‘Interrupt!’ he ejaculated as if she talked nonsense.

He looked at his watch, groaned, and said rapidly: ‘You’ve come about this job? From Mrs Greenacres, aren’t you?’

She wondered who Mrs Greenacres could be? An employment agent? She hunted desperately for the right phrase, the authentic language.

‘I understood you required a dresser and I would be pleased to apply.’ Should she have added ‘sir’?

‘It’s for Miss Helena Hamilton,’ he said rapidly. ‘Her own dresser who’s been with her for years—for a long time—has been taken ill. I explained to Mrs Greenacres. Photograph call for nine in the morning and first dress-rehearsal tomorrow night. We open on Thursday. The dressing’s heavy. Two quick changes and so on. I suppose you’ve got references?’

Her mouth was dry. She said: ‘I haven’t brought—’ and was saved by the telephone bell. He plunged back into the office and she heard him shout ‘Vulcan’ into the receiver. ‘Grantley, here,’ he said. ‘Oh, hallo, darling. Look, I’m desperately sorry, but I’ve been held up or I’d have rung you before. For God’s sake apologize for me. Try and keep them going till I get there. I know, I know. Not a smell of one until—’ the voice became suddenly muffled. She caught isolated words. ‘I think so…yes, I’ll ask…yes…Right. ‘Bye, darling.’

He darted out, now wearing a hat and struggling into a raincoat. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘Miss—’

‘Tarne.’

‘Miss Tarne. Can you start right away? Miss Hamilton’s things are in her dressing-room. They need to be unpacked and hung out tonight. There’ll be a lot of pressing. The cleaners have been in but the room’s not ready. You can finish in the morning but she wants the things that can’t be ironed—I wouldn’t know—hung out. Here are the keys. We’ll see how you get on and fix up something definite tomorrow if you suit. The night-watchman’s there. He’ll open the room for you. Say I sent you. Here!’

He fished out a wallet, found a card and scribbled on it. ‘He is a bit of a stickler: you’d better take this.’

She took the card and the keys. ‘Tonight?’ she said. ‘Now?’

‘Well, can you?’

‘I—yes. But—’

‘Not worrying about after-hours, are you?’

‘No.’

For the first time he seemed, in the darkish foyer, to be looking closely at her. ‘I suppose,’ he muttered, ‘it’s a bit—’ and stopped short.

Martyn said in a voice that to herself sounded half-choked: ‘I’m perfectly trustworthy. You spoke of references. I have—’

‘Oh, yes, yes,’ he said. ‘Good. That’ll be OK then. I’m late. Will you be all right? You can go through the house. It’s raining outside. Through there, will you? Thank you. Goodnight.’

Taking up her suitcase, she went through the door he swung open and found herself in the theatre.