They set about nailing the sanded and painted wallboard facing to the set. The stairs curved up to the landing and the door to Duncan’s room. The red arras was hung and dropped in above the stairway. Below the landing a tunnel pierced the wall, making a passage to the south entry.

Peregrine on his way to the rehearsal room saw this and found it all good. The turntables, right and left, presented outside walls. The fireplace appeared. The gallows came into view and was anchored.

It was all smooth, he thought, and moved on into the rehearsal room. He had called the scene – he thought of it as the Aleppo scene – when the witches greet Macbeth. He was a little early but most of them were there. Banquo was there.

If they had been the crew of a ship, he thought, Banquo would have been the sea lawyer. He knew what Banquo had been like as a schoolboy. Always closeted with other smaller boys who listened furtively to him, always behind the dubious plan but never answerable. Always the troublemaker but never openly so. A boy to be dreaded.

Peregrine said: ‘Good morning, everybody.’

‘Good morning, Perry.’

Yes. There he was with two of the witches. Silly little things listening to his nonsense, whatever it was. The first witch, Rangi, hadn’t arrived yet. He would not listen to Banquo, Peregrine thought. He goes his own way. He too is an actor and a good one. For that I respect him.

Banquo detached himself from the witches and made for him.

‘Happy, Perry?’ he asked, coming close to him. ‘Sorry! I shouldn’t ask, should I? It’s not done. Unlucky.’

‘Very happy, Bruce.’

‘We haven’t got the Boy Beautiful this morning?’

‘Do you mean William Smith? He’ll be here.’

‘He’s dropped the hyphen, of course. Poor little chap.’

Peregrine, inside himself, did what actor’s call a double take. His heart skipped a beat. He looked at Barrabell, who smiled at him. Damn! Peregrine thought. He knows. Oh damn, damn, damn.

Rangi came in and glanced at the clock. Just in time.

‘Second witches scene,’ Peregrine said. ‘Witches on from the three points of the compass. There will be a rumble of thunder. Just a hint. You arrive at exactly the same time and at dead centre. Rangi through the passage. Each with a dishevelled marketing bag. Blondie Prompt. Wendy OP. It wasn’t together last time. You’ll have to get a sign. Rangi’s got the farthest to walk. The other two are equal. Perhaps you should all have sticks? I don’t want any hesitation. Wait for the thunder and start when it stops. Try that. Ready. Rumble, rumble. Now.’

The three figures appeared, hobbled on, met. ‘Much better,’ said Peregrine. ‘Once more. This time greet each other. Rangi centre. A smacking kiss on each of his cheeks simultaneously by each of you. Close up. In front. Together. Right. Dialogue.’