A Seaside Escape

by Cathy Bramley

Genres: Holiday books; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Sometimes you need to escape the spotlight to find yourself... Nina always dreamed of being a star. Unfortunately, her agent thinks she's more girl-next-door than leading lady and her acting career isn't going quite as planned. Then, after a series of very public mistakes and on the run from the paparazzi, Nina is forced to swap the city lights for the coast. Planning to lie low with a friend in beautiful Brightside Cove, Nina soon learns that more drama can be found in a small village than on a hectic television set. And when a gorgeous man (and his adorable dog) catch her eye, it's not long before the big city and showbiz start to lose their appeal. As time passes will Nina choose to return to her old life or has she met her match in Brightside Cove? *Published in the UK as A Match Made in Devon * *** Readers are captivated by Cathy Bramley's heartwarming stories: 'Funny and sweet and as satisfying as a homemade apple pie' Milly Johnson 'As comforting as hot tea and toast made on the Aga!' Veronica Henry 'A delicious tale of friendship, family and baking... I loved its warmth and charm' Cathy Woodman 'Delightfully warm with plenty twists and turns' Trisha Ashley

Release date: March 21, 2019

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 428

Sample

Maxine Pearce, the director, shoved her glasses to the top of her long charcoal-grey curls and clapped. ‘Okay, folks, quiet please.’

In Victory Road Studio Two, on the outskirts of east London, everyone fell silent.

We were about to shoot my final ever scene in the show. This bit was so absolutely top secret that Maxine had insisted on the minimum number of crew on set. No one else knew what we were doing. It was all very exciting.

And I was part of it. The thought sent a rush of adrenalin swooping through me. Acting was my life. My dream. There was a sort of magic that happened to me when I took on a role. I ceased to be forgettable, plain old Nina Penhaligon with hamster cheeks, freckles and impossible-to-style hair, who on a good day would be classed as curvy, and on a bad day really needed to lay off the peanut-butter Oreos, and I became … anyone, anyone I wanted to be. And I loved every second of it.

Not much magic required today, however, because my character, Nurse Elsie Turner, was lying dead under a collapsed beam.

It would be heart-breaking for fans of the show; the first death of a character.

‘Okay, Nina?’ Maxine asked before giving final instructions to Mike behind the camera.

‘Yep.’ I tried to keep the tremor from my voice; never mind the viewers, my heart was breaking too. I was going to miss this lot.

Victory Road was a weekly drama set in the east end of London during the Blitz. Think EastEnders with gas masks and victory roll hair-dos. It had been my best part to date by far. I’d earned proper money and hadn’t had to work for the temping agency for months. I detested office work, but needs must when you’re a jobbing actress.

But after today it would be over; I squeezed back the tears, mindful of my make-up.

This morning we’d shot the cliffhanger ending to an episode in which I, Nurse Elsie, had been hurrying to take cover during an air raid when I’d heard a cry for help coming from a nearby house. I’d gone in to rescue the old lady who lived there just as a bomb exploded and the house collapsed around me. As the credits roll, the audience would be left on the edge of their seats. Will Elsie survive? Will she still be able to meet her boyfriend, Constable Ron Hardy, in the square where he’s waiting with an engagement ring in his pocket? Will they be the first couple on the show to marry?

And only the people in this room knew the answers: no. I wasn’t even allowed to tell my best friend on the show, Becky Burton, who also played a nurse. I understood the need for discretion but I felt bad about leaving without saying anything.

‘And action,’ murmured Maxine.

The atmosphere in the studio was crackling with tension. The ratings had dipped a bit recently and the management was hoping that a death would revive them. I was their sacrificial lamb. Apparently that was an honour because it meant my character was popular.

The sound effects began and we were transported to bomb-scarred London as the distant bells of fire engines and the wail of sirens filled the little studio.

Lamplight illuminated the wreckage of 33 Victory Road and two air-raid wardens, Ray and Godfrey, picked their way over the rubble looking for casualties.

