Alleyn had strolled over to a display of photographs on the far wall: all the members of the cast in character with their signatures appended. Marcus Knight had been treated to a montage with his own image startlingly echoed by the ‘Grafton Portrait’ and the Droushout engraving. Peregrine joined him.

‘Extraordinary,’ Alleyn said. ‘The likeness. What a piece of luck!’ He turned to Peregrine and found him staring, not at the picture but at the signature.

‘Bold!’ Alleyn said dryly.

‘Yes. But it’s not that. There’s something about it. Damn! I thought so before. Something I’ve forgotten.’

‘You may yet remember. Leave it. Tell me: is the sort of ribbing Knight got from Grove just now their usual form? All the King Dolphin nonsense?’

‘Pretty much. It goes on.’

‘If he’s as touchy as you say, why on earth hasn’t Knight shaken the Dolphin dust off his boots? Why does he stand it for one second?’

‘I think,’ Peregrine said with great simplicity, ‘he likes his part. I think that might be it.’

‘My dear Jay, I really do apologize: Of course he does. It’s no doubt the best role, outside Shakespeare, that he’ll ever play.’

‘Do you think so? Really?’

‘Indeed I do.’

Peregrine suddenly looked deeply happy. ‘Now, of course,’ he said, ‘I’m completely wooed.’

‘What can it matter what I think! You must know how good your play is.’

‘Yes, but I like to be told. From which,’ Peregrine said, ‘you may gather that I have a temperamental link with Marco Knight.’

‘Were he and Destiny Meade lovers?’

‘Oh yes. Going steady, it seemed, until Harry chucked poor Gertie and came rollicking in. We thought the casting was going to work out very cosily with Dessy and Marco as happy as Larry on the one hand and Gertie and Harry nicely fixed on the other. Maddening, this dodging round in a company. It always makes trouble. And with Marco’s capacity to cut up plug-ugly at the drop of a hat – anything might happen. We can only keep our fingers crossed.’

‘Miss Meade is – she’s – I imagine, not an intellectual type.’

‘She’s so stupid,’ Peregrine said thoughtfully. ‘But so, so stupid it’s a kind of miracle. Darling Dessy. And yet,’ he added, ‘there’s an element of cunning too. Certainly, there’s an element of cunning.’

‘What a problem for her director, in such a subtle role!’

‘Not really. You just say: “Darling, you’re sad. You’re heartbroken. You can’t bear it” and up come the welling tears. Or: “Darling, you’ve been clever, don’t you see, you’ve been one too many for them” and she turns as shrewd as a marmoset. Or, simplest of all: “Darling, you’re sending him in a big way,” and as she never does anything else it works like a charm. She does the things: the audience thinks them.’

‘Temperamental?’