‘You were great, princess,’ he said, his blunt, seamed features suffused with pride. ‘Just great.’

The dizzy blonde at his side was draped in furs and perched on the highest, thinnest stiletto heels.

‘Even I enjoyed it,’ Pansy’s stepmother giggled. ‘Darling, how did you remember all those words?’

When Helen looked again, Darcy had disappeared. He had narrowly avoided his parents. Even here, in this throng that had nothing to do with their world, a narrow path automatically cleared itself for the Earl and Countess of Montcalm. Even the foursquare bulk of Masefield Warren shifted slightly to one side.

But it was Tom whom Helen wanted to see. At last she saw him outside in an angle of the stairs. He was still listening, but the dark, sharp planes of his face were softened. He looked satisfied, under the habitual ironic amusement.

Stephen and Beatrice Spurring reached him and stopped. Under the greying wings of hair, Beatrice’s face wore its usual frown of concern, but it dissolved briefly into a smile of real pleasure as she congratulated Tom. Stephen was more circumspect.

‘Dazzling,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a touch too much loud pedal, but overstatement always pulls the crowds in. Well done.’

Tom smiled very slightly. ‘I’m delighted you enjoyed it.’

The long association through weeks of rehearsal had done nothing to improve their liking for each other. Hostility still bristled under the polite façade.

‘And where’s the star of the show?’

Tom pointed to Pansy’s dressing room. Stephen sprang up the steps with his wife in his wake. He looked young tonight, in his open-necked bright blue shirt and with his silky hair flopping over his forehead like a boy’s. Much younger than Beatrice.

Tom was on his own again, and Helen waited no longer.

She ran down to him, took hold of both his hands and reached up to kiss the corner of his thin, clever mouth. She felt his start of surprise and then his strength as he pulled her close to him. She thought that the ironical mask had dropped to show real pleasure.

‘Well?’

His voice was no more than a whisper. He was asking her something intensely private, here in this impervious crowd. The thought suddenly made her shy, so shy that she could think of nothing to say. And then it made her answer him as if all he wanted was a response to his play.

‘You know how good it was.’

‘Ah. Oh yes, I know how good it was.’ Tom kissed her in return, lightly, like an old friend. His arm dropped from her shoulders, and she felt cold. ‘But all this celebrating is a shade premature until we’ve seen the reviews. And filled the seats for the rest of the run.’

‘I’m sure you needn’t worry about that.’