Minelli nodded. ‘Thanks, Krystal.’ As she left the room, he eyed Fraser with renewed interest. ‘My position hasn’t changed – I’d like you to consider a major part in my next film. But today isn’t meant to be a hard sell. Why don’t I send over the script and you can see what you think? If you’re interested, we can meet again and talk details.’
The buzz of performance was starting to ebb away as Fraser weighed up the offer. He couldn’t deny that he’d warmed to what he’d seen of Minelli so far, and the opportunity to work with someone of his calibre was something he’d given up on a long time ago. Maura’s words echoed in his head.You should go for it. How many people get to live their dream?He still wasn’t sure she was right, but her resolve lent him strength. Was there any harm in looking at the script?
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’d like to see the script. But I do have one question.’
Eyebrows raised, Minelli seemed amused. ‘Only one?’
Fraser took a breath. It was a risk, but he had to know the answer. ‘How do you – a directing genius – even know who I am?’ The words tumbled out too fast and Fraser resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. If he mentioned Louis the Chicken, he thought he might die.
The other man grinned. ‘Ah. Well, it’s kind of a funny story but you don’t seem like the kind of man who’s driven by his ego, so I’ll be honest.’
Fraser wanted to groan. It was the adverts. It had to be the adverts.
‘My mother is a big murder mystery fan. She loves Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers and all those Golden Age detectives – the quainter, the better.’ He shook his head. ‘She even tried to get me to cast Angela Lansbury in a movie once, but it didn’t work out. Anyway, she got really into an English TV series calledDeath in Dorset. You probably know where I’m going with this.’
He did, Fraser realised with horrified certainty, although he really wished he didn’t. Not trusting himself to speak, he waved the director on.
‘She made me watch a few episodes when I was staying with her and of course I saw your glorious death at the hands of the brilliant Penelope Keith.’
Fraser took refuge in a swig of cold coffee.Death in Dorsethad been years ago – he’d played much more fulsome roles than that since, although none that had ended with him face down in a bowl of soup. ‘And that made you want to work with me?’ he said incredulously.
Minelli laughed. ‘Let’s just say you got my attention. And then I looked up some other stuff you’d done and I liked what I saw. So when I agreed to this new project and saw it needed a Scottish actor who could really nail character, I thought of you.’
‘Really?’ Fraser said, unable to believe what he was hearing. ‘It wasDeath in Dorsetthat brought me here?’
The director nodded. ‘Absolutely. The best death in the entire show, bar none. What was it, vegetable soup?’
‘Broccoli and Stilton,’ he corrected, then winced. ‘I think the props department thought it would be funny. It took days to get the green bits out of my nostrils.’
Krystal came back into the room then, bearing two fresh coffees.
Minelli grinned again. ‘First rule of acting – make friends with the props team.’ He took one of the saucers from hisassistant and lifted the cup as though in a toast. ‘Here’s toDeath in Dorset,anyway.’
Fraser managed what felt like the world’s least convincing smile as he raised his own cup, still not entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming. ‘And here’s to broccoli and Stilton soup.’
Chapter Five
I took the part.
Maura stared at the message for almost a minute on Wednesday morning, struggling to control her tumbling emotions. On the one hand, Fraser’s news was a punch to her torso, stealing the breath from her lungs and causing her stomach to contract as though she was actually absorbing the impact of a blow. And on the other, she was happy for him, knowing how long he had worked for such a moment before finally letting go of the idea that it would ever come, this well-deserved reward for years of dedication. The resulting tumult inside Maura made her feel nauseous. She was glad she hadn’t eaten breakfast yet.
Congratulations!she typed back, determined to be supportive.How does it feel to be a superstar in waiting?
The wordsFraser is typing…appeared at the top of the message thread.It hasn’t sunk in yet. Lots to do before I actually sign. Need to go to London to meet the producers.
Maura let out a long slow breath as she cast around for the right reply but her brain was still too muddled for anything beyond the obvious.Exciting!
His response was instant.Terrifying, tbh. But I want to celebrate with you – champagne soon, OK? I’m buying!
Maura didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she left the message unread and went down to the studio. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to celebrate Fraser’s success, or that she had anything against champagne. It was simply that her heart felt too raw to contemplate either at that moment.
She jabbed her fingers into a lump of clay and carried it to the potter’s wheel. But the hypnotic spin didn’t soothe her jangling nerves the way it usually did. The clay wobbled and stubbornly refused to obey her instructions, collapsing in on itself before it could become the shape she intended.
After several further attempts, Maura was forced to concede that the clay could feel her restlessness. She cleaned the wheel, reformed the failed pot into a shapeless lump and wrapped it in polythene to keep it moist. She allowed the water to run for a long time as she listlessly scrubbed the grey from under her fingernails.
It wasn’t the first time her skill had deserted her, but she supposed it might help if she wasn’t shaking from hunger; she hadn’t felt like eating after reading Fraser’s messages, a realisation that made her feel worse. Hanging her apron on a hook, she went back upstairs to make some toast. Hopefully, it would give her the strength to be a better friend too.
‘Can I give you another potato?’ Maura’s mother was eyeing her anxiously from the end of the dining table, the spoon in her hand hovering beside a tureen of steaming roasted potatoes. ‘They’ll only go to waste otherwise.’
