Page 6 of A Class Act

‘Right, OK, lovely, thank you. That would be very pleasant.’ For heaven’s sake, woman, I chided my stuttering self, my Yorkshire accent sounding conspicuously broad in comparison to his southern articulation.

‘Are you free tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘The day after this one, I believe, is the definition.’ He said the words without an ounce of pomposity and I found myself smiling at his rhetoric.

Ihadpromised myself a day at the studio, really getting to grips with the routine I was working on in readiness for a possible audition the following week. ‘What time were you thinking?’

‘Lunchtime?’ He laughed again and I just loved the sound of his amused response.

‘OK, thank you. I’d like that.’

‘I can pick you up. Where are you?’

‘Soho.’

‘No, I mean where do you actuallylive?’

‘Soho.’ Top London barristers obviously didn’t realise people actuallylivedin the area.

‘Really? I thought Soho was just home to Chinatown, rather sleazy bars and, you know…?’

‘The sex industry?’ Heavens, I hope he didn’t think I was a sex worker and that by taking me out for lunch, he’d end up with a freebie. ‘I can see I’m going to have to educate you,’ I replied, somewhat huffily. Oh, hell, now that sounded as though I were going to educate him with a whip, standing over him in a mask, basque and high heels. ‘This whole area,’ I said quickly, now sounding as if I were narrating a BBC documentary on the area,‘is the centre of the UK’s film production and post-production industries, so many locals are top professionals working in the film industry.’

‘Right. Sorry. I was actually going to say the hunting ground of the man they’ve dubbed the Soho Slasher. You can’t be too careful there at the moment…’ He paused. ‘Ah, so you’re an actress…?’

‘Actor, please.’

‘Anactorwhen you’re not waiting on tables?’

‘Trying to be.’ I nodded into the phone and then, remembering he couldn’t actually see me, added, ‘Covid has a lot to answer for.’

‘So, would that be where I’ve seen you before, then? On TV?’

Doubtful, seeing as I’d only ever managed the tiniest of one-line speaking parts in a couple of TV soaps and dramas. ‘Possibly,’ I said. ‘Although musical theatre is my first love and where I really want to be—’ I broke off as I realised he was talking to someone who’d obviously just come into the room. Oh, God, don’t say he was married.

‘I’m sorry, Robyn, something’s just cropped up. Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at one. That OK with you?’

‘Lovely,’ I said faintly, realising he’d already rung off.

I spent Sunday morning at the studio, putting myself through a gruelling routine over and over again, encouraged by Xander, the owner and ex-boyfriend who allowed me free use of the space in return for teaching Zumba classes.

‘Not bad.’ He applauded. ‘Not quite Jennifer Beals yet, but…’

‘Who?’ I panted, sweat dripping as I downed a full bottle of water.

Xander tutted. ‘She who executed one of the greatest dance routines ever?Flashdance?’

‘Bit before my time.’ I wiped my face. ‘You OK with me tarting myself up here? The shower at my place is prone to a sulk at the best of times and any hot water there will have been used up by Tanya and Jacques by the time I get home.’

‘As long as you’ll come out with me afterwards. We could do lunch?’ Xander looked hopeful.

‘Sorry, already spoken for.’

‘Oh?’

‘Just a friend. Probably a pie and a pint somewhere.’ I smiled, trying to let Xander down gently. I didn’t want to fall out with him – I needed the studio space at my disposal.

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