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She might be recommending a dentist, Merida thought. And though she appreciated her concern—she truly did—for the first time Merida wondered if she really had the single-mindedness that was required for an acting career.
‘What if I don’t want to go down that path?’
‘Then I get my name on the playbill...’ Sabine shrugged.
She said it without malice. And it was completely true.
With two weeks to go, no doubt the relatively minor part of Belladonna would go to the understudy.
But even though it was a minor part, it was major to Merida.
She thought of the glorious West End show she had had to pull out of at the last moment and was determined that an opening night would not be denied to her again.
One night.
And then she would tell Anton.
Then she would bow out gracefully.
* * *
It became her soul focus.
Merida’s energy returned, and so did her form, and a couple of weeks after she had found out, once she felt a touch calmer inside, she plucked up the courage to call Ethan.
Reception took a lot of persuading, but finally she was put through to a woman called Helene.
Merida cleared her throat. ‘Could I speak with Ethan Devereux, please?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Ethan Devereux...’ Merida repeated, wondering if her Internet search had cast up the wrong number.
‘Idoknow who he is.’
Oh, she loved New Yorkers dearly, but she wasn’t in the mood for this.
‘Could I speak to him, please?’
‘Regarding?’
‘It’s personal.’
‘Yet you’re calling him at work? And you’ve made a considerable nuisance of yourself with Reception.’
‘Could you please let him know that Merida...?’
‘Miss!’
She winced as Helene interrupted her.
‘I assume youarea miss?’
‘Yes.’
‘Take it from me. If Mr Devereux wanted you to contact him, then he’d have told you how.’
It let her off the hook, Merida decided. Now she could focus on the part of Belladonna.
