Evans - Their Finest: Now a major film starring Gemma Arterton and Bill Nighy

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First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Doubleday

an imprint of Transworld Publishers

Black Swan edition published as Their Finest Hour and a Half in 2010

This Black Swan edition published as Their Finest in 2017

Copyright Lissa Evans 2009

Lissa Evans has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781409080190

ISBN 9781784162610

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Lissa Evans has written books for both adults and children, including Their Finest Hour and a Half (published here as Their Finest), longlisted for the Orange Prize, Small Change for Stuart, shortlisted for many awards including the Carnegie Medal and the Costa Book Awards and Crooked Heart, longlisted for the Baileys Womens Prize for Fiction.

Its 1940. In a small advertising agency in Soho, Catrin Cole writes snappy lines for Vida Elastic and So-Bee-Fee gravy browning. But the nation is in peril, all skills are transferable and theres a place in the war effort for those who have a knack with words.

Catrin is conscripted into the world of propaganda films. After a short spell promoting the joy of swedes for the Ministry of Food, she finds herself writing dialogue for Just an Ordinary Wednesday, a heart-warming but largely fabricated true story about rescue and romance on the beaches of Dunkirk.

And as bombs start to fall on London, she discovers that theres just as much drama, comedy and passion behind the scenes as there is in front of the camera

SPENCERS LIST

ODD ONE OUT

CROOKED HEART

For James, with love.

when once work begins in the studio, nothing that happens in the outside world is of any relative importance

George Arliss

I was wondering, Sammy said, tentatively, as they paused between courses at La Venezia, if you should think of getting a new photograph of yourself. Something just a tiny bit more up-to-the-minute, perhaps

Ambroses first impulse was to dismiss the idea after all, as he reminded Sammy, hed had a perfectly decent set of prints taken not so long ago and theyd been bloody expensive, and it wasnt as if his current level of income allowed him to run to unnecessary extravagance. And surely the whole purpose of an agent was to increase a clients income, rather than spend it for him?

Sammy looked chastened, as well he might.

Back at home that afternoon, Ambrose dug the file of photographs out of the bureau, just to reassure himself, and yes, they were scarcely eight years old taken in February 1932, not long after the highly successful kinematic release of Inspector Charnforth and the Bitter Lemons Mystery and really, they were more than adequate: full face, chin on hand, a fine, frank gaze at the camera, a curtain draped artfully across the wall behind, a briar pipe and a volume of verse resting on a table in front. They spoke of depth and maturity, of vigour and yet also of a certain masculine sensitivity. Their invisible caption unmistakably was Leading Man. He put the portfolio away again and gave no further thought to the matter until a fortnight later, in Sammys office. Where he was being kept waiting.

Hell be in any minute now, Mr Hilliard, the typist kept saying, brightly. He knows youre expected, only hes had to take his doggie to the vet, the poor little things ate half a tin of boot polish and its been ever so ill. And since the chaos of paper on Sammys desk meant that it was impossible to discern which script it was that Ambrose was meant to be collecting, he was forced to sit and stew. The 1940 edition of Spotlight was on the office shelf, and he amused himself for a while by looking through the Character Actors section page after page of uglies, fatties, the once-beautiful and the never-handsome, each of them no doubt nurturing the hope that a browsing director, tiring of chiselled good-looks, might one day choose a more interesting face for his next romantic lead. Poor deluded saps. He turned the page on the final gargoyle, and pointedly consulted his watch.

Any minute now, Mr Hilliard, said the typist.

It occurred to Ambrose that he ought to check his own entry in the volume, and re-opening it at the beginning, he started to leaf through Leading Actors, at first briskly, and then with a growing sense of unease. When he at last reached his own photograph, he stared at it for a while; it seemed, this time, somehow less than satisfactory. He glanced again at the portraits of his rivals, and it was like picking through a police file marked Dangerous Cases all was mood, spleen, sullenness, seething introspection. Here slouched Marius Goring, wreathed in shadow, here Jack Hawkins, peering shiftily from beneath the brim of his hat. Glowering presence succeeded glowering presence. No one stood upright. No one gazed directly at camera. No one smiled. It was clear that the fine, frank gaze had had its hour; nowadays it was de rigueur to look as if one were just about to cosh an old lady.

Ive been thinking about your suggestion of the other day, he said to Sammy, when his agent at last arrived at the office. Its all a matter of style, of course. There are fashions in photography as in everything else, and one simply has to accept the fact. We are in a new and brutal age.

Sammy nodded, a touch uncertainly. So, youll have another picture taken?

If I must, said Ambrose.

The photographer was a blue-chinned Hungarian refugee called Erno. He was trying to establish himself in London, Sammy said, and was therefore acceptably cheap. On the debit side, his English was rudimentary.

Brooding, said Ambrose, who had taken the precaution of bringing the copy of Spotlight with him to the room above a hat shop in DArblay Street. Darkly atmospheric. He jabbed a finger at the picture of Leslie Howard (another Hungarian, come to think of it; Christ, they were