“Aidan, for the last time!”

It was the end of another long day of rehearsals. David had spent the morning in a meeting with the people he called his “money men”. He had returned to the set at lunchtime, his normally open expression obscured by anxiety, and had been grumpy all afternoon. By the time six o’clock came we were all exhausted. Aidan, perhaps hoping to lift the mood, had begun to ignore the script and improvise, and David had lost patience. “Are you intent upon sabotaging this film entirely?” he demanded. “Or are you merely trying to stop us finishing it on time?”

Aidan was kneeling on the floor. We were rehearsing the scene where he declares his love for Eloise, who was sitting on a kitchen chair with Maria adjusting her skirts. He stood up wearily and shrugged. “Do you want me to tell you how little I care?”

David’s lips got very thin. “I’m warning you…”

But Aidan spoke over him. “What are you warning me? That filming will run over schedule and cost more than you have told those money-grabbing self-abusers you call your investors? That is your concern, dear David, not mine.”

I did not know what a self-abuser was, but judging by David’s reaction, it was a not inconsiderable insult to the money men. He stared at Aidan, and the muscles in his face seemed to loosen, as if he was no longer controlling them. His voice was cold. “And what is your concern, dear Aidan?”

Aidan strolled across the floor to the area behind the cameras, where his jacket was hanging over the back of a chair. From one of its pockets he took a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. Knowing that smoking was forbidden on the set, I watched in trepidation. Unhurried, Aidan lit up and took the first puff with satisfaction. “My concern,” he announced to the silent, waiting studio, “is this. Where am I going to get drunk tonight, and who is going to join me? Dennis, how about you? Shall we descend upon Claridges, or the Café Royal, or somewhere altogether more delicious, in Soho perhaps, where the ponces go?”

I did not know what a ponce was either, but the word had an instant effect on the colour of Dennis’s complexion. He tried to speak, but David, whose expression was a mixture of exasperation and determination, wouldn’t let him. “Don’t demean yourself, Dennis,” he said wearily. Then, unexpectedly, he turned to me. “Clara, my dear, allow me to apologize for Aidan’s unpleasant behaviour. But his contract to complete this picture was drawn up by very competent lawyers, as was yours. I’m afraid that unless something quite untoward happens, you must see the adventures of Charles and Eloise out together till the very end.”

I did not know how to answer. I stole a look at Aidan, who gave me a bemused smile, half-obscured by cigarette smoke. I decided the smile was insolent and did not return it. I had no wish to smile at him; in fact, I wished the lawyers had not been so competent. My life would be a great deal easier if I did not have to contend with Aidan every day! For him to be sacked, how much more “untoward” would his behaviour have to be than what we had witnessed tonight?

David raised his voice. “Very well, everyone,” he announced wearily. “Thank you very much. Seven o’clock start tomorrow, as usual.”