She says a little water will clear them of the deed, and takes him off, God save the mark, to wash himself.

‘We’ll stop here,’ said Peregrine. ‘I’ve a lot of notes, but it’s shaping up well. Settle down please, everybody.’

They were in the theatre, the current piece having gone on tour. The stage was lit by working lights and the shrouded house waited, empty, expectant, for whatever was to be poured into it.

The assistant stage manager and his assistant shifted chairs on stage for the principals and the rest sat on the stairs. Peregrine laid his notes on the prompter’s table, switched on the lamp and sat down.

He took a minute or two, reading his notes and seeing they were in order.

‘It’s awfully stuffy in here,’ said Maggie suddenly. ‘Breathless, sort of. Does anybody else think so?’

‘The weather’s changed,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s got much warmer.’

Blondie said: ‘I hope it’s not a beastly thunderstorm.’

‘Why?’

‘They give me the willies.’

‘That comes well from a witch!’

‘It’s electrical. I get pins and needles. I can’t help it.’

Ascendant thunder, startling, close, everywhere, rolled up to a sharp definitive crack. Blondie screamed.

‘Sorry!’ she said. She put her fingers in her ears. ‘I can’t help it. Truly. Sorry.’

‘Never mind, child. Come over here,’ said Maggie. She held out her hand. Blondie, answering the gesture rather than the words, ran across and crouched beside her chair.

Rangi said: ‘It’s true, she can’t help it. It affects some people like that.’

Peregrine looked up from his notes. ‘What’s up?’ he asked and then, seeing Blondie: ‘Oh. Oh, I see. Never mind, Blondie. We can’t see the lightning, can we, and the whole thing’ll be over soon. Brace up, there’s a good girl.’

‘Yes. OK.’

She straightened up. Maggie patted her shoulder. Her hand checked and then closed. She looked at the other players, made a long face, and briefly quivered her free hand at them.

‘Are you cold, Blondie?’ she asked.

‘I don’t think so. No. I’m all right. Thank you. Ah!’ she gave a little cry.

There was another roll of thunder; not so close, less precipitant.

‘It’s moving away,’ said Maggie.

It died out in an indeterminate series of three or four thuds and bumps. Then, without warning, the sky opened and the rain crashed down.

‘Overture and Beginners, please,’ Dougal quoted and got his laugh.

By the time, about an hour later, Peregrine had finished his notes and recapped the faulty passages, the rain had stopped almost as abruptly as it began and the actors left the theatre on a calm night with stars shining: brilliant, above the rain-washed air. London glittered. A sense of urgency and excitement was abroad and when Peregrine whistled the opening phrase of a Brandenburg Concerto it might have been a whole orchestra giving it out.