Slowly they made two circuits of the Meadows. Oliver kept his arm firmly linked in hers, but otherwise they might have been enjoying any pleasant afternoon stroll. When they spoke at all, it was desultorily, about their immediate surroundings.

At last they stopped on the wide gravel walkway in front of Meadow Building. The sun had disappeared behind it and the air was suddenly cold.

‘Six-fifteen,’ she said, as coolly as she could. ‘We must go back to meet Tom.’

When she looked up into Oliver’s face, she saw that the ominous glitter had faded from his eyes. His voice sounded natural and steady again. She thought that he must be almost sober. She would have to suggest it to him now.

‘You will go on, won’t you? Oliver, there’s no-one else to take your part. You must do it, for Tom’s sake.’

Oliver stared back down the long avenue of elms. Helen heard him jingling his key ring in his pocket. At last he shrugged.

‘I suppose I have to.’ His voice was flat.

Quickly, before he could change his mind, Helen steered him back to his rooms. Tom was waiting for them. His black brows went up a fraction, and Helen nodded swiftly to reassure him.

Silently his mouth framed the words. ‘Thank you.’

With breathtaking speed, they hustled Oliver between them to the theatre.

‘We can do it, between us,’ Tom whispered to her. ‘Keep him on the rails, just for another few days. And by then the worst will be over. I’ve seen him in these black fits before, although never quite as bad as this, and they don’t last for ever.’

I hope you’re right, Helen thought grimly.

Tom supervised Oliver’s application of his make-up, waited as he changed into his costume. Orlando began to appear again out of the white-faced, mechanically moving Oliver.

Helen sat in an armchair watching, and listening to Tom’s brisk instructions. Once or twice she went outside to bring them coffee in paper cups from the vending machine beside the stage door.

Soon a stagehand peered into the dressing room.

‘Ten minutes.’

‘I must do a quick round of everyone else,’ Tom said. ‘You’re not the only actor in this show.’ There was no question that he would betray his anxiety to Oliver.

When he had gone, Oliver’s reflection in the wide mirror stared back at Helen. He looked odd with his layer of lurid make-up.

‘Don’t go, will you?’ he said.

‘No, I won’t go if you’d like me to stay here.’

The head reappeared in the doorway. ‘Five minutes. On stage, Oliver.’

He stood up, then slammed his fist down so hard on the table that the clutter of tubes and jars rattled.