LITMIR.BIZ

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like they designed the thing to Brontë’s exact specifications. You’ll love it.’

      Vio followed him down a steeply sloping sheep track.

      ‘You can cross the river at the bottom,’ Dorian panted over his shoulder. ‘Then it’s up the other side and over the hill.’

      ‘What are the family like?’ asked Vio, making conversation as they trudged along. ‘They’re living here for the duration, I gather? That’s a bit unorthodox, isn’t it?’

      ‘It was cheaper,’ said Dorian frankly. ‘We’ve got to save money somewhere if we’re going to pay your fee.’

      Viorel grinned. ‘Touché.’

      ‘Anyway, as it turns out, it’s only one girl and her son,’ said Dorian. ‘Tish Crewe. She’s terrific actually.’

      Terrific? Vio’s ears pricked up. ‘How old is she?’

      ‘Mid-to late-twenties, I guess. The kid’s five.’

      ‘Cute?’

      ‘Oh, adorable. Five’s a great age for a boy.’ Dorian tripped over a bramble and almost went flying.

      ‘Not the kid,’ Vio laughed, helping him to his feet. ‘The girl.’

      Dorian frowned. ‘She’s attractive. Not your type though.’

      ‘Meaning what?’ said Viorel. ‘I don’t have a type.’

      ‘Sure you do,’ said Dorian. ‘I’ve seen your press. The girls on your arm are glamazons. Tish isn’t glamorous. Besides,’ he added, ‘she’s in love with some French doctor.’

      Viorel raised an eyebrow. ‘Wow. You’ve really got to know this woman. She’s confiding in you about her love life already?’ He nudged Dorian in the ribs. ‘Maybe she likes you.’

      ‘Grow up,’ said Dorian crossly.

      ‘Maybe you like her?’ Viorel teased. ‘Am I getting warm, Il Direttore?’

      ‘No, you are not getting warm. I’m a happily married man.’

      This was stretching a point at the moment, but it was true that Dorian had zero romantic interest in anyone other than Chrissie. Tish Crewe was charming and kind and, if he were honest, Dorian probably was a little star-struck by her family background. He might have inherited what Chrissie would insist on describing as a ‘fuck-off castle’, but the Crewes clearly sprang from a far more ancient and senior branch of the aristocratic tree. None of which amounted to Dorian ‘liking’ Tish Crewe, at least not in Viorel Hudson’s sense of the word.

      ‘We’ve been thrown together in the same house for a week,’ he said defensively. ‘Of course we’re going to talk. And yes, I do like her. Just not in the way you mean.’

      Viorel looked sceptical but said nothing. They’d reached the river now and began the short but gruelling climb up the other side of the fell. It was still only eight o’clock, and walking in the shade you could feel a distinct chill in the air.

      ‘What time are the others arriving?’ asked Viorel, changing the subject.

      ‘Sabrina and Lizzie should be here later this morning,’ said Dorian. ‘Jamie and Rhys both got in yesterday.’

      Lizzie Bayer, a well-known American television actress, was playing Isabella Linton, Heathcliff’s wife. Jamie Duggan, a Scottish theatre actor, was playing Catherine’s husband, Edgar Linton. And the unknown Rhys Evans had been cast as Hareton Earnshaw, the young Catherine’s love interest at the movie’s end. Along with Viorel and Sabrina, Lizzie, Jamie and Rhys made up the core cast.

      ‘I’m starting with you and Sabrina, though, first thing tomorrow. You know that, right? Heathcliff’s return-from-exile scene, outside Thrushcross Grange?’

      ‘Absolutely,’ said Vio. He hoped Sabrina would arrive on time and in a fit state to run through the scene with him privately before the morning. He’d tried to contact her numerous times in LA since the read-through, offering to work on their joint scenes together, but she’d blown him off each time. ‘I work better alone,’ she told him arrogantly. ‘If you’re nervous about your scenes, talk to Rasmirez. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.’

      Vio was perplexed. ‘Have I done something to offend you?’ He’d been sweetness and light to Sabrina at the read-through, even sticking up for her afterwards with Dorian. What the fuck was with her attitude?

      ‘You’re not important enough to offend me,’ said Sabrina rudely, and hung up.

      Mind games, thought Vio, fighting down his anger. She’s trying to provoke me so I’ll lose my shit on set. Make a dick of myself in front of Rasmirez and take some of the heat off her.

      Too bad, sweetheart. At least one of us knows how to be a professional.

      He hoped he’d be able to translate some of the hostility between them into sexual tension on camera. But, after weeks of waiting, he was getting increasingly jittery about how they would play together. This was his five and-a-half-million-dollar lead role, the biggest break of his career. He wanted to get started.

      ‘Whoah.’

      After five minutes of climbing, they had reached Home Farm. Vio was suitably impressed. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said, marvelling at the L-shaped building with its weathered grey stone. Even the thick front door could have been lifted directly from the pages of the novel. ‘It’s exactly what I pictured. Except …’

      ‘Except what?’ said Dorian.

      ‘Is it a little small, maybe?’

      ‘Small? I don’t think so,’ said Dorian, sounding a tad put out. In fact, he’d thought the same thing himself when he first saw the farm eight days ago, and spent much of the last week working on long-angle shots to create a better illusion of size, but it irritated him to have Viorel confirm his doubts. ‘We won’t be filming inside. I’ll show you some of the rushes we did last week of the exterior. It’s workable.’

      But Viorel was no longer listening.

      The front door of the farmhouse had swung open and a figure had emerged, covered from head to toe in thick black soot. Looking up, Dorian saw it too.

      ‘Tish?’ he asked tentatively. ‘Is that you?’ He walked towards the figure. An amused Viorel followed behind.

      ‘Oh, er, hello. Yes.’ Flustered, Tish attempted to brush the worst of the coal dust off herself, but it stuck fast, like iron filings to a magnet. She’d been up since seven, trying to rescue a nest of birds from the Connellys’ chimney shaft, and had not expected to see Dorian or any of the film people up at the farm at such an early hour.

      Leaning forward, Viorel whispered in Dorian’s ear. ‘Am I imagining things? Or is she naked?’

      Disappointingly, he saw as they drew nearer that Tish wasn’t naked. At least not quite. Beneath her sooty disguise she was barefoot and wearing nothing but a pair of knickers and a skinny-ribbed vest. Definitely not a glamazon, thought Viorel, remembering Dorian’s arbitrary description of his ‘type’. Terrific legs though. My goodness.

      ‘I was … we were … having a bit of trouble,’ Tish babbled nervously, suddenly aware of how ridiculous she must look. ‘The chimney sweep’s coming this morning, you see, and there’s a family of swallows nesting …’

      She stopped talking. From behind Dorian’s familiar, bear-like form, the most divine-looking man Tish had ever seen in her life suddenly emerged like an apparition. A vision in blue, his floppy black hair gleaming like a raven’s feathers, he stood there, staring at her. Of course, no one could ever hope to compare with Michel, not in terms of the overall package. But it could not be denied that on looks alone – when it came to regularity of features, proportionality of limbs, or any other objective standard of male beauty one might care to put forward – this toffee-tanned, blue-eyed Adonis took some beating.

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