With a feeling of gratitude and timid security she breakfasted in the greenroom, and afterwards explored the empty passage, finding at the far end an unlocked and unused dressing-room. To this room she brought her own suitcase and here, with a chair propped under the door handle, she stripped and washed in icy water. In clean clothes, with her toilet complete, and with a feeling of detachment, as if she herself looked on from a distance at these proceedings, she crossed the stage and went out through the side door and up the alleyway into Carpet Street.

It was a clean sunny morning. The air struck sharply at her lips and nostrils and the light dazzled her. A van had drawn up outside the Vulcan and men were lifting furniture from it. There were cleaners at work in the foyer and a telegraph boy came out whistling. Carpet Street was noisy with traffic. Martyn turned left and walked quickly downhill until she came to a corner shop called Florian. In the window a girl in a blue overall was setting out a large gilt basket of roses. The door was still locked, but Martyn, emboldened by fresh air and a sense of freedom and adventure, tapped on the window and when the girl looked up, pointed to the roses and held up Mr Grantley’s card. The girl smiled and, leaving the window, came to let her in.

Martyn said: ‘I’m sorry to bother you but Mr Grantley at the Vulcan told me to get some roses for Miss Helena Hamilton. He didn’t give me any money and I’m afraid I haven’t got any. Is this all very irregular and tiresome?’

‘That will be quayte OK,’ the girl said in a friendly manner. ‘Mr Grantley has an account.’

‘Perhaps you know what sort of rose I should get,’ Martyn suggested. She felt extraordinarily light and rather loquacious. ‘You see, I’m Miss Hamilton’s dresser but I’m new and I don’t know what she likes.’

‘Red would be quayte in order, I think. There are some lovely Bloody Warriors just in.’ She caught Martyn’s eye and giggled. ‘Well, they do think of the weirdest names, don’t they? Look: aren’t they lovelies?’

She held up a group of roses with drops of water clinging to their half-opened petals. ‘Gorgeous,’ she said, ‘aren’t they? Such a colour.’

Martyn, appalled at the price, took a dozen. The girl looked curiously at her and said: ‘Miss Hamilton’s dresser. Fancy! Aren’t you lucky?’ and she was vividly reminded of Fred Badger.

‘I feel terribly lucky this morning,’ she said and was going away when the girl, turning pink under her makeup, said: ‘Pardon me asking but I don’t suppose you could get me Miss Hamilton’s autograph. I’d be ever so thrilled.’

‘I haven’t even seen her yet but I’ll do my best.’