They ate grilled sole, drank lager, danced together on a pockethandkerchief and greatly enjoyed themselves. Presently Destiny and her friends left. As they passed Emily and Peregrine she said: ‘Darlings! We thought we would but oh, no, no.’ They went away talking loudly about what they would have to eat when they got to Destiny’s flat in Chelsea. At ten to twelve Peregrine said: ‘Emily: why are you so stand-offish in the elder Dolphin and so come-toish in the younger one?’

‘Partly because of your prestige and anyway I’m not all that oncoming, even here.’

‘Yes, you are. You are when we’re dancing. Not at first but suddenly, about ten minutes ago.’

‘I’m having fun and I’m obliged to you for providing it.’

‘Do you at all fancy me?’

‘Very much indeed.’

‘Don’t say it brightly like that: it’s insufferable.’

‘Sorry.’

‘And what do you mean, my prestige. Are you afraid people like Gertie, for example, will say you’re having an advantageous carry-on with the author-producer?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘How bloody silly. “They say. What say they? Let them say”.’

‘That aphorism was coined by a murdering cad.’

‘What of it? Emily: I find you more attractive than any of my former girls. Now, don’t flush up and bridle. I know you’re not my girl, in actual fact. Emily,’ Peregrine shouted against a screaming crescendo from the saxophonist. ‘Emily, listen to me. I believe I love you.’

The little band had crashed to its climax and was silent. Peregrine’s declaration rang out as a solo performance.

‘After that,’ Emily said, ‘I almost think we had better ask for the bill, don’t you?’

Peregrine was so put out that he did so. They left The Younger Dolphin assuring the anxious proprietor that they would certainly return.

Their plan had been to stroll over to Blackfriars, pick up Peregrine and Jeremy’s car and drive to Hampstead.

They walked out of The Younger Dolphin into a deluge.

Neither of them had a mackintosh or an umbrella. They huddled in the entrance and discussed the likelihood of raising a cab. Peregrine went back and telephoned a radio taxi number to be told nothing would be available for at least twenty minutes. When he rejoined Emily the rain had eased off a little.

‘I tell you what,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a gamp and a mac in the office. Let’s run down the hill, beat Jobbins up and collect them. Look, it’s almost stopped.’

‘Come on, then.’

‘Mind you don’t slip.’

Hand in hand they ran wildly and noisily down Wharfingers Lane. They reached the turning at the bottom, rounded the corner and pulled up outside The Dolphin. They laughed and were exhilarated.

‘Listen!’ Emily exclaimed, ‘Peregrine, listen. Somebody else is running in the rain.’

‘It’s someone in the stage-door alley.’

‘So it is.’

The other runner’s footsteps rang out louder and louder on the wet cobblestones. He came out of the alley into the lane and his face was open-mouthed like a gargoyle.