Dougal breathed in deeply. Up went his chin. His eyes, startlingly blue, flashed under his tawny brows. He was six feet one inch in height and looked more.

‘That’s the stuff,’ said Maggie. ‘I think you’ll want to make it very, very Scots, Highland Scots. They’ll call you The Red Macbeth,’ she added, a little hurriedly. ‘It is your very own name, sweetie, isn’t it – Dougal Macdougal?’

‘Oh, aye. It’s ma’ given name.’

‘That’s the ticket, then.’

They fell into a discussion of whether he should, in fact, use the dialect, and decided against it as it would entail all the other lairds doing so too.

‘Just porters and murderers, then,’ said Maggie. ‘If Perry says so, of course. You won’t catch me doing it.’ She tried it out. ‘“Come tae ma wummen’s breasts and tak’ ma milk for gall.” Really, it doesn’t sound too bad.’

‘Let’s have one tiny little drink to it. Do say yes, Maggie.’

‘All right. Yes. The merest suggestion, though.’

‘OK. Whisky? Wait a moment.’

He went to the end of the room and pressed a button. Two doors rolled apart, revealing a little bar.

‘Good Heavens!’ Maggie exclaimed.

‘I know. Rather much, isn’t it? But that’s Teddy’s taste.’

She went over to the bar and perched on a high stool. He found the whisky and soda and talked about his part. ‘I hadn’t thought big enough,’ he said. ‘A great, faulty giant. Yes. Yes, you’re right about it, of course. Of course.’

‘Steady. If that’s mine.’

‘Oh! All right. Here you are, lovey. What shall we drink to?’

‘Obviously, Macbeth.’

He raised his glass. Maggie thought: He’s a splendid figure. He’ll make a good job of the part, I’m sure. But he said in a deflated voice: ‘No, no, don’t say it. It might be bad luck. No toast,’ and drank quickly as if she might cut in.

‘Are you superstitious?’ she asked.

‘Not really. It was just a feeling. Well, I suppose I am, a bit. You?’

‘Like you. Not really. A bit.’

‘I don’t suppose there’s one of us who isn’t. Just a bit.’

‘Peregrine,’ Maggie said at once.

‘He doesn’t seem like it, certainly. All that stuff about keeping it under our hats even if we do fancy it.’

‘Still. Two successful productions and not a thing happening at either of them,’ said Maggie.

‘There is that, of course.’ He waited for a moment and then in a much too casual manner said: ‘They were going to do it in the Dolphin, you know. Twenty years or so ago. When it opened.’

‘Why didn’t they?’

‘The leading man died or something. Before they’d come together. Not a single rehearsal, I’m told. So it was dropped.’

‘Really?’ said Maggie. ‘What are the other rooms like? More nudes?’

‘Shall I show you?’