Digestif | 25 June 2011

Hard-working, mercurial and good at playing mean – reformed hell-raiser Dominic West eats asparagus into the small hours with Imogen Lycett Green

After nearly two decades hitting headlines as a womanising bachelor of the most hell-raising kind, Dominic West married the mother of three of his four children last year. Has family life brought tranquillity with it? ‘You must be joking,’ he screams, throwing his head back. ‘I am swamped by kids. The theatre is where the order is, the calm, the structure. Things begin on time. Family life is chaos. I have never been happier in my life but when it’s time to go to the theatre, I run out the door.’

Much to the envy of his groupies I pick West up from the stage door of the Theatre Royal, Brighton, after the preview of Simon Gray’s Butley, in which West plays the lead. We are dining at the high-ceilinged brasserie Côte, part of the stylish mini-chain (www.cote-restaurants-co.uk), opposite Brighton Pavilion. West has changed from Ben Butley’s greasy suit into a crisp white cotton shirt. He’s not tall but he looks burly and strong. It’s his hands that don’t quite fit. They are pearly soft and almost feminine. He is embarrassed that I notice them, thinking they should be gnarlier for a boy of his age (41).

You notice his hands because they move about a lot, into his hair, along the arm of his seat, around the wine glass, back through his hair. He lounges on the banquette then sits up straight. Leans forward, leans back. He won’t sit still. Brusque and fidgety, he is trying to talk as little as possible. ‘That little fucker,’ he says, directing venom at the tiny tape recorder.