‘Robin will be there in about half an hour depending on a cab…Lovely…Mrs Smith, I suppose William told you what happened last night at the theatre?…Yes…Yes, I see. I’m afraid they were all in a great state. It’s Sir Dougal. He’s died…Yes, a fearful blow to us all…I don’t know. They’ll tell the company what’s been decided at four this afternoon. I don’t think William need go down. He’ll be here and we’ll tell him…Yes, tragic. It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?…Yes. Goodbye.’

She hung up and said to Robin, ‘Go and get ready,’ and to Crispin: ‘Do you want to go, Cip? Not if you don’t.’

‘I think I’d like to.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yes. I can see the infant’s on his best behaviour, can’t I?’ Robin from the doorway gave a complicated derisory noise and left the room.

‘There’s always that,’ said their mother. ‘There’s just one thing, Cip. Do you know what happened last night? Sir Dougal died – yes. But how? What happened? Did you see? Have you thought?’

‘I’m not sure. I saw – it. The head. Full-face but only for a split second.’

‘Yes?’

‘Lots of people in the audience saw it but I think they just thought it was an awfully good dummy, and lots didn’t see it at all, it was so quick.’

‘Did Robin?’

‘I’m not sure. I don’t think he’s sure either but he doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to talk about it.’

‘The thing is, young William didn’t see anything. He was waiting offstage. He only knows Macbeth is dead. So don’t say anything to upset that, will you? If you can, keep right off the whole subject. OK?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s fine. Here he comes.’

Crispin went out to the hall and Emily thought: He’s a nice boy. Old for his years but that’s rather nice too. She went up to the ex-nursery and hunted out a game of Chinese Checkers, one of Monopoly, a couple of memo pads.

Then she went downstairs and looked out of the window. No sign of her sons so they must have picked up a cab. She went to the kitchen and found her part-time cook making a horseradish sauce. There was a good smell of beef in the air.

‘Richard’s spending the day with friends but we’ve got an extra small boy for lunch, Annie.’

‘That’s OK,’ said Annie, whose manner was very free and easy.

‘I’ll lay the table.’

‘Doreen’s obliging. Doreen,’ screamed Annie and her daughter came in, a lanky girl of fifteen with a simper.

‘Say good morning to Mrs Jay, Dor, and lay an extra place.’

Emily shook hands with Doreen, who giggled.

‘Will the boss be in?’ asked Annie.

‘If he can make it. We’re not to wait.’