those ladies didn’t have time to fill them. I wondered where exactly had I left my own clothes.
My skin was obviously turning blue because Joe got up and put his black jacket round my shoulders. It was still warm from his body and did extraordinary things to my thinking. He was wearing a black long-sleeved polo-necked jersey so was protected from the cold. Perhaps this basement ran alongside some Victorian sewer pouring effluent into the Thames. It even smelt cold.
‘Collect your gear,’ he said abruptly, ‘and put it in a carrier bag. We’re going to celebrate with some supper. I want to see you still wearing that red dress.’
It was an order. I nodded, not having the wits left to argue. A quick bite to eat, then I could go home and climb into a warm duvet. Then I remembered that Joe lived in the same house now. Anyway, I had run out of coffee so I didn’t have to offer him a late, late cup.
If I had been expecting a cosy little supper for two, then I was mistaken. Nearly all the cast were putting on wraps and coats and gathering in the foyer. It was going to be feeding the five thousand, not a simple thank-you for your wonderful hard work, Sophie.
My disappointment vanished in seconds. Sometimes I was an instant party girl. The poncho didn’t look bad over the red dress and it was worth seeing Fran’s raised eyebrows when I gave Joe back his jacket. We piled into taxis, talking non-stop, gathering warmth from close proximity. Bill managed to squeeze himself into a twelve-inch space next to me. I could feel his thigh against mine. It was the nearest he was ever going to get, but he never quite got the message.
We went to a Greek taverna with lots of vines and bottles hanging from the ceiling and faked Roman wall paintings. Joe hadbooked a long table. It was already set with Greek wine and masses of dips and raw veggies and other Greek bits and pieces. Illyria was somewhere Greece, wasn’t it? Clever Joe. I’d forgotten I’d been drinking elderflower wine at the party, only soaked up with four flakes of pastry. I hadn’t taken seriously the warning that it was potent.
Jessica, our dedicated Olivia, was sitting next to me. She looked somewhat disconcerted by the venue. Perhaps she thought we were going to be served goat.
‘I’m definitely not drinking ouzo,’ she said. ‘That stuff is lethal. We’ve got to work tomorrow.’
‘You’ve got to work,’ said Claud, still in character as the conceited Malvolio. ‘I get all the laughs without even trying. But those wrinkled yellow stockings are ghastly. Talk about Norah Batty. I ought to be paid danger money. I could be arrested.’
‘The wine looks like straight Greek table wine. Nothing to worry about,’ I said, reassuring Jessica. A nice-looking Greek waiter was pouring it out all along the table. I gave him a smile. ‘It’ll taste lovely.’
More waiters were bring out grilled lamb dishes and kebabs, artichokes and asparagus salad and stuffed aubergines. A cheesy sort of tart arrived topped with anchovies that looked mouth-watering .
‘Not a goat in sight,’ I said, prattling on to no one in particular. ‘Did you know that Shakespeare invented the word anchovy? He invented loads of words, zany, vast, useless, grovel. If he couldn’t find the word he wanted, he made up one.’
‘So how do you know that the word anchovy didn’t exist before him?’ Bryan asked. He was in a good humour because he’d had his photo taken with Elinor for The Sun . He thought that meant he was still appealing to younger readers. They were, in fact, going to take the mickey out of his velvet smoking jacket and Garrick Club tie. It was one of those ‘worst dressed men’ stunts, I’d heard.
‘There wasn’t an English word for little salty fish, only the Spanish anchova. It’s in Henry IV , something to do with Falstaff’s pocket—’ My voice trailed off. I felt like Renee Zellweger in a Bridget Jones extremely sozzled flap.
‘What a brainbox,’
My skin was obviously turning blue because Joe got up and put his black jacket round my shoulders. It was still warm from his body and did extraordinary things to my thinking. He was wearing a black long-sleeved polo-necked jersey so was protected from the cold. Perhaps this basement ran alongside some Victorian sewer pouring effluent into the Thames. It even smelt cold.
‘Collect your gear,’ he said abruptly, ‘and put it in a carrier bag. We’re going to celebrate with some supper. I want to see you still wearing that red dress.’
It was an order. I nodded, not having the wits left to argue. A quick bite to eat, then I could go home and climb into a warm duvet. Then I remembered that Joe lived in the same house now. Anyway, I had run out of coffee so I didn’t have to offer him a late, late cup.
If I had been expecting a cosy little supper for two, then I was mistaken. Nearly all the cast were putting on wraps and coats and gathering in the foyer. It was going to be feeding the five thousand, not a simple thank-you for your wonderful hard work, Sophie.
My disappointment vanished in seconds. Sometimes I was an instant party girl. The poncho didn’t look bad over the red dress and it was worth seeing Fran’s raised eyebrows when I gave Joe back his jacket. We piled into taxis, talking non-stop, gathering warmth from close proximity. Bill managed to squeeze himself into a twelve-inch space next to me. I could feel his thigh against mine. It was the nearest he was ever going to get, but he never quite got the message.
We went to a Greek taverna with lots of vines and bottles hanging from the ceiling and faked Roman wall paintings. Joe hadbooked a long table. It was already set with Greek wine and masses of dips and raw veggies and other Greek bits and pieces. Illyria was somewhere Greece, wasn’t it? Clever Joe. I’d forgotten I’d been drinking elderflower wine at the party, only soaked up with four flakes of pastry. I hadn’t taken seriously the warning that it was potent.
Jessica, our dedicated Olivia, was sitting next to me. She looked somewhat disconcerted by the venue. Perhaps she thought we were going to be served goat.
‘I’m definitely not drinking ouzo,’ she said. ‘That stuff is lethal. We’ve got to work tomorrow.’
‘You’ve got to work,’ said Claud, still in character as the conceited Malvolio. ‘I get all the laughs without even trying. But those wrinkled yellow stockings are ghastly. Talk about Norah Batty. I ought to be paid danger money. I could be arrested.’
‘The wine looks like straight Greek table wine. Nothing to worry about,’ I said, reassuring Jessica. A nice-looking Greek waiter was pouring it out all along the table. I gave him a smile. ‘It’ll taste lovely.’
More waiters were bring out grilled lamb dishes and kebabs, artichokes and asparagus salad and stuffed aubergines. A cheesy sort of tart arrived topped with anchovies that looked mouth-watering .
‘Not a goat in sight,’ I said, prattling on to no one in particular. ‘Did you know that Shakespeare invented the word anchovy? He invented loads of words, zany, vast, useless, grovel. If he couldn’t find the word he wanted, he made up one.’
‘So how do you know that the word anchovy didn’t exist before him?’ Bryan asked. He was in a good humour because he’d had his photo taken with Elinor for The Sun . He thought that meant he was still appealing to younger readers. They were, in fact, going to take the mickey out of his velvet smoking jacket and Garrick Club tie. It was one of those ‘worst dressed men’ stunts, I’d heard.
‘There wasn’t an English word for little salty fish, only the Spanish anchova. It’s in Henry IV , something to do with Falstaff’s pocket—’ My voice trailed off. I felt like Renee Zellweger in a Bridget Jones extremely sozzled flap.
‘What a brainbox,’
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