‘As I said, I was brought up by foster parents, the Mortons, here in Hackney. I haven’t moved very far in life, I’m afraid. I was nine years old when the war ended. I used to love hanging around the stage door of the Hackney Empire, and I got to know the doorman there – his name was Albert. Albert Harris. A sweet old man. He’d seen everyone in his time, passing through the doors. Fairbanks, Burton …’

‘Mrs Watts.’

‘Yes, yes. I’m getting to it. But, you see, Albert used to let me in for free. So that’s how I fell in love with the theatre. I had a poor education, and the Mortons had only a little money to spend on me. But the Empire was a paradise: the lights, the music, the thespians. That was a new word I learned. I would stand right at the back of the auditorium, near the exit, and watch as the play unfolded. Better still, I used to adore going backstage, watching the props being carried on and off, everyone milling around. That room full of costumes! It was thrilling! And for those few hours, I was free. Free of my memories, of Mummy and Daddy. Of the noise of the bombs falling, and the explosions.’

The middle-aged woman’s eyes sparkled with the dreams of youth as she spoke.

‘So you decided to pursue a stage career yourself?’

‘Yes, yes. As I could. The good Lord blessed me with a modicum of looks, and I believe I had a fair enough talent. I put in many hours at the theatre, helping out, learning what I could.’

‘You never went to drama school?’

‘Good heavens, no! It all comes from a purely natural place.’

Hobbes finished his tea, and refused another cup. ‘Did you see Mary Estelle Graves on the stage?’

‘I did. Once only. She played Lady Macbeth, in … 1947. But she was getting on a bit by then. It wasn’t a very good performance, according to the critics. The kinder ones called it her “swansong”. The crueller ones … Well, she retired from the stage soon after.’

‘And yourself? What did you think?’

‘Oh, I loved her. She was everything I wanted to be. The very essence of glamour.’

‘Did you get to talk to her?’

‘Not right then, no. My first proper role was young Flora in an adaptation of The Turn of the Screw. And then, as I got a little older, a lady’s maid in a thriller called Don’t Answer the Door. It closed after a week. So I wasn’t expecting much, but then I managed to read for the part of Imogen in Cymbeline. Do you know that play?’

Hobbes shook his head. ‘Not in any detail.’

‘I was lucky enough to be accepted for the role. My first big break. Here, let me see if I can … This is Imogen asking her servant to kill her.’ Jeannie’s voice took on a different hue, lightening, growing younger, yet touched with despair: ‘“Against self-slaughter there is a prohibition so divine, that cravens my weak hand. Come, here’s my heart!”’ She held both hands close to her chest as she said this. And then they opened slowly, and moved apart to reveal the target area.