Rachel had only been gone three days. He had taken himself off to see The Magnificent Seven, the latest film at the Beau Nash, which had been fun, but he missed her dreadfully. They had spoken briefly each night, and he was surprised when she rang him again in the office.

‘Ian, my darling, just had to ring you, great news.’ She sounded bubbly and excited.

‘Go on.’

‘I got a call from Gerald Blake, he wants me to audition for television. The director was in the audience when I went on that first night at the Theatre Royal in Bath, and thinks I’m just what he’s looking for.’

‘What’s the show called?’

‘Z-Cars – cops and robbers stuff.’

‘Like Dixon of Dock Green?’

‘Don’t be silly, not a sixty-year-old pensioner walking the beat, but fast cars, modern, you know, rough and violent. I’m going up to the studios this afternoon.’

‘Break a leg.’

Rachel laughed. ‘Thanks, probably will end up doing just that, if I get the part. I’ll be in touch.’

 

He was asleep when she rang at eleven o’clock the next night. She was at a party, difficult to hear because of the music blaring in the background, and obviously drunk.

‘Ian darling,’ her speech slurred, ‘all is wonderful; wonderful director, wonderful show, wonderful party, wonderful actors, Brian Blessed, John Thaw, and a fabulous woman called Judi Dench. That’s the wonderful David Mackenzie.’ The phone went dead. He stayed up until the early hours but she never called back.

On Friday afternoon, she rang the office. No mention of the earlier call.

‘How are you?’ She didn’t wait for his reply before adding, ‘I’m a tart.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘A Liverpool prostitute, a bit of rough. It goes out live on Saturday night. Promise you’ll watch, but must dash for the final rehearsal.’

 

 

 

 

An extract from chapter fifty-five of – ‘ Go Swift and Far – a Tale of Bath’ The first book of The Westcott Chronicles of Bath