‘I can tell you exactly what the reaction would be. He’d back away as if we smelt and say in that deadpan voice of his that he knew nothing of such matters.’

‘I wonder what it would cost.’

‘To restore it? Hundreds of thousands no doubt,’ Peregrine said gloomily. ‘I wonder if National Theatre has so much as thought of it. Or somebody. Isn’t there a society that preserves Ancient Monuments?’

‘Yes. But “I know nothing of such matters”,’ mocked Jeremy. He turned back to his model. With a degree of regret to which wild horses wouldn’t have persuaded him to confess, Peregrine began packing Mr Conducis’s suit. It was a dark charcoal tweed and had been made by a princely tailor. He had washed and ironed the socks, undergarments and shirt that he had worn for about forty minutes and had taken a box that Jeremy was hoarding to make up the parcel.

‘I’ll get a messenger to deliver it,’ he said.

‘Why on earth?’

‘I don’t know. Too bloody shy to go myself.’

‘You’d only have to hand it over to the gilded lackey.’

‘I’d feel an ass.’

‘You’re mad,’ said Jeremy briefly.

‘I don’t want to go back there. It was all so rum. Rather wonderful, of course, but in a way rather sinister. Like some wish-fulfilment novel.’

‘The wide-eyed young dramatist and the kindly recluse.’

‘I don’t think Conducis is kindly but I will allow and must admit I was wide-eyed over the glove. You know what?’

‘What?’

‘It’s given me an idea.’

‘Has it, now? Idea for what?’

‘A play. I don’t want to discuss it.’

‘One must never discuss too soon, of course,’ Jeremy agreed. ‘That way abortion lies.’

‘You have your points.’

In the silence that followed they both heard the metallic clap of the letter box downstairs.

‘Post,’ said Jeremy.

‘Won’t be anything for us.’

‘Bills.’

‘I don’t count them. I daren’t,’ said Peregrine.

‘There might be a letter from Mr Conducis offering to adopt you.’

‘Heh, heh, heh.’

‘Do go and see,’ Jeremy said. ‘I find you rather oppressive when you’re clucky. The run downstairs will do you good.’

Peregrine wandered twice round the room and absently out at the door. He went slowly down their decrepit staircase and fished in their letter box. There were three bills (two, he saw, for himself), a circular and a typed letter.

‘Peregrine Jay, Esq. By Hand.’