‘John? I heard him bellowing in here,’ Poole said. ‘Where’s he gone? I want a word with him. And with you, Parry, by the way. It’s about that scene at the window in the second act. You’re not making your exit line. You must top Ben there. It’s most important.’

‘Look, old boy,’ Mr Percival said with agonized intensity, ‘I know. It’s just another of those things. Have you seen what Ben does? Have you seen that business with my handkerchief? He won’t take his hands off me. The whole exit gets messed up.’

‘I’ll see what can be done.’

‘John,’ said Miss Hamilton, ‘is worried about it too, Adam.’

Poole said: ‘Then he should talk to me.’

‘You know what the doctor is.’

‘We all do,’ said Parry Percival, ‘and the public, I fear, is beginning to find out. God, there I go again.’

Poole looked at him. ‘You’ll get along better, I think, Parry, if you deny yourself these cracks against the rest of the company. Rutherford has written a serious play. It’d be a pity if any of us should lose faith in it.’

Percival reddened and made towards the door. ‘I’m just being a nuisance,’ he said. ‘I’ll take myself off and be photographed like a good boy.’ He made an insinuating movement of his shoulders towards Miss Hamilton, and fluttered his hand at her dress. ‘Marvellous,’ he said, ‘a triumph, if the bit-part actor may be allowed to say so.’

The door shut crisply behind him, and Miss Hamilton said: ‘Darling, aren’t you rather high and grand with poor Parry?’

‘I don’t think so. He’s behaving like an ass. He couldn’t play the part. He was born to be a feed.’

‘He’d look it.’

‘If all goes well Ben will be it.’

‘If all goes well! Adam, I’m terrified. He’s—’

‘Are you dressed, Ella? The cameras are ready.’

‘Shoes, please, Martyn,’ said Miss Hamilton. ‘Yes, darling. I’m right.’

Martyn fastened her shoes and then opened the door. Miss Hamilton swept out, lifting her skirts with great elegance. Martyn waited for Poole to follow, but he said: ‘You’re meant to be on-stage. Take make-up and a glass and whatever Miss Hamilton may need for her hair.’

She thanked him and in a flurry gathered the things together. Poole took the Persian lamb coat and stood by the door. She hesitated, expecting him to precede her, but found that he was looking at the cheval-glass. When she followed his gaze it was to be confronted by their images, side by side in the glass.

‘Extraordinary,’ he said abruptly, ‘isn’t it?’ and motioned her to go out.