffy steel shutters that didn’t quite fit. The stage itself looked to be in fairly good repair but there was a motley collection of buckets and containers where the house seats, if the Regent went in for that sort of thing, would be. Water dripped mournfully through the roof. Dora wondered where it was coming from; it hadn’t rained since she’d been back. She was peering up, trying to work out the cause of the leak when Mike’s voice startled her.
‘There you are.’ He was accompanied by a large dark-haired man, who looked vaguely familiar. ‘This is Greg Symon. I’m sure you know him from The Gates of Almonhandez.’
‘Of course.’ Dora extended a hand. ‘How nice.’ She’d caught some of the series, a Game of Thrones rip-off in which Greg had been out-acted by the rest of the cast, including the horses. She hoped he had nothing to do with Mike’s production.
‘Greg’s our Captain Wentworth.’
Shit. Dora composed her face. ‘Wonderful!’ How the hell was she supposed to act besotted with this plank? And what was he doing back in the UK? She could only assume he had lots of time on his hands. The Gates of Almonhandez had been pulled after the first season.
‘It’s an honour to meet you, Theodora. I’ve always admired your work.’
I bet you have, Dora said silently. It’s probably given you an acting lesson or two. ‘Thank you so much, Greg. And may I say how much I enjoyed The Gates. So innovative.’ She was alarmed to see the tops of his large ears turn pink.
‘Thank you. Coming from you, Theodora, that means a huge amount.’
‘It’s Dora,’ Mike put in, curtly. ‘Now we’re back in Berecombe.’ He gave her a hard look. He knew she’d been lying. ‘Did you know Dora grew up here, Greg? Her parents ran the fishandchip shop.’
Dora swept him with a beatific smile. He wouldn’t belittle her that way. ‘They did indeed. And still do, as a matter of fact. They also now have three fish restaurants, including Samphyre. It’s tipped for a Michelin star.’ She raised her brows at Mike in challenge.
‘Really?’ Greg said, impressed. ‘In Exeter? I ate there last month. It was magnificent.’
‘Thank you, Greg. I’ll make sure to let my parents know. They’re so proud of their achievements.’
‘Could we get down to the matter in hand, do you think?’ Mike’s voice was brittle. ‘I want you to read the scene where Anne meets Wentworth, Dora. Where he re-enters her life as a successful sea captain. They meet each other seven years after he was jilted by her. Do you think you’re up for that?’
‘I think I can just about manage. Of course, as you haven’t sent me a script, I haven’t had a chance to look at it. It’ll be a sight-reading, but I think I’ll cope.’ Dora gave Mike a thin smile.
‘I’ll get Lily and Josh to read in for Mary and Charles and we’ll get going, then.’ Ignoring her sarcasm, he yelled for Kirstie, who went to find them. ‘If we could get a move on I’d be grateful. I’ve got quite a few to audition today.’
Dora stopped dead. ‘Auditions?’
‘Yes.’ Mike became very busy studying his script. ‘I’ve got at least another three Annes to see today.’
‘I’m auditioning?’ Dora exploded.
‘Of course.’ Mike met her fury. ‘You didn’t think you’d get this by not auditioning? That’s how it might work in American television, but I audition every actor in one of my productions.’
For a moment Dora was too incensed to speak. Then she caught the slightest of quirks at the corner of Mike’s mouth. He was bloody well testing her. ‘You ba ’
‘Come on, Dora. Not too big for your boots to audition, surely?’
‘Oh Mike,’ Greg began, ‘Surely someone of the calibre of Theodora shouldn’t be asked to –’
‘Where do you want me?’ Dora cut Greg off. She glared at Mike, knowing full well he needed her far more than she needed him. Her celebrity status alone would send the publicity for this production stratospheric.
‘If you could stand stage left, please, Dora,’ Mike said serenely. ‘And Greg, could you enter from the other side?’
As she began to stalk off, he stopped her.
‘You’ll need a script, Dora.’
Ripping it off him, she concentrated on finding her spot.
On the phone to Millie later, she explained what had happened. Expecting sympathy, Millie couldn’t stop laughing.
‘Oh poor Dora! But you’ll make a fantastic Anne.
