‘Hi Julian, darling. How are you?’ she said. ‘You look well.’
‘Lord knows how,’ he replied as he indicated the piles of files, but Evelyn could see that he was pleased to have been complimented. ‘It’s been bedlam around here for weeks. I’m never off the phone these days.’
She gave him an indulgent smile. ‘Come on, Julian. You wouldn’t have it any other way.’
‘Too true, too true. Now. This Rory MacMillan project,’ he said, switching effortlessly to the matter in hand. For all that Julian liked to play his part as fuzzy and abstracted, he was actually as sharp as a sea urchin’s spine and knew exactly what was what at all times. This was precisely why he was Evelyn’s agent. ‘They’re thinking of you for the part of Detective Constable Karen Walker. Lots of screen time for her, as she’s generally trailing after her boss. Not heard who they’re seeing for the boss yet, but I think we can expect it to be someone that the public will know. And that all bodes well for you, Evie, sweetie. Assuming you can pull it off.’
‘Do they want me to read?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Read for the director first and then, if they like that, a meeting with Mr Rory MacMillan himself,’ replied Julian. ‘And as you already know him, that should be a breeze.’
Was it Evelyn’s imagination, or could she detect something in his tone that suggested he was impressed? It was hard to tell, but Rory MacMillan was a big name. Even Julian, with his ‘I’ve seen it all before, darling’ attitude might be a little bit excited by the opportunity that had presented itself to her. She wondered about confessing to him that she didn’t really ‘know’ Rory MacMillan; it had been one conversation at a party, but she decided against. It would do her no harm to let Julian think the acquaintance went deeper than that.
‘They’re serious, then? About me, I mean,’ Evelyn asked, hardly daring to believe it. When she’d gone for other parts, she had only ever seen the casting director, never the producer, but then she had never been up for something as big as this before.
‘It seems so,’ Julian drawled. ‘And so they should be. This is well within your range. They’d be mad to miss you.’
Despite his optimism, Evelyn tried to keep a lid on her excitement. This still felt like a lot of hoops to jump through.
‘And is there anything else in the pipeline for me?’ she asked hopefully, thinking of her bare kitchen cupboards and the freezing cold flat.
‘Not just at the mo, darling. These perishing strikes are putting the wind up everyone. People are nervous about committing to things just now whilst the country is going to hell in a handcart, but don’t you worry. If you manage to bag this one, then you won’t have time for anything else.’
Evelyn bit her lip. It was a ten-part series with the chance of a second if things went well. A part like this would be the making of her.
6
The audition was at the film studios in Wembley. Evelyn had been once before, which reduced her nerves just a little, and she tried to look confident as she marched up the drive to the reception desk. She wondered how many other hopefuls would be there. She assumed dozens, possibly even hundreds of people, all as desperate as she was to get the part, but as she drew closer there were only a handful of other actresses waiting. She checked her watch and then the date, but she had both things correct. Her heart, already pumping hard, started to work a little harder still. Were they only considering so few people? Maybe she was in with a real chance.
Her initial anxiety switched to excitement. This was what she did. She performed. And it didn’t matter what it was or who to. When the time to shine arrived, Evelyn Mountcastle shone. She straightened her skirt （dark, pencil, worn to give the subliminal impression of a policewoman）， took a deep breath and stepped into the reception. Every pair of eyes turned to look at her. Unperturbed, Evelyn walked as confidently as she could to the desk.
‘Evelyn Mountcastle,’ she said clearly, and handed over her portfolio.
The receptionist took it from her and put it on a pile with the others without even glancing at it.
‘Take a seat,’ she said.
Evelyn chose a chair nearest the door, rearranged her skirt and then, when she was sure she was sitting in the most flattering position, lifted her chin to take a look at her rivals. She immediately wished she hadn’t. There were five other women sitting there. All of them were older than her and at least two were, if not quite household names, then certainly someone who would turn heads in a restaurant – ‘Isn’t that . . . ? You know. The one from . . . ?’