Robert Palliser, a middle-aged actor who was playing de Montfort’s uncle, was always very kind to me. Off-screen he wore thick glasses, and was very amiable, like a real uncle. “Are you all right, my dear?” he asked me that day at the first break. “You’re so young, you must be absolutely floored by all this.”

“Yes, I am,” I confessed. Then, so as not to seem too idiotic, I added, “Well, a bit.”

“Much of what goes on must seem unfathomable.”

“It does, rather,” I said. “Though I’ve managed to find out that Harry is the cinematographer, and Kitty is the continuity girl, and Alfie is one of the gropes.”

Robert Palliser’s small pink mouth fell open.

“Oh! Sorry, I mean grips. The boys who shift things around.”

“Ah.” The pink mouth expanded in a surprisingly pleasant smile. “Well, you’ve done better than I did when I first started in this business. I wouldn’t say boo to a goose.” He considered. “But then, I was a mere boy, quite untried. You seem very poised for one so young.”

“Aidan says I’m plucky.”

He looked at me from under lowered eyelashes, his expression unreadable. “Well, Aidan has his own view of the world, and that’s a fact. Tell me, is your mother with you?”

“No. She is needed at home. She … er … helps my father in his work.” I looked at him, feeling uncertain. “Eighteen is old enough to be by oneself, though, don’t you think?”

“Of course.” He patted my hand. “And naturally you’ll see your family soon, will you not? Why not invite them to tour the studios?”

I could not answer. Surprise at his suggestion and a sudden closing of my throat prevented me.

“You are missing them, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

Swallowing, I nodded. “My brother – his name’s Frank – he’d love to come here,” I continued, but then I had to stop again. An inexplicable wave of longing to be back in Haverth had buried me. I strove to compose myself. “Um … I write to them, and they write to me,” I told him. “That will have to do for now, I think.”

“Dear girl!” exclaimed Robert. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Please don’t concern yourself,” I said, sniffing a little. “I am quite all right.”

At that moment the actor playing the revolutionary leader passed. Robert caught his sleeve. “Ah, Godfrey! Come and join me and the delightful Clara Hope, our young star.”

Godfrey Claymore, a rangy Scot with a face more aristocratic than a revolutionary leader perhaps ought to have, gave me a sympathetic smile. “Hello, darling,” he said, which flattered me until I discovered that this was what he called everyone, even the men. “In at the deep end? Robbie here will always pull you out when you need it, you know. He’s wonderful with the ladies.” He and Robert exchanged a look. “And talking of ladies,” continued Godfrey, “be grateful, Clara darling, you’re not contending with La Vincenza quite yet.” He sucked in air through his teeth. “Even Robbie can’t deal with her!”

I was still trying to recover and did not reply. Godfrey scrutinized me for a moment, then said, “Toodle-oo!”, waved happily and melted away. Robert Palliser giggled. “My dear, old Godfrey may be a bit of a gossip, but he’s quite right. If you feel all at sea, you only have to ask and we’ll haul you out.” He gestured with the script he held. “Now, to work. We’re on next. Do you want to go through this?”