Page 8 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

‘Well, thank you again for the champagne and for all your hard work.’ His voice was deep, with an educated Anglicised accent.

My cheeks pinged with colour. ‘You’re very welcome.’

I grabbed the opportunity to take another look at him. He had a regal-looking, Grecian nose and a strong jaw, brushed with stubble.

I whirled away, hoping he wouldn’t notice my cheeks were now puce. Whoever he was, he’d taken me by surprise.

The endless pouring of champagne was beginning to have an effect on some of the partygoers. Certain voices were growing more and more animated.

I glided around the rest of the garden room, with its panoramic views of the grounds and its sumptuous lemon and tangerine furnishings. I’d gathered up a few abandoned glasses and was about to proffer some more champagne when I noticed out of the corner of my eye three men huddled together over by the open double doors.

The guy in the middle was letting out barks of laughter like a drunk seal.

I moved closer to them, clutching my tray bearing the flutes. I couldn’t help but overhear what he was saying. Folks in the Outer Hebrides would’ve been able to make him out.

‘The standard of drama on TV in this country at the moment is appalling. Take that recent disaster, Sinister. Jesus! Just dreadful.’

My loafers froze on the polished, blonde wood floor.

‘Awful bloody script. Shocking, really, when you take into account the supposed quality of those involved. The girl who played the sister was competent, but that was all.’

The cool, silver tray stilled in my hands.

I knew I should move off. I was working. But it was as if my legs weren’t listening to common sense. They refused to move.

I attempted to refocus on the sweeping lawns outside and the tangle of shadows in the sunshine. No. It was no good. My head was already replaying over what he’d just said about Sinister. And what he’d just said was exactly what that idiot newspaper critic Fox had written in his column.

It was too much of a coincidence. It must be. It was practically word-for-word. This man, with the cropped red hair and smug grin, must be him. He must be Fox.

It made sense, his attendance at a high profile do like this with so many famous actors.

I gave my head a mental wobble. Come on, Daisy. Be professional. Just head back to the kitchen. Forget about the prick.

I tried to take a calming breath and began to tap my way past him. There was a stunning woman in a long, red, floaty dress who seemed to have overheard his booming tones too, because she kept glancing over at him from under her hair.

I thought he might have finished verbally lambasting the TV drama I’d just appeared in. Some hope. His verbal diatribe continued. ‘Well, when I say competent, I was rather distracted by those gorgeous legs of hers. I think in all likelihood they got her in there as eye candy for the dads, rather than her acting abilities!’

My hand froze as I reached out to collect a couple of abandoned champagne flutes. Fury burned inside me. What?! The sodding cheek! Nice to know Neanderthal Man was alive and well after all. I thought about how hard I’d worked to get that role. I’d thrown everything I had at it.

I could feel my throat constricting with temper. I told myself not to look over at him, but my eyes disobeyed me. He was ruddy-faced and sniggering into his champagne glass. So pleased with himself.

Warming to his theme, he carried on. ‘It’s all about inclusion these days, though at the expense of talent. I suppose they have to get their working-class actor quota up somehow.’

It was like time had screeched to a halt. My breathing caught in my chest in appalled, ragged gasps. I couldn’t believe he’d actually turned around and said that. Who the hell did he think he was? What talent or ability did he have? Visions of him crucifying other performers as he sat hunched over his laptop filed through my mind. Did he have any idea what his wounding words could do to people? What effect they could have on their confidence? Their careers?

I was all for free speech and reviews, but Fox was deliberately cruel.

I knew I shouldn’t give him another thought, but I couldn’t help it. I knew I should just march past him and carry on with what I was doing. Ignore him. Inwardly seethe, recognise him for the ignorant git he was and go take five.

But it was no good.

His self-satisfied grin and boozy, red cheeks were sending my emotions into a frenzy.

Refusing to think about what I was about to do and where, I gripped the loaded tray I was carrying.

Ok. So I was in a posh stately home, surrounded by a lot of very talented people who I’d admired for years. But this man… I was proud of my background and where I came from. It sounded crazy, but his poisonous words felt like a slight against my darling grandparents and anybody else like me, who chased their dreams no matter what. Everyone was entitled to a chance at success.

Acting shouldn’t be for the exclusive elite.