LITMIR.BIZ

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not. We’re friends, but I would never cross that line. Not while we’re working, anyway.’

      Something about his tone had made Dorian believe him. But watching the pair of them flirting outrageously now, he felt his doubts creeping back.

      ‘Sabrina!’ he said, irritated. She’s deliberately defying me. Knowing that she wanted him to lose his temper, Dorian struggled not to, but it was hard. He was growing mightily tired of Sabrina’s time-wasting games, and so were the rest of the crew. Chuck MacNamee had already complained to Dorian about her diva-ish antics and outright rudeness to his staff. The sun would set in an hour or so, and everyone wanted to call it a day. Scenes with Rhys and Lizzie were a dream by comparison. Dorian would have to take Sabrina aside again later, a thought that depressed him more than he cared to admit. It’s as if she gets off on conflict, on making me the bad guy.

      ‘Hello.’ Tish appeared at the top of the rise, with a large thermos flask in one hand and little Abel clasping the other. ‘We bought you all some soup. Mrs Drummond’s famous mulligatawny. You haven’t lived till you’ve tried it.’

      Abel squealed with excitement like a puppy when he saw Viorel, rushing straight across the set into his arms like an affection-seeking missile. Vio lifted him onto his shoulders and walked back down the hill towards Tish.

      ‘For me?’ He nodded towards the thermos.

      ‘For all of you,’ said Tish, her cheeks reddening.

      In plain white shorts and a striped Boden T-shirt, her make-up-free face flushed from the walk, she looked sweetly adorable, the proverbial breath of fresh air.

      Sabrina flounced over, all breasts and fury, looking neither sweet nor adorable, but breathtakingly sexy. ‘Some of us are trying to work here, you know,’ she snapped at Tish.

      Chuck MacNamee and his lighting crew laughed out loud.

      ‘Really? And which ones of us might that be, I wonder?’ Chuck’s stage whisper was audible to the whole set. To Sabrina’s intense irritation, the laughter spread.

      ‘OK. Take a break guys,’ said Dorian. ‘Five minutes.’

      Sabrina stormed off in a huff, followed by Viorel, with a thoroughly overexcited Abel bouncing up and down on his shoulders. Dorian and Tish were left alone.

      ‘Any trouble today?’ he asked her. ‘At the gates?’

      Since the piece in The Sun, Loxley’s location was no longer a secret, much to Dorian’s dismay. Protesters had started congregating outside the gates, waving placards demanding for Sabrina to be sent home and jeering at any traffic that went in or out. They were a pretty tame bunch all in all. Other than one incident with an egg thrown at Dorian’s car, there’d been no violence, and Sabrina herself had wisely not ventured out of the grounds. Though she resented Dorian’s stipulation that she not leave Loxley unaccompanied, especially as Viorel and the others were out every night at The Carpenter’s Arms, lapping up the attention of the adoring locals, even she could see that in the current climate it was probably in her best interests to lie low.

      Tish shook her head. ‘All quiet. I took some soup out there too, but they must all be at home, polishing their pickets.’

      Sitting down on the bank, Dorian took a sip of the proffered soup. It was delicious, warm but not too spicy, the onion, curry and ginger melding miraculously in his mouth the way that only fresh, home-made ingredients ever seemed to. He thought disloyally how much better it was than his wife’s efforts, then found himself missing Chrissie with an unexpected pang.

      ‘Penny for them?’ said Tish. ‘You look like you’re miles away.’

      ‘Oh, not really,’ lied Dorian, forcing a smile. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to talk about home. ‘I’m a little stressed, I guess.’

      ‘Sabrina?’

      Tish looked over to where Sabrina was standing. Viorel was playing with Abel, holding him by the feet and twirling him around while he squealed with laughter. You could see Sabrina’s pout from here.

      ‘Partly,’ admitted Dorian. ‘She’s been difficult today. But she’s not my only problem. It bothers me that people know where we are now. The location’s already been compromised. How long before other information gets out?’

      Tish knew a little of Dorian’s strategy, to keep the details of Wuthering Heights a secret in order to tempt investors once filming was complete. She wasn’t sure she fully understood the logic, but presumably Dorian knew his own business and he seemed to feel that secrecy was vital. So much so that last week he’d arbitrarily got rid of all the TVs in the cast and crew’s quarters and banned newspapers from the set, figuring that the more cut off they were from the outside world, the less chance of damaging leaks. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the same powers of censorship when it came to Sabrina’s bad press.

      ‘The actual work is good. What we’ve shot so far,’ he told Tish. ‘I was looking at the rushes last night.’

      ‘There you go, then,’ said Tish encouragingly, wondering whether she should step in and tell Viorel to go easy on the twirling. Abel was still giggling but he’d turned a worrying shade of green. ‘That’s all that matters, isn’t it?’

      ‘I wish,’ said Dorian. ‘Sometimes I feel like King Cnut, trying to hold back the tide. Only Sabrina’s not so much a tide as a tsunami. I’ve never known an actress who can generate so much bad publicity out of thin air. Hopefully, things will get better once we get to Romania. If she plays me up there, I can lock her in the dungeon.’ He grinned.

      In his jeans pocket, his cellphone rang.

      ‘That’s weird. I thought I turned it off.’ Pulling out the offending object, his heart gave a little jump. The screen flashed: Chrissie LA Cell.

      Despite all the rows, Dorian had missed Chrissie this past month, and regretted the distance that had grown up between them. He knew that her current trip to LA had been intended at least in part to punish him for leaving her, playing on all his insecurities about her fidelity, not to mention her spending. So the fact that she was calling him, unsolicited, was an unexpected surprise. A thaw in the permafrost at last.

      ‘Honey! What’s goin’ on?’

      Tish watched the way Dorian’s eyes lit up when he took the call. Then she watched the light die, replaced by abject panic.

      ‘What pictures?’ He spluttered. ‘I have no idea … Sabrina?’ His eyes widened. ‘That’s ridiculous! Trust me, honey, that is so far from the truth it’s hilarious … No, I didn’t mean it like that … no, Chrissie, I don’t think it’s funny. I am not bullshitting you! We’re totally isolated here, I haven’t seen anything.’

      He held the phone away from his ear. Though no one could make out the words, Chrissie Rasmirez’s hysteria could be heard at forty paces.

      Deborah Raynham whispered to the head cameraman, ‘Sounds like trouble in paradise.’

      ‘Poor Dorian,’ said the cameraman. ‘Surrounded by angry women everywhere he turns.’

      Sabrina, who could smell a drama like a shark smelled blood, hurried over.

      ‘Who’s he talking to?’ she asked Tish imperiously.

      ‘His wife,’ said Tish curtly. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

      ‘At that volume I’d say it was everyone’s business,’ sneered Sabrina. ‘Oh dear oh dear. Has our saintly director been caught playing away? Who’s the unlucky girl?’

      ‘You are, apparently,’ said Chuck MacNamee.

      ‘What?’ The sneer died on Sabrina’s lips.

      ‘Sounds like someone’s run pictures of you and Dorian getting cosy. Who’s been a naughty girl, then?’

      Tish’s eyebrows shot up. Dorian and Sabrina? Surely

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