'We'll get on to your career in the Crimea in a moment, but I'd like to kick off by asking—'
With a magician's flourish he produced a platter.
'—if you would care for some toast?'
'No thanks.'
'Tasty and nutritious!' He smiled, facing the camera. 'Perfect as a snack or even a light meal – good with eggs, sardines or even—'
'No, thank you.'
Lush's smile froze on his face as he muttered through clenched teeth:
'Have … some … toast.'
But it was too late. The floor manager came on the set and announced that the unseen director of the show had called cut. The small army of beauticians came on and fussed over Adrian as the floor manager had a one-way conversation into his headphones before turning to me.
'The Director of Placements wants to know if you would take a small bite of toast when offered.'
'I've eaten already.'
The floor manager turned and spoke into his headphones again.
'She says she's eaten already!! … I know … yes … what if … yes … ah-ha … What do you want me to do? Sit on her and force it down her throat!?! … yesss … ah-ha … I know … yes … yes … okay.'
He turned back to me.
'How about jam instead of marmalade?'
'I don't really like toast,' I told him.
'What?'
'I said I don't—'
'She says she doesn't like toast!' said the floor manager in an exasperated tone. 'What in hell's name are we going to do!?!'
Flanker stood up.
'Next, eat the sodding toast, will you? I've got a meeting in two hours.'
'And I've a golf tournament,' added Braxton.
I gave up.
'Okay. Make it granary with marmalade, go easy on the butter.'
The floor manager smiled as though I had just saved his job – which I probably had – and everything started over once again.
'Would you like some toast?' asked Lush.
'Thanks.'
I took a small bite.
'Very good.'
I saw the floor manager giving me an enthusiastic thumbs-up as he dabbed his brow with a handkerchief.