‘I suppose Vivian’s state of mind might have had something to do with this trouble in Europe,’ suggested Mr Foster. He shook his head and his jowls wobbled. ‘A bad business.’

‘Yes, I expect so. Awful timing, rather stole her thunder. I can’t imagine that we’re going to get much coverage in the newspapers, not with Germany declaring war on Russia and France.’ Mrs Foster heaved a sigh. ‘Such a shame when we’ve pulled it off so well in the end.’

‘Yes, most unfortunate timing. It’s left me wondering whether her marrying was so essential after all.’ Mrs Foster couldn’t tell if her husband was being sardonic.

‘Oh yes, more so now than ever.’

‘How do you make that out?’

‘Well, if we do become embroiled in this war, men will be yet thinner on the ground.’

‘You astound me, my dear.’

‘Do I? That’s nice. After all these years.’

11

‘HOWIE DARLING, HAVE you seen the papers?’ Beryl had taken to calling Howard Howie ever since she discovered it was his mother’s pet name for him. It rather irritated him. She skipped towards him the moment he entered the theatre. Her richly coloured scarves trailed after her, saffron, scarlet and ochre; it looked as though she was alight. Certainly her eyes sparkled and glittered.

Howard yawned. He’d been kept awake all night by a party in the public house across the street. Several of the customers had taken the King’s shilling and then quickly passed it on to the landlord; singing and the sound of breaking glass had kept him from sleep.

‘I don’t tend to care about anything much before eleven a.m.,’ he replied with a studied indifference. It wasn’t true: he did care, but he didn’t need to read the papers. They had been the same for a week now. The very day after war was announced, Burberry outfitters started advertising the sale of ‘complete uniforms’, as if the war was nothing more than a fashion statement. There were urgent cries for civilian men to join the army, to show the Germans what they were made of, to show the King devotion; the swell of national pride was enormous. The papers yelled that if the worst came to the worst, they could depend on every last British man.

Nobody had any real idea as to what the worst might be, or if they did, they were quite sensibly keeping their voices low.

Warrington strode on to the stage, his very presence calling for quiet amongst the company. The boards creaked, familiar and reassuring, but he looked unusually sweaty and agitated. Like so many in the streets at the moment, he oozed a potent and peculiar cocktail of exhilaration and anxiety. ‘We’ll have to start without Jack and Will,’ he announced. He didn’t sound irritated as he usually was if an actor was tardy.

‘Where are they?’ asked Beryl. She had been awarded a line at long last and was itching to let it loose.

‘Attesting.’

‘Attesting?’

‘Taking the pledge,’ Warrington clarified with an undeniable touch of pride and wild excitement. Beryl still looked a little confused. ‘They are volunteering.’