‘Me too,’ Nick said cheerfully. ‘But luckily for you, I’ve got a bit more change down the back of the sofa these days.’ Sinking his fork into a buttery new potato, he fixed Fraser with a look. ‘So, the big time is knocking at your door, is it? I can’t say I’m surprised.’
Fraser chewed ruminatively on a mouthful of steak. ‘Is it, though? I’ve only got Sam’s word for it.’
Nick shrugged. ‘There’s definitely a script and Minelli is on board. Rumour has it the Oscars are being engraved already.’
That gave Fraser a moment’s pause. Hearing it from Nick gave things a solidity, and the mention of the Oscars sent a thrill chasing along his spine, even though he knew any awards would be for Minelli. ‘If it’s such a stellar role, why aren’t you up for it?’
‘A schedule clash,’ Nick said, lifting his glass of red. ‘There’s only one of me, sadly, and even I can’t be on two continents at the same time.’
Fraser raised his eyebrows. ‘Not even for an Oscar? What’s the other role?’
‘I’m sworn to secrecy,’ Nick replied, dropping an exaggerated wink. ‘But even if I was available, the truth is that I’m not right for the part – I can’t do a Scottish accent to save my life, fora start. It’s perfect for you, though. Are you sure you’re not tempted?’
‘We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I wasn’t tempted,’ Fraser pointed out. ‘But you know what acting is like – the audience can smell it a mile off when your heart isn’t in the role. And it’s been a long time since I felt the love for telling a story.’
It wasn’t strictly true – he loved doing the ghost tours, watching the audience fall under his spell and live every word of the tales he spun. But that wasn’t what was on offer here. In the film industry, the audience reaction occurred long after the performance had been captured. If they loved it, he’d only know by reading the critics’ reviews.
Nick eyed him closely. ‘You’d be working with the best. That can be powerful.’
Fraser tipped his head. ‘I know all about the Minelli magic, but that’s the other thing. From what Sam said, the concept sounds mad.’
His friend laughed. ‘I can’t argue with that. But I got the impression that the script is still a work in progress so that might change. And actually, it doesn’t matter too much because you’ve already put your finger on the salient point, which is that Marco is a maestro who can spin straw into gold. Most actors would sell their own mothers to work with him.’
That was certainly true, Fraser thought. ‘A few years ago, maybe,’ he admitted, and thought guiltily of his mum, who had always been his biggest fan and would probably volunteer to be sold if she thought it would help. ‘Not my mother, though. Maybe my dad.’
‘You don’t have to sell either,’ Nick said, pointing his fork at Fraser for emphasis. ‘You, my friend, have been chosen.’
‘But how?’ Fraser asked, repeating the question that had been bothering him ever since his conversation with Sam. ‘How doessomeone like Marco Minelli even know who I am? Surely I can’t have been in anything he could have seen.’
Nick fired a mischievous grin across the table. ‘Maybe he’s a fried chicken man.’
‘My point exactly,’ Fraser said, trying not to groan.
‘You could always ask him,’ Nick suggested. ‘You know, when you go to meet him.’ He gazed at Fraser thoughtfully. ‘Unless there’s something you’re not telling me. Something that’s worth more than the glittering opportunity you’ve dreamt about since drama school.’
For all Nick was his friend, Fraser wasn’t sure he could explain why he hadn’t immediately leapt at the chance to meet Minelli. The quiet enjoyment he’d found doing the walking tours wasn’t anything like the extraordinary career Nick enjoyed. It paid more than enough to meet Fraser’s needs, as well as supporting two other storytellers, but it wasn’t even close to the status offered by appearing on TV or in a successful movie. It didn’t offer the plaudits or gravitas of performing night after night on stage, nor was it going to win him an Oscar or see him invited to A-list parties, but for Fraser, that didn’t matter. His audience might be small but they left him having been thoroughly entertained, and that gave him no small amount of job satisfaction. The challenge of finding new ways to grow Dead Famous into a thriving business drove him out of bed each morning and even Edinburgh’s notoriously capricious weather couldn’t dampen his enthusiasm. Having been at the mercy of casting directors for so long, he liked knowing he was in charge of his own creative endeavours. It was the sense that now, at last, he was enough. How could he explain any of that to Nick, who had probably forgotten what it was like to be rejected?
‘I think I’m happy with what I have,’ Fraser said at length. ‘I know it doesn’t look like much, running tours and telling ghost stories every night, but it’s steady. Predictable. Enjoyable.’
‘The complete opposite of an acting career, in other words,’ Nick said dryly.
Fraser dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘I like having the audience so close,’ he went on. ‘Reading their reactions and judging when to ramp up the drama and when to tone it down so I have them in the palm of my hand the whole time. The stories might be the same but the performances change from night to night. I’m never bored.’
His friend nodded. ‘I can see why you don’t want to give that up.’ He eyed Fraser meditatively. ‘Although when I heard you’d broken up with Naomi, I did wonder whether perhaps you’d fallen in love with more than just the city.’
There was no doubt what he was getting at and, unbidden, an image of Maura popped into Fraser’s head. He couldn’t deny how important she’d become to him, but he wasn’t sure he could explain that to Nick either. Apart from anything else, he strongly suspected his protestations that he and Maura were just good friends would be met with raised eyebrows and unbridled scepticism. It was a conversation he’d rather not have. ‘The chance would be a fine thing,’ he said, falling back on the time-honoured response to questions of romance. ‘I don’t have the time.’
Eyeing him over his wine glass, Nick shook his head. ‘I think I need to see you perform the role that’s making you turn down Marco Minelli. Any chance of a ticket?’ A fellow diner passed the table, goggling first at Nick and then eyeballing Fraser, as though checking whether he was equally famous. Nick’s mouth twitched. ‘I could wear a cap, loiter at the back.’
It would take more than a hat to disguise Nick’s identity, Fraser felt, but he wasn’t about to say no – not when his friend had dropped everything to listen to his problems. ‘I think that can be arranged, although I don’t know if you’ll be able to get back to London afterwards.’
‘Who said anything about that?’ Nick asked, and winked. ‘How do you fancy a flatmate for the night?’
Chapter Three
It wasn’t a date, Maura reminded herself for what felt like the hundredth time as she and Fraser took their seats in the Grand Circle of the Lyceum Theatre. Apart from anything else, it was a Saturday afternoon, hardly the most romantic time of day, and the play they were going to watch wasThe Merchant of Venice,which she dimly recalled was about greed and revenge. And since she’d booked the tickets as a thank you to Fraser for his kindness, she was determined to ignore the fizzle of excitement she’d felt when she spotted him waiting outside the theatre.Friends, she had told herself sternly as she’d smiled and said hello.Nothing more.
‘How’s the exhibition prep going?’ Fraser asked, once they were settled into the red velvet seats. ‘Are you coping with the extra work?’
