On the third floor, along a dark mahogany corridor from the stairs, there was a blackboard outside the Music Room on which someone had written WELCOME TO THE CLASS OF ’59. There were a lot of them: there had been two new intakes each term during 1959. The room was already full of people wearing name-tags who laughed and talked very loudly. The tinkle of glasses and the tinkle of laughter was almost, after a while, indivisible. When Terence Blue made his entrance there was a slightly perceptible hush for a moment and then voices cried Hello Terence, Hi Terence and the noise rose again. Terence Blue smilingly waved away his name-tag because Terence Blue was the most famous of them all. He was a film star: his latest film, Diversions, a trendy sexy Hollywood thriller, was on in cinemas all over the world; he was rich, he was famous, he had made it, completely. He most certainly didn’t need a name-tag pinned about his person.

Molly McKenzie, who still stood with Anthony Bonham, held a glass of wine. She wondered if the wine would mix with the large vodka she’d given herself courage with, fanned herself with the List of Students as she watched Terence Blue’s entrance, and then said very quietly so that only Anthony could hear, yet her voice was wistful rather than flippant, ‘Think of this Tony: that wonderful stud of our youth can’t do it any more.’

Anthony looked at Molly in surprise, wondering if he’d understood her correctly but just at that moment he was accosted by someone whose name he couldn’t remember.

‘Hello darling,’ he said heartily.

Molly drifted off to talk to somebody else, stretched for another glass of wine from the first year student who was acting, today at least (and probably many more days, thought Molly wryly), as a waitress.

Terence Blue saw Molly, came across, kissed her and she saw a look in his eyes – a question; wished she had not spoken like that to Anthony; kissed him back and then just for a moment rested her hand on his cheek. It’s all right darling, of course it is. Almost at once he was dragged away.

But some drinks later Anthony Bonham came back looking for Molly, took her arm so that – he knew – his hand touched the side of her breast.

‘What did you mean?’ he said, and Molly knew what he was asking her, knew both things he was asking her.

‘I was just joking,’ she said, shrugging, moving away from him imperceptibly. But Anthony, who had once known her very well, looked at her carefully.

‘No you weren’t,’ he said ‘I know you Molly.’ And Anthony Bonham, who had been jealous of Terence Blue for thirty-six years, smiled to himself with pleasure, to think that Terence Blue had problems.