‘That was she who stabbed,’ agreed Molly.

His dismay was so genuine that Molly found herself actually patting his arm, to console him, what a nice man Frances has found, she thought. The last bell rang and they returned to their seats.

‘Are you going round to see Anthony?’ said Frances at the door to the auditorium. ‘Well yes of course you are, see you there, perhaps we can all have a drink?’

‘See you there,’ said Molly. She was very fond of Frances but her heart sank slightly.

At the end of the performance Molly clapped wildly and completely genuinely, like any enthusiastic theatregoer, stamping her feet with the rest of the audience; she couldn’t remember when she’d last done that. I’m proud to be a member of this profession, she thought, surprising herself.

She and Frances and Milton arrived in Anthony’s dressing-room at the same time; he was still hyped up, talking fast; Molly bent down and kissed his head as he took off his make-up.

‘You were wonderful darling,’ she said, and for once meant every word.

He waved his arms about, poured drinks, Frances and Molly understood, Milton Werner looked slightly bemused having never himself come off stage after playing a huge part. But Anthony, hyped up though he was, was adept at giving visitors a drink and then herding them away so that he could go about his business, he’d been doing it for years. Within twenty-five minutes they had all said goodbye and Molly and Anthony were on the way to the restaurant. Molly had insisted on taking her car.

‘You’re not going all the way back to London tonight?’

‘I’m called in the morning,’ said Molly, lying, ‘for this heap of shit I’m doing.’

Anthony looked disgruntled. ‘I thought at least you’d stay,’ he said crossly.

‘Don’t bully me Tony, I’ll drive you home first,’ said Molly.

At the restaurant just outside the town the waiter smiled in recognition at Anthony. They were ushered to a discreet table in a far corner. Most of the other customers seemed to be Americans who had seen the play, several of them stopped Anthony as he passed, congratulations on your fine fine performance... thank you thank you.

The waiter brought a bottle of red wine before they’d even sat down.

‘Oh God thanks,’ said Anthony gratefully, and the waiter filled their glasses, handed them menus. ‘Who was that oily Greek Franny was with?’

‘He wasn’t an oily Greek, he was a very pleasant, rich Swiss businessman and hurrah for Fran,’ said Molly primly.

‘He was oily. He bowed for God’s sake.’

Molly burst out laughing. ‘God Tony don’t be so xenophobic!’

Anthony launched into a long and entertaining lecture on xenophobia and the derivation of the word.

Finally, after the main course, he calmed down, relaxed, leant back, looked at Molly.