Winter Morris came first with a box of crystallized fruit. He put it on the tray and then stood at the foot of the bed wearing his shepherd’s plaid suit and his dark red tie. His hair, beautifully cut, waved above and behind the ears. He leaned his head to one side and looked at Trevor.

‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘So the great star is receiving. How does it feel to be famous?’

Trevor was languid and gracious but before the prescribed five minutes had elapsed he mentioned that his agent would be waiting upon Mr Morris with reference to the Management, as he put it, seeing him right.

‘We don’t,’ Winter Morris said, eyeing him warily, ‘need to worry just yet about that one. Do we?’

‘I hope not, Mr Morris,’ Trevor said. He leant his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes. ‘Funny how faint I appear to get,’ he murmured. ‘I hope it won’t be kind of permanent. My doctors seem to take a grave view. Funny thing.’

Mr Morris said, ‘You played that line just like the end of Act I, but I mustn’t tire you.’

He tiptoed elaborately away from the bed and as he passed Alleyn, let droop a heavy white eyelid.

Jeremy Jones had made a group of tiny effigies representing the characters in the play and had mounted them on a minute stage. ‘Ever so quaint,’ Trevor said. ‘Ta, Mr Jones. You have been busy. Put it on my tray, would you?’

Jeremy put his offering on the tray. Trevor gazed into his face as he did so. ‘You are clever with your fingers,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you, Mr Jones?’

Jeremy looked suspiciously at him, turned scarlet and said to Alleyn: ‘I mustn’t stay too long.’

‘Don’t go,’ said Trevor. ‘Yet.’

Jeremy lingered, with one eye on Alleyn and awkwardly at a loss for anything to say. Peregrine tapped on the door, looked in, said: ‘Oh, sorry,’ when he saw his friend and retired.

‘I want to see Mr Jay,’ Trevor said. ‘Here! Call him back.’

Jeremy fetched Peregrine and seized the opportunity after a nod from Alleyn, to make his own escape. Peregrine, having already done his duty in that respect, brought no offering.

‘Here!’ Trevor said. ‘What price that kid? My understudy. Is he going on tonight?’

‘Yes. He’s all right,’ Peregrine said. ‘Word perfect and going to give quite a nice show. You needn’t worry.’

Trevor glowered at him. ‘What about the billing, Mr Jay? What about the programmes?’

‘They’ve been slipped. “During your indisposition the part will be played – ” You know?’

‘Anything in the Press? They haven’t brought me any papers,’ the feeble voice grumbled. ‘What’s my agent doing? My mum says they don’t want me to see the papers. Look, Mr Jay –’

Alleyn said: ‘You’ll see the papers.’