‘Over’ere,’ shouted Ray.

Ray, played by actor Lee Harwood, was the male lead. Drop-dead gorgeous. Shame I was playing a corpse and couldn’t gaze up adoringly at him.

The beam of his lamp found my face. He dropped to his knees beside me and I managed not to blink under the glare. Godfrey leaned over us both as Ray checked for my pulse.

‘Cor blimey,’ Ray groaned, rocking back on his heels. ‘It’s Nurse Elsie. She’s dead.’

Ninety minutes later it was all over. I’d packed up my bits and pieces and said farewell to the crew who’d filmed my last scene. Maxine, her stiletto heels tapping on the marble tiles, accompanied me through the revolving doors and out into the April sunshine. We squinted as our eyes adjusted to the brightness. It was the first of the month today; I wondered briefly whether the end of my contract had just been an April Fool.

‘What an exit!’ Maxine said as we stepped towards the bus stop.

Not an April Fool, then.

‘So this is it,’ I said, fighting the urge to grab her hands, fall at her feet and beg her to let Nurse Elsie live.

‘You were marvellous today. Very professional.’ She gave me a brisk smile. ‘The reaction from the audience is going to be dynamite. It was a shame to kill you off but—’

‘Maxine!’ I warned as two teenage girls strutted towards us.

‘Oh gosh, yes.’ She tutted, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Here I am enforcing an embargo on the storyline and then five minutes later blabbing it.’

‘Ask her, ask her,’ hissed the shorter of the two girls, pushing her friend towards me.

‘Can we have your autograph?’ The tall one shoved a scrap of paper and a pen at me.

‘Of course,’ I said, surprised to be recognized in public. I signed the back of what appeared to be a note excusing her from PE.

The two girls stared at the piece of paper.

‘Oh.’ The small one’s face dropped. ‘It’s not her.’

‘Told you.’ The big one elbowed her sharply.

They screwed up my autograph, dropped it on the pavement and sashayed off.

Maxine and I exchanged wry smiles.

‘At least they didn’t hear what you said,’ I said, scooping up the paper.

‘Thank heavens. More than my job’s worth if we had a story leak now.’

‘Ditto,’ I agreed. ‘Not that I’ve got a job any more.’

Maxine smiled sympathetically. ‘Sorry. But it’s testament to your talent that you’ve lasted this long. The writers had originally only scripted you in for six episodes but you proved yourself worthy of more.’

I nodded, not sure how to respond other than to do the begging thing.

‘When will you tell the rest of the cast that Nurse Elsie is … dead?’ I said, lowering my voice on the last word.

‘Not until the last possible moment. Can’t risk the press getting hold of it. We’ll let the rumour mill work its magic as long as we can: is she dead or alive? The love story between Elsie and Ron has captured the nation’s hearts; the bookies are already offering odds on a wedding. This could really put Victory Road on the map. And you, too, Nina.’

‘I hope so; it’s such a good show.’

Maxine checked her watch. ‘I’d best press on. You’ll be at the party later?’

Jessie May, who played the flirty pub landlady, was having a birthday party in Soho.

‘Of course,’ I replied.

The press would be out in full force for this one; there was no way my agent Sebastian would let me pass up such an opportunity. He had recently told me that whilst I hadn’t got star quality, there were plenty of parts out there for Miss Average (he was nothing if not brutally to the point), but that I had to show my face at showbiz parties, on the basis that someone might remember me and cast me in something. So that’s what I did.

‘Good.’ She exhaled with relief. ‘I was worried you might not feel like partying now that we’ve killed you off.’

‘Actually, I …’ I bit my lip, wondering whether to confide in her even though it hadn’t been confirmed in writing yet.

‘Go on.’ She waited, one eyebrow cocked.

I couldn’t resist; the opportunity to impress her was too great to miss.

‘Strictly off the record, I’ve got a part in the new BBC period drama: Mary Queen of Scots.’ I tried to look cool about it but my excitement was impossible to contain. ‘So I’ll be celebrating that.’

