Page 27 of Best Supporting Actor
Jay lifted the corner of the pillow just enough to glance at the clock on the bedside table. He was due to meet Bea Lawson in just over two hours. As tempting as it was to go back to sleep, he needed to get washed, dressed, packed, and checked out before making his way to the restaurant.
Pull your bloody self together.
Gritting his teeth, he threw aside the pillow, shoved the bedcovers back, and got to his feet. As he headed for the bathroom, he pushed Tag O’Rourke to the very back of his mind, stuffing the awful mess of last night into a box and locking it up.Do not open.
He’d have plenty of time to obsess over that particular mistake later. For now, it was time to get himself into the right frame of mind for his meeting.
* * *
Bea had invited Jay to lunch at a restaurant in Camden. It was only a couple of miles from the hotel so he could easily walk it, even with the annoyance of dragging his wheeled suitcase behind him.
The walk gave him plenty of time to think about how he would approach the meeting.
Once he’d expressed his regret that he wouldn’t be able to take the role Bea had offered, he’d tell her that he would love to be involved in other ways. Perhaps he could come and see the show when it premiered in York? He could tip off the press that he’d be there in the hope that would get the play some attention, and of course he’d ask Carly to post about it on his socials.
There was just one problem with his plan: he’d honoured his promise to his mother and readLet Us Go Back.
And he’dloved it.
It wasn’t even just that he’d loved the play, he thought, as he strode through the busy city streets, weaving through the throng of single-minded city types, lugging his case behind him. It was that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, or about the character of Sassoon with his comfortable, somewhat Bohemian upbringing. The man had been surrounded by easy wealth and artistic talent from a young age. And Jay knew that life. He knew what it was to grow up in such rich pastures. To learn, painfully, how different reality could be.
Jay had read about Sassoon and Owen years before, how they’d met at Craiglockhart Hospital during the First World War. How Owen, fresh and impressionable, had been entirely awed by the more experienced, upper-class Sassoon, and how Sassoon had condescended to read Owen’s poetry and gift him with his insights. Back then, Sassoon had seemed lofty, even self-important, to Jay, but in Bea’s play, a more vulnerable side to the man emerged. Sassoon was unsettled by Owen. Stunned by his talent. Maybe even envious of it.
It had been a long, long time since Jay had craved a role the way he craved this one. It wasn’t only that he wanted to play Sassoon—it was that he didn’t want anyoneelseto play him. He wanted the role all for himself with a selfish, hoarding greed he barely recognised.
Well, he told himself, as he approached the restaurant where he was meeting Bea,you’re just going to have to live with the fact that someone elsewillbe playing him.
Bea was already at the table, waiting for him, when he went aside. Spotting him, she half-rose out of her seat, lifting a hand and smiling broadly. With her slightly frizzy mane of red hair and tall, slender build, she was the spit of her father, Timon Lawson, one of Dame Cordelia’s closest friends.
Jay raised a hand in answer and began to make his way over to the table.
“You’re looking as amazing as always,” Bea said, after the obligatory air kisses. “Oberon’s dreamy, of course, but I’ve always said you’re the best-looking Warren brother.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he retorted with a grin, only to regret that statement an instant later when he remembered he was about to tell her he couldn’t take the part.
Bea sparkled at him. “Ah, well in that case, I’ll promote you to the best-looking Warrenchild. Portia’s now officially second.”
Jay chuckled. “She’ll hate that. She’s so competitive.”
“You all are!” Bea said. “I remember those parties your mother used to throw, with all of you trying to outdo each other with your party pieces.”
“Notme,” Jay said, laughing. “I was always trying to get out of doing a party piece.”
“Oh, you fibber!” Bea replied. “You obviously loved the limelight.” Jay chuckled again, though the comment surprised him. That wasn’t how he remembered it.
A waiter, in a denim apron with leather straps, arrived to explain the menu to them, which seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. Bea, perhaps sensing Jay’s lack of interest, offered to order some plates for them to share, and Jay was happy to agree, paying scant attention as she made her choices.
For the next while, they chatted about inconsequential stuff. Bea was funny and vibrant and full of stories about people they both knew, so it was no hardship. A jug of water was brought and served with as much reverence as if it was liquid gold. The wine Bea had ordered came next, a lovely, crisp white. Then they were offered bread from a small, burlap sack and solemnly informed that the butter had been made in the restaurant kitchen and was infused with truffle. Jay smiled wanly. He didn’t much like truffle.
Despite the butter, the rest of the food was very good, if a little on the small side. It was fine. Jay wasn’t particularly hungry anyway. He picked at the shared plates, happy to let Bea have the lion’s share.
“So,” she said at last, when they’d finished eating. “This play of mine…”
She left the words hanging in the air, waiting expectantly, excitedly.
Awkwardly, Jay said, “Bea, it’s—it’s really wonderful. I mean that.”
Her eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You think so? I’m so glad, Jay. I mean, I’m more grateful than you can imagine that you agreed to take the role, but it makes it so much sweeter knowing you actuallylikethe play.”