He drove home slowly. His house was set away from Hollywood. If his fans saw where he lived, they would probably be surprised. But nobody knew it was his place.

The paparazzi knew he lived in the complex, but they were always sniffing around the larger mansion. That was purely for guests. His home was a smaller, three bedroom pad separated from the house by what he considered his secret garden. Only he had a key. Nobody came to his house, except Maria his cleaning lady. Her husband, Joseph, kept the gardens. He trusted the old couple completely.

He needed to be in his sanctuary, to have a long shower and wash off the contaminants of the morning. How could he have missed all the signs? Mark wasn’t interested in him. He was just a piece of meat to open doors for the agent. He had been more than a little naïve.

“Declan, you’re back. Did you have a nice trip?”

“Yes thanks, Maria. How are you and Joseph?”

“We’re great. We have a new grandchild. I will show you photos later. But now you look like you need coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“I like your new girlfriend. She looks like a real woman, not a plastic doll.”

Declan burst out laughing, startling Maria.

“You have such a way with words,” he said.

“I just say it as I see it. Usually you have a Barbie looking women on your arm, with no clothes. How their mama let them out like that I do not know. If one of my girls tried that, I would slap their backside.” Maria crossed her self as she made her way to the kitchen. Declan grabbed his case and ran upstairs to dump it on his bed. He had a quick shower, changed and was back down in casual clothes just in time to sit down to a lunch only Maria could cook.

“I missed this. Nobody can cook like you, Maria.”

“My mama, God rest her, was right. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Declan nodded, his mouth too full of delicious food to speak.

“So, you had a good trip?”

“Yes, the wedding was wonderful. I got plenty of pictures for you.”

“Thank you. I like Conor, he is a good man but he needed a good woman to find happiness. Like you.”

“Don’t go marrying me off yet, Maria. I only just met Zoe.”

“Yes, but you let yourself be seen with her. That hasn’t happened before. ”

“True.” He usually was very careful about keeping his personal life secret. But in his desire to spend time with Zoe, everything else had gone out of his mind.

“You bring her here and I’ll tell you if your mama like her or not. I know what mama’s like in wives for sons.”

Declan didn’t reply. He wasn’t about to disagree with his housekeeper. On the odd occasion when he did something she didn’t agree with, she didn’t say anything. But his meals would get very spicy. His ma had once told Maria to keep him grounded, and Maria took her duties very seriously.

“So when are you going to see Zoe again?”

“I am going to go stay in Cloudy Bay for a few weeks. I need a break from LA.”

“That’s good news. When you come back here, bring her with you.”

“This is so good, thank you Maria. I have to get back to work now.”

He kissed her on the cheek.

“Don’t work too hard. Call your girl, too.”

* * *

Declan retreated to his den. He lay on the sofa reading through the scripts he had picked up. The bare bum one, as he called it, got ditched after a few pages. It was boring and no amount of nakedness was going to save it. Instead, he picked up the war script. He began reading, intending to cast it aside and tell Mark to scrap both projects. But after a few pages, he sat up straighter. It was a great story. The British officer was a good bloke who abhorred violence. The Irish rebel, instead of being portrayed like a hero, was shown in full. The good, the bad and the downright ugly. By the time he finished reading the script, he wanted that role more than any he’d had before.

Dialing Mark on his cell, he couldn’t wait for him to answer. It had been ages since he had been so excited about a script. Mark answered, his frigid tone reminding Declan he was still pissed.

“Mark, that script—the Irish one—is amazing.”

“See, I told you I knew best. I can see you now, all—”

“I want to play the rebel.”

“But he dies.”

“I don’t care. The character is fantastic.”

“Declan, have you read the whole script? The audience will hate you.”

“They hated Fiennes in Schindler’s list. Didn’t seem to do him any harm.”

“I don’t think they will cast you.”

Declan stood wishing he was face to face with Mark rather than on the phone. He had to convince him. “Why not? Do they not believe I can act? Won’t they at least try?”

“I’ll see what I can do, but don’t expect miracles.”

Mark hung up without saying goodbye.

Declan sat back down. He wanted this role. He had to play this part. He was sick and tired of people not seeing that history was not a question of good sides and bad. Sure, the Nazis had been evil but there were good Germans too. Not enough films were made about the German resistance. This movie would show that not all British officers had behaved badly in Ireland. While he was proud of his rebel ancestors, he knew the Irish had committed atrocities too. That was war.