‘Brilliant news!’ Her angular face softened into a smile. ‘Queen Mary?’

I blinked at her. ‘The lead role? Gosh, no! My agent didn’t put me forward for that.’

‘He should have. Sebastian Nichols is your agent, isn’t he?’ Maxine furrowed her brow. ‘Prince Charming himself.’

I nodded. Sebastian wasn’t all that charming to me; ruthlessly ambitious, he only turned it on when he needed to.

‘So who are you playing?’

‘Eve, lady’s maid to Queen Mary herself,’ I said. In the distance I spotted an approaching bus and felt in my bag for my Oyster card. ‘I’m just grateful to still be acting.’

Maxine took her phone out as the driver pulled up to the stop.

I jumped aboard and waved to her. ‘Thanks for everything. It’s been a joy working with you.’

‘Likewise. But, Nina, hold on; something’s niggling me.’

She rested the tip of her shoe on to the platform of the bus, thus preventing the driver from pulling away. I shot him a nervous smile while Maxine tapped at her phone screen.

‘Ah. Thought so. Cecily Carmichael.’ She pulled a face. ‘Not a name I’d forget in a hurry, more’s the pity. I had a brief fling with her father – awful man.’

It struck me that that was the first personal piece of information she’d ever revealed to me; Maxine was notoriously private.

‘Thought what?’ I said, conscious of a chorus of tutting passengers behind me. ‘What is it?’

‘Nina, dear heart,’ she held the phone out to me, ‘that part is already spoken for.’

‘What? Who?’ I took the phone from her and stared at it. Somebody’s Twitter profile filled the screen and it took me a second to take it in. ‘No way!’

Maxine was right: another actress, Cecily Carmichael, had announced that she had got my part. The part I had set my heart on. The one that was going to keep me in acting and out of temping. Her Twitter feed was full of it. Disappointment trickled through me like iced water.

Soooo thrilled to announce I’m to play Eve in new @BBC drama #QueenMary #excited #perioddrama MORE news at 6pm!!

Cecily’s timeline was full of congratulations. Even Benedict Cucumberpatch had wished her well, as had … Sebastian – my Sebastian? – had sent her his love.

‘I don’t understand.’ I stared at Maxine in disbelief. ‘And she says she has more news to come? This can’t be right.’

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘Darling, they must be barmy to pass you over for her. She auditioned for us once; she had about as much facial expression as Big Ben.’

My heart was pounding so much I couldn’t even absorb the compliment. I needed this job; it was the only thing that had been keeping me going. It could be ages before something else came along.

‘Is she getting on or not?’ the bus driver grumbled.

‘Not,’ I replied. ‘Sorry.’

Just then a young mum with a double buggy huffed up to the bus stop and Maxine and I helped her on to the bus.

‘You need to be aiming higher than Eve the lady’s maid,’ said Maxine. ‘And if your agent can’t see that, he’s a fool.’

‘But it was better than nothing and if I don’t act I’ll never become famous and—’

She held a hand up to stop me. ‘Fame is completely overrated and totally unnecessary for a serious actress. Which I know you are. I’ll see you at the party and don’t forget in the meantime … Nurse Elsie’s story.’ She mimed zipping her lips.

‘Absolutely. Bye for now,’ I called as the bus doors closed in my face.

The bus joined the stream of traffic and I waved through the window and tried to make sense of my thoughts. I had every respect for Maxine, but she was wrong about the fame thing.

My need to be famous wasn’t driven by vanity, it was fuelled by fear. A fear of being forgotten.

Because when you’ve been forgotten by the one person you thought loved you most, the world became a much scarier place.

There would be an explanation as to how another actress had stolen my part in Mary Queen of Scots from right under my nose; I was sure Sebastian would be in touch, I just needed to be patient. I plucked my book from my bag and tried to distract myself by reading as the bus trundled towards the city.

