To her dismay Anelida found herself on the brink of tears. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘No! Nothing like that – really. I mean – I mean I just don’t know …’ She looked helplessly at Octavius. He was, she knew, hovering on the edge of one of his rare fits of temper. His vanity had been tickled by Miss Bellamy. He had almost strutted and preened before her. Anelida, who loved him very much, could have shaken him.

‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘It’s not worth another thought. But I’m sorry, darling, if you’re put out over your lovely party.’

‘I am put out,’ Octavius said crossly. ‘I want to go.’

‘And you shall go. I’ll do your tie and make you look beautiful.’

‘My dear,’ Octavius said, ‘it is you who would have looked beautiful. It would have been a great pleasure to take you. I should have been proud.’

‘Oh, hell! ‘ said Amelia. She rushed at him and gave him an exasperated hug. He was much puzzled and hit her gently several times on the shoulder blades.

The shop door opened.

‘Here,’ Octavius said over the top of Anelida’s head, ‘is Dakers.’

Coming from the sunshine into the dark shop, Richard had been given a confused impression of Anelida collaring Octavius in a high tackle. He waited for her to emerge, which she did after some fumbling with her uncle’s handkerchief.

Octavius said: ‘If you’ll excuse me, Nell. Really, one must get on with one’s job.’ He nodded to Richard and limped away into his back room.

Richard was careful not to look at Anelida. ‘I came,’ he said, ‘first to apologize.’

‘Not at all. I expect I behaved badly.’

‘And to say how very glad I am. Mary told me you had decided for the party.’

‘It was terribly kind of her to come. Unk was bewitched.’

‘We are being polite to each other, aren’t we?’

‘Better than flying into rages.’

‘May I call for you?’

‘There’s no need. Really. You’ll be busy with the party. Unk will be proud to escort me. He said so.’

‘So he well might.’ Richard now looked directly at Anelida. ‘You’ve been crying,’ he said, ‘and your face is dirty. Like a little girl’s. Smudged.’

‘All right. All right. I’m going to tidy it up.’

‘Shall I?’

‘No.’

‘How old are you, Anelida?’

‘Nineteen. Why?’

‘I’m twenty-eight.’

‘You’ve done very well,’ Anelida said politely, ‘for your age. Famous dramatist.’

‘Playwright.’

‘I think with the new one you may allow yourself to be a dramatist.’

‘My God, you’ve got a cheek,’ he said thoughtfully. After a moment he said: ‘Mary’s reading it. Now.’

‘Was she pleased about it?’

‘For the wrong reason. She thinks I wrote it for her.’

‘But – how could she? Still, she’ll soon find out.’

‘As I mentioned before, you don’t really know much as yet about theatre people.’