She left them sitting hunched opposite one another over the board. Outside she bumped into Tom who had run up the stairs two at a time.

‘Couldn’t get away sooner,’ he said. ‘What’s he doing now?’

‘Perfectly okay. He’s playing chess with Darcy.’

Tom took hold of both her hands and kissed her cheek.

Helen looked quickly away down the long spiral of stairs.

‘You and Darcy,’ he said gently, ‘are true friends in need.’

‘So are you,’ Helen countered lightly. ‘Oliver told me about you nursemaiding him.’

‘Ah, but my involvement is entirely due to self-interest.’ Tom was suddenly at his most sardonic. ‘I’ve just been down to the box-office. Do you know, we’re sold out for the run?’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Helen called out after him, not meaning anything to do with his play. But his only answer was a little, cynical laugh.

It was very late when Helen let herself into Follies House that night. She had waited to see whether Oliver would take refuge in drinking after the release of the final curtain. There had been a bottle of whisky, and Oliver had reached for it with the make-up still caked on his face and with Orlando’s white shirt clinging damply to his back after the effort of the last scenes. Helen understood what a toll the long evening had taken.

But Darcy had stepped smoothly in before Oliver could drain his first glass. He had insisted, deaf to Oliver’s mocking complaints, that his brother should come back with him to Mere. And suddenly Oliver had capitulated, too weary to resist the decisions that were being made for him.

Helen and Tom had said a brief goodnight. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he had said. ‘Will you come again?’

She nodded her promise. ‘Yes.’ And had gone home alone to Follies, for once feeling the uncomfortable weight of her solitude. But as soon as the thick oak door swung to behind her, Helen felt a cold shiver running down her spine. Before she could see anything at all in the dimness of the Jacobean hallway she sensed the tension in the air. Then there was a movement in front of her. Pansy was standing like a wraith under the gallery rail. She was wrapped in a dark coat, and with a beret pulled down over her silvery hair, she looked even more like a boy. In one hand she was holding one of her chic leather suitcases and the other was clenched into a small white fist. Her face was turned upwards.

Helen followed her gaze.

Chloe was leaning over the carved baluster.

For a long, long moment the two women stared at each other. Then Chloe said, very softly, ‘Won’t you at least tell me? You’re going to Stephen, aren’t you?’

Pansy’s fist clenched even tighter. ‘I have to be with him, Chloe. Surely it’s better to go to him than bring him here?’