But it was no use; my thoughts kept turning to Cecily.

She was the daughter of Campion Carmichael, the famous landscape artist. I knew Sebastian had been trying to woo her from a rival agency for months: she’d bring such a wealth of contacts with her. Not, I’d noted at the time, because of her incredible acting talent. In fact, to my knowledge, she’d only appeared in a documentary and even that had been about her father.

Two bus journeys later I was in Knightsbridge and striding towards Harrods to meet my flatmate Trudy. She worked behind one of the make-up counters and she’d offered to give me a makeover before tonight’s party.

I checked my phone as I got to Harrods’ doors. Still no call from Sebastian. This was all very odd. At my audition, the casting director had said that I was perfect for the role of Eve: I was the right age, build, colouring, even my slight northern accent would give the role just the right twist. So why had blonde, twiggy, plummy Cecily-bloody-Carmichael been given the part instead?

Somebody behind me huffed at me for blocking the doors. I murmured my apologies, stepped to the side and gazed at a window display of expensive handbags. A text flashed up on my screen from Trudy telling me to hurry up.

It was nearly six o’clock, Sebastian would be leaving the office soon. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait; I absolutely had to hear from him tonight or I’d never be able to relax.

I leaned against the window and called his number. It rang for ages before he answered.

‘Nina,’ he said flatly. ‘I’m with someone, can I call you back?’

‘Let me just quickly ask …’ I heard him sigh softly, but I soldiered on. ‘Mary Queen of Scots?’

He cleared his throat. ‘Yes?’

‘Have you heard from the casting director?’

‘Not exactly.’ There was a giggle in the background and I could tell he wasn’t concentrating on what I was saying.

‘Are you in your office?’ I asked.

‘Yes, and as I say I’m with someone, so—’ He coughed lightly and prepared to end the call.

‘I’ll come over. I need to talk to you.’ I was already marching to the tube station; it was only two stops to his house-cum-office in Kensington.

‘Nina, no.’

‘It’s no bother; I can be there in no time. Bye.’

Within minutes I’d completed my tube journey and was heading away from Gloucester Road station. Discussing this in person would be far better. And Trudy wouldn’t mind. I’d already sent her a text cancelling my six o’clock appointment. Something else was happening at six, what was it?

Oh yes – more news from Cecily.

I slowed down to open the Twitter app on my phone and clicked on her profile. My stomach flipped, my jaw dropped and some extremely uncharitable thoughts whirred through my brain.

Drinks with NEW AGENT @SebastianNicholsTalent Exclusive interview on Entertainer’s News coming soon #actressgoals #livingthedream

The tweet came with a selfie of her and Sebastian in his office, chinking champagne glasses, a huge bouquet of flowers at the edge of the shot. All at once things began to make sense. Cecily had got my part because Cecily had also got my agent and was consequently living my dream. Sebastian must have persuaded the casting director to offer the part to her instead of me. The total, absolute slimeball.

I flounced through the gate of the little mews house where Sebastian lived and up the path. It had been a long and strenuous day and my hair, which had looked amazing this morning, curled and fixed into victory rolls, was itchy from fake bomb-blast dust. I punched the number into the security pad at the front door to let myself in and ran up the stairs two at a time to the first-floor office. The sound of male and female laughter rang out; they were both in there.

I curled my hand around the door knob, drew myself up to my full height and threw open the door.

There they were, exactly as Cecily’s selfie had shown them: glued to each other on Sebastian’s side of the desk, champagne flutes in hand, the bottle nestling in a bucket of ice and the flowers perched next to it.

‘Nina!’ Sebastian ran his tongue over his lips. ‘That was quick.’

‘Well, this is cosy,’ I said tightly. ‘I hear congratulations are in order. To both of you.’

He glanced at the iPad on his desk and gave a bark of nervous laughter.

‘She can’t come in here,’ Cecily said through gritted teeth whilst still managing to maintain a dazzling smile. ‘This is my moment.’

