Emily Brontë - Fame and Wuthering Heights

‘Is there something I can do for you, Mr Hudson?’ Dorian’s tone was less than friendly. He was in no mood to be interrogated by his leading man. Considering what Viorel was being paid, he expected him to put up and shut up along with everybody else.

‘I know it’s not my place to say so …’ said Viorel.

‘Then don’t,’ muttered Dorian.

‘But don’t you think you were a little rough on Sabrina in there? Every time she opened her mouth, you practically ripped her throat out.’

‘I did nothing of the kind,’ said Dorian. ‘I directed her performance. Last time I checked, I believe that was considered a key part of my job description.’

Viorel looked troubled. Dorian softened slightly. It wouldn’t do to alienate all his cast before filming had even started. ‘Look. I wouldn’t cry too many crocodile tears over Miss Leon if I were you. The young lady can look after herself. She has a lot to learn, as an actress and in life. If my set is where she has to learn it –’ he shrugged –‘then so be it.’

‘What if she doesn’t learn?’ asked Viorel. ‘She might just end up hating you for it.’

Dorian smiled. ‘I rather suspect she hates me already. But I’m not in this business to make friends, Mr Hudson. Are you?’

‘No, sir,’ said Viorel with feeling. ‘I’m here to make movies.’

‘As am I. In future, show up on time to rehearsals, please.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Do your own job properly, Mr Hudson, and I assure you, I will do mine.’

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