Desdemona, on the other hand, was, of all the Ancreds after Sir Henry, most obviously of the theatre. She was startlingly good looking, of voluptuous build, and had a warm ringing voice that seemed to be perpetually uttering important lines of climax from a West-End success. She ought really, Troy thought, to be surrounded by attendant figures: a secretary, an author, an agent, perhaps a doting producer. She had an aura of richness and warmth, and a knack of causing everybody else to subscribe to the larger-than-life atmosphere in which she herself moved so easily. Her Colonel, after a drink, drove away to his lawful destination, with Dessy’s magnificent thanks no doubt ringing in his ears. Troy, emerging from the telephone-room, found herself confronted by the new arrivals. She was glad to see Thomas: already she thought of him as ‘old Thomas’, with his crest of faded hair and his bland smile. ‘Oh, hallo,’ he said, blinking at her, ‘so here you are! I hope your carbuncle is better.’

‘It’s gone,’ said Troy.

‘We’re all talking about Papa’s engagement,’ said Thomas. ‘This is my sister-in-law, Mrs Claude Ancred, and this is my sister, Desdemona. Milly and Pauline are seeing about rooms. Have you painted a nice picture?’

‘Not bad. Are you producing a nice play?’

‘It’s quite good, thank you,’ said Thomas primly.

‘Darling Tommy,’ said Desdemona, ‘how can it be quite good with that woman? What were you thinking about when you cast it!’

‘Well, Dessy, I told the management you wanted the part.’

‘I didn’t want it. I could play it, but I didn’t want it, thank you.’

‘Then everybody ought to be pleased,’ said Thomas mildly. ‘I suppose, Jenetta,’ he continued, ‘you are anxious to see Fenella and Paul. Papa’s engagement has rather swamped theirs, you may feel. Are you as angry as he is about them?’

‘I’m not a bit angry,’ she said, catching Troy’s eye and smiling at her. ‘I’m fond of Paul and want to talk to him.’

‘That’s all very nice,’ said Dessy restlessly, ‘but Milly says it was Paul and Fenella who exploded the bomb.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Thomas comfortably, ‘I expect it would have gone off anyway. Did you know Mr Rattisbon has been sent for to make a new Will? I suppose Papa’ll tell us all about it at the Birthday Dinner tomorrow. Do you expect to be cut out this time, Dessy?’