‘Of course, of course. Nina, give me two ticks, old thing, and I’ll be right with you.’ Sebastian got to his feet, giving me his best crinkly-eyed smile.

In three strides I reached the desk and prodded him in the chest. He wasn’t a tall man and as I’d caught him off guard he plopped back into his seat.

‘When were you going to tell me?’ I folded my arms and glared at him.

‘Whoops,’ Cecily murmured, sipping her champagne. ‘Do I smell sour grapes?’

‘Tonight.’ Sebastian ran a finger around his collar. ‘Honestly. It all happened so fast, my hands were tied – look, can we talk about this outside?’ He jerked his head towards his desk, or Cecily, I couldn’t be quite sure.

Perhaps if Cecily hadn’t been looking at me with such smug satisfaction I might have done as he suggested, but suddenly the emotional tension and disappointment of the day got the better of me.

‘Why do this to me, Sebastian?’ I said with a trembly voice. ‘Isn’t it bad enough that Nurse Elsie is dead? Without my whole acting career being dead too?’

Overreact? Moi? Possibly, but I had been banking on the Mary Queen of Scots thing. It had been in the bag. Even Sebastian had said so. And now I’d have to face the pitying looks when I turned up to my first day as temporary receptionist somewhere. An actress? Would I have seen you in anything? I could have wept.

‘For pity’s sake, Nina, be quiet!’ He sprang up again and clapped a hand across my mouth.

I bit his finger and he yelped. Cecily swung her silky hair around dramatically and gasped.

‘I will not!’ I cried, dodging away from him. ‘I loved being in Victory Road and the only consolation was that I’d be moving straight on to the role of Eve, and now mysteriously that part is Cecily’s. It’s just not right.’

Cecily glared at me. ‘Look, darling, you’re rather raining on my parade; can’t you have your tantrum somewhere else?’

At which point I lost it totally, picked up the ice bucket and dumped it on her head.

Cecily screamed. So did I; I couldn’t believe what I’d done.

‘Sorry, so sorry,’ I stammered, flicking ice cubes from her lovely blonde hair.

‘Get off me,’ she yelled, batting me away.

‘Ladies, please!’ Sebastian begged.

‘This is meant to be MY exclusive for Entertainer’s News!’ she fumed. She scooped up her bag and flounced, dripping wet, from the room, shouting over her shoulder, ‘Daddy is not going to be pleased about this. Not at all.’

‘Wait! Come back!’ Sebastian darted to the door but Cecily’s heels continued to stab their way down the wooden stairs.

‘She’s forgotten her flowers,’ I said, looking at the pretty bunch of scented stocks and roses.

‘Your flowers,’ Sebastian muttered darkly, pressing a hanky to his clammy face. ‘Arrived this afternoon. You have made a big mistake, Nina, why you couldn’t—’

I tuned him out and plucked the card from the centre of the arrangement, holding my breath that this time the sender had revealed their identity.

Congratulations on the episode of Victory Road when you saved the little girl’s life, you were brilliant!

My heart squeezed. How lovely! It was a good episode, I had to admit, and the little ego boost was so timely too. Anonymous again, sadly. I wished I knew who was sending these mystery bouquets. I turned the card over in my fingers, looking for clues. The first had arrived a year ago at Sebastian’s office after he’d announced to the press that he was representing me. Since then flowers arrived every time I had something to celebrate: a new role, a tiny mention in the press, even my birthday. But never with the sender’s name.

A deep-throated chuckle filled the room and I dragged my gaze away from the card.

‘Well, well, well,’ came a voice from Sebastian’s desk. ‘I think it’s my lucky day. Nurse Elsie is dead, is she? Do I smell a spoiler, Miss Penhaligon?’

The blood drained from my face as I peered at Sebastian’s iPad propped up on the desk; a man’s face grinned back from the FaceTime screen.

My mouth was completely dry but I managed to squeeze out some words. ‘Ross! Hello.’

