Just as the runners and riders were parading around the paddock, Aaron Taylor-Johnson has sensationally dismounted and stalked back to the changing room, thoughtfully tapping his whip against his thigh. What happened? Did his agent overplay things by sneakily leaking negotiations to the press, hoping the subsequent acclaim would nail down a whopping fee? Did they get their bluff called? Who knows? Either way, producers Barbara Broccoli and Michael G Wilson, keepers of the Bond flame in their legendary Eon offices in Piccadilly, must now resume the search and once again study the crumpled and heavily thumbed form sheet …
