‘I come in, shut the door, go up to Helena, and say: “You’ve guessed, haven’t you? He’s taken the only way out. I suppose we must be said to be free.” It all seems to fit so very neatly, doesn’t it? Except that for us it’s a year or more out of date.’ He looked at Alleyn. ‘I really don’t know,’ he added, ‘why I’m talking like this. It’s probably most injudicious. But I’ve had a good deal to think about the last two days and Ben’s death has more or less put the crown on it. What am I to do about this theatre? What are we to do about the show? What’s going to happen about—’ He broke off and looked at the wall that separated his room from Martyn’s. ‘Look here, Alleyn,’ he said. ‘You’ve no doubt heard all there is to hear and more about my private life. And Helena’s. It’s the curse of this job that one is perpetually in the spotlight.’

He seemed to expect some comment on this. Alleyn said lightly: ‘The curse of greatness?’

‘Nothing like it, I’m afraid. See here, Alleyn. There are some women who just can’t be fitted into any kind of ethical or sociological pigeon-hole. Ellen Terry was one of them. It’s not that they are above reproach in the sense most people mean by the phrase, but that they are outside it. They behave naturally in an artificial set-up. When an attachment comes to an end, it does so without any regrets or recrimination. Often, with an abiding affection on both sides. Do you agree?’

‘That there are such women? Yes?’

‘Helena is one. I’m not doing this very well but I do want you to believe that she’s right outside this beastly thing. It won’t get you any further and it may hurt her profoundly if you try to establish some link between her relationship with her husband or anyone else and the circumstances of his death. I don’t know what you said to each other but I do know it would never occur to her to be on guard for her own sake.’

‘I asked her to tell me about Otto Brod.’

Poole’s reaction to this was surprising. He looked exasperated. ‘There you are!’ he said. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. Otto Brod! A fantastic irresponsible affair that floated out of some midsummer notion of Vienna and Strauss waltzes. How the devil you heard of it I don’t know, though I’ve no doubt that at the time she fluttered him like a plume in her bonnet for all to see. I never met him but I understand he was some young intellectual with a pale face, no money and an over-developed faculty for symbolic tragedy. Why bring him in?’