Still stressed out about the whole confessional thing and Father Gabriel’s curtness towards her, Leonie had to face him at the first rehearsal.

"I hope Father Hot is in a better mood this afternoon," Mai said.

They were working on Act One so only certain members of the cast had been called. Leonie and Mai were in the very first scene together. Mai only had a few lines but hadn’t bothered to learn them yet.

"Are we all here?" Father Gabriel made a brief check of the cast members needed and the students assembled before him. "Good. The first scene hasn’t been blocked out yet, but we’ll use the stage anyway. Don’t worry about positioning for now. Just focus on the script. For now we’ll just have everyone enter from stage right, though this may change next time."

Stepping onto a stage and smelling the dust and must of the curtains and those unique odours of the theatre always sent a thrill through Leonie. It usually electrified her and helped her with her performance, but today she was simply too stressed.

They began the scene, with the Reverend Parris praying, and then the slave woman Tituba entering. Next came Abigail, ushering in Susannah.

Leonie thought it was a shame that Mai hadn’t been given a larger role as she was very animated. But she tended to play up and mimic people. She even managed to make Susanna seem absurd by saying "Aye, sir!" in a comical way, causing some girls to giggle. Father Gabriel’s cool glance soon quelled their mirth.

For Leonie it was the opposite. She didn’t feel animated at all. She could barely get the lines out and it got worse and worse.

They were practising the early scene where Abigail tries to lure John Proctor back to her, and he refuses. The words were literally sticking in her throat. She was so conscious of Father Gabriel’s presence.

Worse, he was the one taking the rehearsal as Sister Rosalind had duties elsewhere. Since Gabriel was directing he was going to be most hands on in the rehearsals anyway.

Leonie tried to speak the line telling John Proctor that she sensed his heat, and that it had drawn her to her window.

But she knew she sounded flat and that her lack of expression was making it difficult for the student playing John Proctor. This was a tall girl with short dark hair called Mercy Braithwaite. It should have been easier playing the scene with another girl, since there was no question of real life sexual tension between the two actors. At least Leonie assumed there wasn’t. She guessed it was possible that Mercy might be gay. If she was it didn’t bother her either way.

But every line she had to say, Leonie just felt as though Father Gabriel’s eyes were boring into her with increasing disapproval.

She tried again to put some emotion in, telling John Proctor that she had seen him burning with loneliness and looking up at her.

But could she say these lines with Father Gabriel watching her? She was stumbling over them, rushing them out with no expression at all.

Mercy was doing such a great job too. There was real conviction in her voice when she spoke of "cutting off her hand" and ordering Abigail to "wipe it out of mind".

Abigail’s reply, to taunt John Proctor for being a strong man but having a sickly wife, should have been full of passion and venom. She was goading John Proctor to react to her. But Leonie knew she was getting worse and worse. How she got to the end of the scene she never knew. As the rehearsal was called to a close, she shot an apologetic glance at Mercy. "I’m sorry, I just couldn’t get the lines right today."

Mercy shrugged and smiled. "It’s okay, it happens to all of us." She was a prefect like Harry and also did History of Art. Leonie liked her, which was why she felt so bad about letting her down. "It’s only the first rehearsal, no one even remembers the lines yet."

Except Leonie did. She knew them by heart, burned into her soul even before she got the part.

"I’m sorry anyway."

"Don’t worry. It will be great next time. Once we don’t have to make an effort to remember each word." Mercy smiled brightly again at Leonie to try and cheer her up, and went on her way.

Leonie went to pick up her pile of folders which she had left on a chair. Mai had already left as Susannah was only needed at the very start. So she had been allowed to slip off early along with a couple of others.

As Leonie was about to leave, Father Gabriel called her back. "Leonie Wilson, if you could stay behind."

Her heart sank. He was going to give the part to someone else, she just knew it. Probably goddamn Suki, waiting in the wings.

When the others had left, Father Gabriel turned his attention on Leonie. "What the hell was that?" He looked angry. He was so devastatingly attractive even when he was angry. Like a furious, dark-haired, blue-eyed saint.

"I’m sorry, I just couldn’t get it all together today," Leonie said. It was normally so easy, that was the frustrating thing. Usually Abigail just came over her and through her, and she didn’t even have to consciously try.

"That’s not good enough. A production depends on every member of the cast playing their part to the best of the ability. We’ll go through it again now. I’ll read John Proctor. I need to know that you can at least manage the role, since you convinced us at rehearsals that you could."

He was grim, unsmiling. Leonie swallowed, felling even worse than before. Father Gabriel as John Proctor was both a fantasy and a dread. "On stage?"

"Here will do."

She briefly closed her eyes, then began.

She asked John Proctor, now played by Father Gabriel, to give her a soft word.

But he told her no. It was done with.

Gabriel’s tone as John Proctor was stern, but there was a caress in his words as well.

Suddenly Abigail Williams was flowing through her veins again. The long-ago witch girl took over. She - Abby and Leonie - longed for John Proctor, she was desperate for him.

She begged him not to be wintry and cold towards her. She told him she couldn’t sleep because she dreamt about him.

The stage directions called for weeping here but Leonie didn’t even notice them, yet her eyes were moist. She hadn’t slept recently, and it was because of him. He haunted her dreams.

Father Gabriel, as John, confessed that he did think of her "softly" from time to time.

Leonie felt the forbidden yearning. The married, pious farmer and the young girl half his age whom he had conceived a deadly passion for. The desire between both of them: Abby’s pleading seduction and Proctor’s resolve to fight against it.

They reached the line where John Proctor threatens to give Abby a whipping, and shakes her. Father Gabriel was actually shaking her. His hand grasped her shoulder as he spoke the line. Leonie found herself breathing heavily and not wanting him to stop. She gazed up him, seeing John Proctor’s anger and desire on his face. His face. Not John Proctor’s.

Abruptly he let her go and stood back from her. He looked horror-struck.

"My God Leonie, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me."

She couldn’t let him break away like that. She stepped towards him, standing close to him. She looked up at him, seeing the desire that was still on his face. Ignoring what he had just said, she asked: "What does it mean, 'clutched my back'?" She knew what it meant, and Gabriel knew that she knew what it meant.

He paused, only for a second. Then something overtook him.

"Like this." He grabbed her hips roughly and turned her around. He clutched her against himself, moulding her against his body. She could feel his hardness pressing on her through the fabric of her school skirt and his own clothing.

His breath was on her neck, his lips so close to her skin. "Like this. This is what he did." His voice was husky.

His hands gripped her waist, preventing her from moving away. Leonie could smell his scent, a fresh, male aroma with a trace of incense. She could feel the heat from his body. Anger and hot desire.

She could hardly breathe, she wanted him so badly.

He held her, so close. She was terrified to turn and break the spell.

"Like this, he clutched her back." Gabriel pulled her even more firmly against him.

Leonie was struggling to control her own breathing. She stood there, with him grasping her. Her breath caught in her throat in a small cry. He gripped her more tightly.

How she wanted his arms around her. How she wanted him pressing her to him. Never let go, hold me, take me…

But then he released her. She turned around to him, questioning.

"I dream of you, but I wake."

It wasn’t the right line. It was the inverse of what Abigail was supposed to say.

Leonie’s own voice was a whisper. She gazed at him, and he at her. For what seemed like ages they stood there.

Gabriel closed his eyes. Breathed out. A muscle clenched in his jaw.

Then he turned abruptly and strode out.