The staring match continued. And then she breathed a little easier. ‘One or two people had commented as such, yes. But I could never see it myself. Even when …’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Look, what is this about? Is all this really necessary?’

‘It is. I’m just trying to—’

She stood up. ‘I must get things ready. I must get on!’

Now he spoke calmly, with a certain coldness: ‘I need to know what happened on that night, the final night of The Moon Awakes. That’s all.’

‘Why?’ There was a tremor to her voice.

Hobbes turned in his chair to look at her. He paused to bring his thoughts together, before asking the question plainly: ‘Jeannie, did something happen on that night? Something you don’t like to talk about? Or even think about too much?’

It took her a while, a long while.

‘Yes.’

He could barely hear her. But it was enough.

‘Please. Sit down. Let’s go through this.’

He waited. Jeannie Watts looked doubtful. She nibbled at her lips, and her hands didn’t know what to do with themselves. She picked up a lace antimacassar from the back of an armchair, then put it down again, scrunched up.

Then she wiped at her face and came back to the table.

He opened his bag and removed a sheet of paper. He said, ‘I found this recently.’

‘Is it a playbill?’ She took it from his hands and studied it intently. ‘I haven’t seen one of these in years.’

‘That must have been a very exciting time for you.’

‘Oh, it was!’ She read out a line of text from it: ‘“The glittering debut of a major talent. Miss Jeannie Watts stars in a new production of The Moon Awakes, written and directed by Leonard Graves.”’

Hobbes watched her carefully. The words emboldened her, and her face relaxed a little. He saw a glimpse of her youth.

‘How wonderful it sounds! And rather sad, don’t you think?’

‘In what way?’ he asked.

‘The glittering debut led to very little else. I performed in a few more plays, and then gave up. I left the theatre, and started a new career, working in retail, clothing stores, fashion houses. These days I work for a mail-order catalogue. I’m a section manager …’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Miss Watts?’

‘Yes?’

‘Have you ever played a character called Adeline?’

Hobbes was testing her, to see what reaction the question might bring. And it had a profound effect on her. Jeannie Watts looked surprised to begin with, and then a little fearful.

‘No … no, I don’t think so …’

‘You can’t recall?’

‘Is this another script by Leonard Graves?’

‘Yes, it might be.’

‘Let me see …’ She counted off her roles on her fingers. ‘I’ve played a lady’s maid, and poor haunted Flora. I was Imogen, and Anna Kreeley, and …’

She stopped speaking. Hobbes could see the puzzlement in her eyes, as his question continued to trouble her. But instead of pursuing it, he drew her attention back to the playbill. ‘When I first saw this, I assumed it was Mary Estelle Graves in the photo. But then I looked more closely.’