Ross Whittaker was the editor of Entertainer’s News, a man who’d sell his firstborn child for a scoop. He was licking his lips and edging closer to the screen.

It was April the first, I remembered. Please let this just be some sort of April Fool’s prank. Maybe I hadn’t lost two acting jobs, tipped ice over Sebastian’s new client and leaked Victory Road’s most cliffhangery storyline to a journalist all in the space of one day? I looked at Sebastian. His face had gone so white his skin was translucent.

Okay, maybe I had.

‘So, Nina Penhaligon, tell me more—’

I didn’t get a chance to tell him anything because Sebastian lurched forward and ended the call with a jab of his finger.

‘Do you realize what you’ve done?’ He paced the office, raking his hands through his limp brown hair. Patches of sweat appeared under his arms. ‘You have broken the sacred code of acting. Actors never reveal plotlines. To anyone. You know that.’

I dropped into Cecily’s chair and pressed my hands to my face.

‘I don’t know what came over me; attacking her like that!’ I said shakily. Only an hour ago Maxine was praising me for being professional. I shuddered. ‘Maxine is going to do her nut.’

‘So is the entire cast and crew.’ He sank into the other chair and swore under his breath.

‘What are we going to do now?’ I said hoarsely.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, and fixed me with very fierce eyes.

‘I’m going to tell you to do something that I can truly say is a first in all my years of agenting.’

‘I’m listening.’ I nodded. He might have just morphed into the most disloyal agent ever, but he still knew more about dealing with a crisis than I did. ‘Thank you.’

‘Firstly turn off your phone. Secondly talk to no one.’

‘Right, good idea.’ I did as I was told. ‘What else?’

‘Go away.’

I blinked uncertainly at him. ‘Go where?’

‘Somewhere. Anywhere that’s not London.’ He shrugged impatiently and then got to his feet and walked to the door, holding it open for me. I followed him on autopilot, trailing the bouquet behind me. ‘Frankly, I don’t care. Just keep a low profile, okay? I’ve got a feeling your name could be mud for a very long time.’

Me? Low profile? And not London? How could I hope to land another part if I wasn’t around to audition? Also, what happened to all publicity being good publicity?

I gulped. ‘Don’t you think you should issue a press release, apologize on my behalf?’

He laughed. ‘Nope. You’ve put me in a very difficult position. Cecily’s father is not a man to be crossed. I need to rescue the situation immediately.’

‘What about me?’ I said in a small voice.

‘I’ve done my best with you, but let’s face it, you’re not exactly leading lady material. Cecily might not have your experience, but she has potential. I think I’ve taken you as far as you’re going to go.’ He looked down at me pityingly and I felt my eyes burn. There was one thing not having total confidence in myself, but it was quite another to have the news confirmed by the person supposedly responsible for bigging me up. ‘You’re toast, as far as I’m concerned. You’ll have to fight your own battles.’

‘I think I just did that, don’t you?’ I folded my arms and looked him squarely in the eye.

He exhaled impatiently. ‘You did. Very publicly. Ross Whittaker will have tweeted the hell out of your confidential storyline already. The news will circle the earth quicker than the International Space Station. And isn’t it Jessie May’s birthday party tonight? Guess what everyone will be talking about, or should I say who?’

I shuddered, imagining the disappointment on Maxine’s face. ‘I feel sick at the thought.’

‘Hard cheese.’ The phone on his desk started to ring and he shot me an admonishing look. ‘See, word has already spread. I’m afraid you have to roll with the punches in this game.’

It was that final comment that tipped it for me; I was officially livid.

No apology for giving my part to Cecily. No accepting responsibility for his part in my downfall. He was washing his hands of me, feeding me to the lions. The absolute snake.

‘Thank you for the advice; you’re absolutely right,’ I said with a tight smile. And I swung my fist as hard as I could into his stomach.

