Ms Winn had not finished, however, and after thanking Pearly she said that as a surprise addition to the night there would be the opportunity for everyone to choose a garment from among the costumes and wear it for the rest of the evening. Pearly had rather hoped to slip away after the formalities, but the president announced that the mayor would set an example by making the first selection, and so he entered the new room with its racks of richly coloured but often well-worn costumes and boxes of cuirasses, sceptres, crowns, jesters’ hats, and First World War uniforms. He chose a flowing black velvet gown so that he didn’t have to take any clothes off. ‘We used it for Robert de Baudricourt in Saint Joan,’ said Ms Winn, who was able to recall a character assignation for most of the costumes selected. Gumbo chose a toga and an anachronistic multi-coloured medieval Florentine hat. He loved the game, being especially interested in those women whose costumes required them to shed existing clothing.

Before everybody had managed to make a choice, however, the annex electricity failed, and the people, loud in humorous surprise, crowded back into the theatre foyer. Even Ms Winn was somewhat at a loss, but it was a moment made for Gumbo to shine despite the dying of the light. He asked where the fuse box was and after inspecting it said the new annex had activated the overload switch. Just a teething problem he said, and he turned out the porch lights to prevent a recurrence. ‘Practical skills as well,’ enthused Ms Winn, and gripped his arm briefly in admiration. ‘I knew you were just the sort of man the society needs. Stage manager even. There’s a modest remuneration for the right person.’

‘I’ve never acted in anything,’ said Gumbo modestly as those people still to claim costumes streamed back into the annex.

‘Life’s a play. We’re all actors day to day before an audience of our fellows. Give me your phone number, and we can have a talk about it all. You could come in at a quiet time and have a look around. I’ll arrange a complimentary ticket to The Seagull. It’s our main production for the season. No one does wistfulness quite like Chekhov.’ Gumbo had no suitable reply but was happy to give his email and phone number, and when she went quickly to get biro and paper, he flared his toga and inspected the soft, Florentine hat. ‘I’ll bring you another wine too,’ she said. It was unnecessary given his beers at home, but she wasn’t to know that.