Peter had thought the job beneath him anyway, but he hadn’t had a decent audition in nearly three months. Playing a jolly dad in a commercial for frozen lasagne wouldn’t have been the zenith of his performing career, but it would at least have brought in steady residuals.

‘The director was a complete arsehole, John.’ He accepted the drink and followed the agent through to his desk. There was parkland below the windows of the semicircular lounge, but even during the day it was barely visible through winter mist and traffic fumes. ‘I was kept waiting for over an hour, and then asked questions about my motivation by some adspeaking agency slimeball,’ Peter complained. ‘I answered him back a little sharply, nothing more, and they told me I wasn’t needed any longer.’

Jonathan waved the explanation aside. ‘I know, I had them on the phone for half an hour warning me never to send you there again. You’re going to be blacklisted by the agency, Peter, the third largest advertising agency in London.’ He pushed back-issues of The Stage from a leather sofa and sat, daintily crossing his legs at the ankle. ‘What have I always said is your biggest stumbling block?’

‘Arrogance,’ Peter admitted, knowing he was about to receive the usual lecture.

‘You’ve been with me for nearly a year now, and you’ve hardly worked. You come back with the same story after every audition. You’ve had three – it is three, isn’t it? – agents before me. You can’t go on blaming your representation. It’s a matter of learning to handle authority.’

He felt the need to explain himself. ‘I couldn’t see that there was much authority coming from -’

‘Authority is anyone who employs you, Peter, and you simply can’t afford to alienate them. At least you could wait until you’ve got the job and you’ve established a working relationship. Christ, even Larry managed to do that.’