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ago, for reasons that to this day Dorian had never fully understood, Harry got the idea into his head that Dorian had badmouthed him to his then wife, Angelica. And that it was Dorian’s malicious intervention that had wrecked his (Harry’s) marriage.
    In reality, Dorian barely knew Angelica Greene, then or now, and had said nothing to her about her husband’s womanizing, which was in any case an open secret in Hollywood. The only person responsible for the demise of Harry Greene’s marriage was Harry Greene. But, be that as it may, in the wake of his divorce, Harry gave numerous interviews blaming Dorian, and did his best to have him ostracized by Hollywood’s elite. As the Fraternity franchise went from strength to strength and Harry Greene’s influence grew, the more difficult Dorian’s life became.
    He returned his attention to the stewardess, who was still hovering with her drinks tray.
    ‘No, thank you,’ he said politely. ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘OK. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I did just want to say, I really enjoyed Sixteen Nights. I love your work.’ The stewardess blushed.
    ‘Thank you,’ said Dorian. ‘You’re very kind.’
    She was a pretty girl, he noticed, not hard and over-made-up like so many of her profession. You could still see her creamy, natural complexion, and the tops of her full breasts jiggled invitingly beneath the white blouse of her uniform. Sexy. But not a patch on my Christina. ‘I hope you’ll go and see my new movie when it comes out.’
    ‘Oh, I will,’ she gushed. ‘I certainly will. What is it?’
    ‘Actually it’s a remake,’ said Dorian. ‘ Wuthering Heights .’
    The stewardess gasped. ‘Oh my God, I love that book. Such a romantic story.’
    Dorian smiled. ‘You know it?’
    ‘Of course,’ she laughed. ‘Doesn’t everyone? Heathcliff and Cathy. They’re like Romeo and Juliet in the rain.’
    For the first time all day, Dorian felt a fraction of the tension ease out of his body. One of his concerns about his new project had been that the story might be considered too highbrow, too much of a classic for ordinary moviegoers to be interested in. Dorian had first read the book in high school and had been instantly captivated by the plot. Heathcliff, a mysterious orphan boy, is adopted by the kindly Mr Earnshaw and brought to live at Wuthering Heights, a grand but lonely house in the Yorkshire moors. Tragedy ensues when Heathcliff falls in love with Earnshaw’s daughter Catherine, who also loves him, but decides to make a more socially acceptable marriage to a neighbour. The ramifications of Cathy’s rejection of Heathcliff: her regret, his madness, and an ongoing saga of death and revenge, of innocent children being forced to pay for the sins of their parents, made for uniquely compelling drama, not to mention one of the most enduring love stories in English literature. But, cinematically, Wuthering Heights was a challenge. Whoever played Heathcliff would have to age convincingly, while remaining attractive enough to work as a romantic lead. Should original Cathy and young Cathy, her daughter, be played by two actresses, or one? How to deal with Nelly, the book’s nurse narrator? And then of course there was the issue of location. In a plot where the house was as much of a character as any of the protagonists, finding the right location would be key.
    A couple of the big studios had tried to warn Dorian off, as had his agent and friend, Don Richards.
    ‘You can’t follow Olivier and Merle Oberon, man. That 1939 movie is one of the all-time greats.’
    ‘They only shot half the book,’ said Dorian. ‘It’s half a story.’
    ‘That’s because the whole story’s unfilmable. It’s a fucking miniseries.’ Don frowned. ‘Did you see the seventies version? It blew.’
    ‘I know,’ Dorian smiled. ‘That’s why I’m doing a remake.’
    ‘If you do it, you’re gonna need two big names in the lead roles,’ Don warned him.