As she pauses, I watch the figure at the table reach for his mobile and cue a piece of piano music. The music comes from a speaker beside the script. It’s soft, quietly playful, full of tenderness, and unlike what I’ve seen of the performance on stage it’s immediately compelling. Pavel, I think, as the pianist recapitulates the major theme, and then lets his right hand dance away into a series of light-fingered variations.

Beth, meanwhile, has abandoned both the script and the spotlight and is circling the stage in a trance-like series of flourishes that remind me of yesterday’s performance on the beach. Returning to the front of the stage, still borne by the music, she suddenly catches sight of me at the back.

‘Stop!’ She freezes as the music dies, then removes her glasses for a better look. I’m already halfway to the table, penitent, full of excuses. Sorry for barging in. Sorry for stopping the rehearsal in mid flow.

‘Enora?’ She’s shading her eyes with her hand. ‘Is that you?’

‘It is. Mea culpa. I shouldn’t be here.’

‘Nonsense.’ She leaves the stage and gives me a hug. ‘This is Stephen. It’s his script. His idea.’

Stephen must be in his eighties. Age has been kind to him and he has a nice smile. He struggles to his feet and offers a courtly handshake.

‘A pleasure.’ He nods down at the script on his desk. ‘It’s a sketch for something more substantial. We’re just trying out ideas at the moment. Words and music.’

‘Beethoven.’ Beth seizes the script, and insists I take a look. ‘Next year’s his two hundred and fiftieth anniversary. Everything plays into a woman called Josephine, letters, memories, music, everything we can lay our hands on. This woman is the love of his life. He worships her. He composes for her. But she’s forever having other men’s babies. It’s the saddest thing. Drama-wise, the possibilities are endless. Everything will be there in Stephen’s script, but most of all we will hear it in the music. We’re calling it Immortal Beloved. Is it a celebration? Of course it is. But will we weep as well? Alas, yes …’

Without a further glance at Stephen, she threads her arm through mine. Moments later, we’re sitting in a room outside the main body of the hall while she pours two mugs of coffee from a Thermos.

‘Black OK?’

‘Black’s fine. You play Josephine, am I right?’

‘That’s the plan, yes. Stephen’s idea, not mine. This is lovely, having you here.’ She nods towards the open door that leads to the hall. ‘Immortal Beloved. What did you think?’

‘Very interesting idea.’