The flicker of satisfaction I’d had at seeing Sebastian winded lasted as far as my walk to the tube station. So now I could add assault to the list of my crimes of the day. There was no way I could attend the Victory Road party in Soho; I dragged my sorry carcass home instead. I spent the evening in the flat with Trudy and after I’d told her the full story and left a wobbly apology on Maxine’s answerphone and sent a cryptically repentant text to Becky Burton, I turned off my phone for the rest of the night and we formed a plan: I would follow Sebastian’s orders and leave London in the morning, in disguise. That last bit was Trudy’s idea.

This fiasco was going to take a few days to blow over. My best option was to disappear, lick my wounds and wait for some other poor unfortunate to make an even bigger mistake than me, at which point the media would have something new to talk about.

Which was why the next morning, after dying my caramel hair black and shoving as many clothes as I could into a case, I was standing in the ticket line at Paddington Station with Trudy.

‘Are you totally sure about doing what your agent says and running off?’ said Trudy, yawning; she wasn’t a morning person. ‘I mean, Exeter is, like, miles away.’

‘I’m not really sure about anything, but his is the only advice I’ve got,’ I said in a low voice. I had my hood pulled up and was trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t often spotted, but today I wasn’t willing to take any chances. ‘And right now being miles away and having a few days with my big brother is just what I need.’

Trudy nodded. She knew how close I was to Archie, my only family. I’d spoken to him last night, asking if he’d put me up for a while. I’d been a bit light on the truth, just saying I’d got a break in my schedule. The details could wait until he met me from the train later today.

I caught sight of myself in the plate-glass window of the ticket office and recoiled with shock. Trudy had volunteered to do my face for me this morning so that I could travel incognito. She’d been a bit heavy-handed with the fake tan and I looked like the love-child of Donald Trump and a satsuma.

She tapped my forehead with a long nail. ‘Stop frowning, you’ll get permanent wrinkles.’

Make that an old satsuma.

‘I’ll try.’

‘Come back soon, won’t you?’ she added. ‘I love having an actress as my lodger. You’re my claim to fame. I’ll miss you.’ She blinked her heavily kohled eyelashes at me and I felt a rush of warmth for her.

‘Thank you, Trudy, I’ll miss you too,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘But after last night’s mammoth mistake, I’m just hoping I’m not your claim to infamy.’

‘Also, my customers love gossip,’ she continued blithely.

There’d be plenty of that, I thought with a pang.

‘Next please!’ yelled someone from behind the ticket counter.

I moved towards the cashier.

‘A ticket to Exeter please.’

The cashier tapped at his screen. ‘Single or return?’

London was where I needed to be: the flat, the press, future auditions … not to mention the Victory Road cast to whom I owed a massive apology. Was I doing the right thing by running away? Sebastian’s angry words echoed through my head: keep a low profile … you’re toast, as far as I’m concerned …

I handed over my credit card and sighed. ‘Single, please.’

As the train pulled away from the platform, I waved until I couldn’t see Trudy any more and then settled back against my seat. A couple of teenagers sat opposite, heads touching and sharing a set of earphones and a tube of Pringles. I reached into my bag for my phone automatically and then dropped it again.

I mustn’t turn it on; if I looked at it I’d only feel worse. There’d be texts and messages from other cast members, not to mention umpteen Twitter and Facebook mentions from the entertainment media. I’d have to face the music at some point, perhaps issue a statement – my first one without Sebastian’s help – but now was not the time. First I needed to put some serious miles between me and my problems. The journey to Exeter would take about three hours; I closed my eyes and tried to visualize my next move …

I must have nodded off because when I opened my eyes the teenagers had gone. The sprawl of London had given way to motorways and towns and fields and villages and the chalky blue sky had expanded to fill the gaps. It was the colour of hope and happiness and I felt my spirits begin to lift. This was more like it. It was Sunday, spring was starting to bloom and I was going to visit my brother Archie, who I adored. Things would work out fine. Probably.

I bought a bottle of water from the snacks trolley and took a sip.

I’d always acted. As a little girl, I’d loved making up plays and stories,