Perfect Match

‘“Love is not love, Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken”.’ Kate shakes her fist defiantly as the car weaves through the traffic.

Our driver eyes her curiously as she recites the sonnet, clearly not used to having RADA-trained actors belting out Shakespeare in his car. She grows more and more impassioned by the time she reaches the final lines.

‘“Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom”,’ Kate says, with an impassioned, sweeping gesture.

‘“If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”’ She clutches her heart.

The driver draws to a halt at the traffic lights and breaks into applause.

‘Hear, hear!’ he cheers.

I clap weakly.

‘Encore!’ he adds.

‘No! Please, no!’ I groan.

Kate grins and does a little bow in the back seat.

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