‘Not Oliver,’ she answered softly. ‘Oliver’s turning into a wreck. But why is it me who has to back off? Don’t you think I might be looking for someone, needing someone too?’ For a second her face crumpled. ‘It’s lonely. All this.’ Helen knew at once that she meant her lovely face, Masefield’s money, the endless, effortless command of centre stage. She felt a bewildering stab of sympathy for her.

‘And Stephen’s different,’ Pansy repeated, almost to herself. ‘I don’t know why, but I want to find out.’

He’s no different, Helen thought. He’s a pretence. Don’t you fall for it too. And then poor Chloe. But she was silent, watching Pansy drain her coffee.

‘If you’ve finished,’ she murmured. ‘It’s late …’

At once Pansy was on her way. But she paused in the doorway. ‘You probably won’t believe me. But I wish it wasn’t like this. Oliver. Chloe. You. A mess, isn’t it?’ Then a little sardonic halfsmile came back. ‘But you know what they say. All’s fair … ’night.’ With that, she was gone.

Helen sat staring into space, left with the thought of Oliver. Not the dream-Oliver she had fallen in love with, but the real Oliver. A wreck, Pansy had said dismissively. Helen saw the clear features, smooth as marble, which still lived with her even though the man behind them had become someone else. And the dazed expression as he woke up this evening came back to her.

If only she could help him; she would do anything to save him from himself. But there was nothing she could do. Pansy was right. It was a mess, horrible and tangled. And it was going to get worse. ‘Stephen. Stephen is different,’ she heard again. Pansy could save Oliver, but she wouldn’t. Helen could see no solution and she felt cold with apprehension.

Then, with a little sound of helplessness and frustration she stood up and began to make herself ready for bed.

‘If you want to know, that stank. You’re a bunch of fucking amateurs and it stands out a mile. Now get back in your places and we’ll do it again. And we’ll go on doing it again until it’s how I want it.’

Tom’s anger was impressive and more than a little frightening. Even Pansy looked faintly cowed and Oliver straightened up and ran his fingers through his hair with an air of desperation.

‘Jesus Christ, we’ll be here all night. Can’t we knock off?’

Tom rounded on him, his face dark with fury.

‘You will be here twenty-four hours a day until we open, if necessary. I’m the director of this shitty play, and I want it done to the best of your admittedly limited capabilities. Try to listen to what I’m saying now, and I’ll have notes for every single one of you afterwards. Now move.’