Artair walks to the bus stop and waits until a bus appears like a wraith out of the rain that is sweeping in from Nova Scotia and he settles down for the ride into town. The rain is shot-blasting the windows. Two old people huddle on the worn, weary seats. (Artair does not see himself as old; the life force runs strongly in his veins.) At the library he discovers that the posters are already up on the advertising board: The Wind in the Willows, all-new Easter Holiday Production, and that cheers him up somewhat. There is a notice of an extraordinary meeting of the town council to discuss the financial shortfall after some disastrous investments in Credit Default Swaps, which he has heard of but doesn’t fully understand. But then it seems the bankers didn’t either. The council tax is going to have to go up. But there is no email from El Camino Drive, not even an acknowledgement that his letter has been received. He knows that these people have assistants who have assistants, so it’s probably in the works. As he leaves the library, he sees that little shit from the bank and without moving too suddenly – his acting training helps here – he turns to examine with deep interest the offer of a savings scheme from the Spanish bank which has apparently taken over the Devon & Duchy Building Society, which once invested the council’s money. In his mind (it is method acting) he’s considering where to place the Tubal money when it arrives. He may place it with these sensible Spanish fellows. He’s instructed Gerald to go for punitive interest on the two and a half months unpaid. He’s also posted his copy of Richard 111, signed by Gielgud, Richardson and Olivier in 1953, to Fraser’s in the Strand, who sell autographs, for appraisal. On their website he found that their top sellers were Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt and Michael Jackson, but he was pleased to see that they were offering a publicity still of Olivier and Vivien Leigh for £1,500 so he has high hopes that his Richard 111, signed by all the top theatrical knights, is worth double, at least. And this is the life of the actor-director-manager or, he thinks, a heroic but precarious roller-coaster ride. Art and finance – not many men have the mettle for it. The Richard 111 was given to him by an actor called Fléance Conyers who was keen to sodomise him when he was at drama school. Fléance played Lord Grey, the brother of the Queen’s consort, for two performances in Olivier’s production.

Back at the boathouse he eats an onion-and-potato pasty, his eleventh of the week, and looks out across the estuary, which has been flattened by the rain. The seabirds are flying in low, grimly defensive. The wheelhousing of the fishing boat is half submerged. He imagines there are palm trees on El Camino Drive.