Down in the isolated cove, a make-up girl toiled. A brush loaded with blusher glided across Julia’s cheek as she sat in a canvas chair.
Close by, her director stood with his phone pressed to his ear. He was calling his assistant.
‘Still no sign of him? This is ridiculous.’
Julia sighed. She’d started in the business aged 17. She had hounded fame, travelling from one end of the country to the other for no more than bit parts. The commercial due to be filmed today was for a new perfume, aimed at women over the age of 50. At the end of the ad, she’d stroll down the beach with a silver fox. They’d stand before the waves and kiss.
But now, the director looked rather pensive.
‘Sorry, darling,’ he said to her, ‘I think he’s a no-show.’
‘Can’t we use somebody else instead?’
He frowned, speed-dialled, then spoke into his mobile…
‘Simone, I know it’s early, but take a look around. See if you can find a makeshift leading man. We can’t waste a
