Chapter 9: The Dinner Party

The dining table in the manor could seat fourteen, and on the morning of the dinner party it did.

Each extra held a bowl of cold soup and a fixed expression of interest.

Rupert stood behind the monitor with his phone in his hand.

"Each extra's forty pounds a take," he told no one in particular.

"Fourteen of them. I want this in four."

"Five hundred and sixty a take," said Kit, from his chair.

"Four takes is two thousand two hundred and forty."

"Love that you've done it," said Rupert.

"Now do it in four."

Kit sat at the foot of the table as the brother.

Dorian sat at the head as the Earl, with Fenella on his left in a green silk dress.

She had the expression of a woman keeping score.

The scene was a family supper in which everybody lied to everyone else, and the soup was to be eaten in silence at the end.

"Take one," said Vera.

The Earl looked down the table.

"You've gone pale, brother," said Dorian.

He gave the line with the shoulder dropped and the gate placed exactly where Kit had told him to put it.

"It's the soup," said Kit, in the brother's voice.

He thought: better.

He did not say it, but Dorian saw him think it, and the Earl's mouth twitched.

"Cut," said Vera.

"Again."

"Take two," said Vera.

"You've gone pale, brother," said Dorian.

"It's the soup."

"Cut," said Vera.

"Dorian, you smiled."

"He did a good line," said Dorian, to the ceiling.

"Again."

"Take three."

Fenella, at the Earl's elbow, leaned toward Kit under cover of the clatter.

"Pool's at thirty-seven," she whispered.

"Not now," said Kit.

"You've been looking at his mouth for four takes."

"For the cue."

"You can't use that for ever," said Fenella.

"Take four," said Vera.

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