‘I know I know but she hasn’t done any acting before. I’ve got quite a few scenes with her and she’s – it’s charming in a way what she does I suppose but it’s not –’ he shrugged helplessly ‘– right.’ Harry stretched on the couch, took off one of his socks. ‘Why is it that people think everyone can act, that anyone can do it? Ah shit it’s a stupid profession now, it’s not like when we started, it’s about stars and the Network Centre controller having a say in everybody’s casting, and money, and divorce announcements to the press, and gossip, no wonder people have started calling us luvvies.’

‘Perhaps it was always like that only we were young and idealistic and didn’t see.’

‘No,’ said Harry firmly. ‘When we started it was about acting, about our work.’ He took off his other sock, lay back on the sofa, stared up at the white curlicues on the ceiling. ‘Perhaps it’ll come round again, acting,’ he said. ‘Something will happen, telly and marketing will lose their stranglehold, the world will explode, something.’

‘In the meantime,’ said Franny handing him the last of the chocolates, ‘Merry Christmas courtesy of Triumph Telephones.’

The couch turned into a bed where Harry stayed the night.

‘Franny,’ he said at the bathroom door as she was cleaning her teeth in her voluminous pink nightie.

She made a noise to indicate that she was listening.

‘We’re both earning quite a lot of money now, and I’ve got my house. Would you – think of buying a couple of flats somewhere together – not living together –’ as her face popped up from the basin in surprise, her mouth covered in toothpaste ‘– but you know, together, near each other. Next door maybe. ‘

Frances spat into the basin, wiped her mouth with her face flannel, stood upright and looked at Harry, frowning slightly.

‘You mean – grow old together?’

Harry looked a bit self-conscious. ‘Something like that, like what you were talking about earlier. We wouldn’t be living together but we’d be – there.’

He’d somehow expected her to be pleased, to say yes straight away.

‘Can I think about it?’ said Frances slowly.

‘Darling of course.’ But he at once felt sad. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea, perhaps he was drunk, perhaps he should just wait till he was ready for Copperfield Hall, perhaps he should set up somewhere with a friend, a gay friend. But Michael is dead and all the gays I really know well are either old lovers or ridiculous. Or ridiculous old lovers. I couldn’t live with them.

She kissed him. She smelt of toothpaste and cleansing lotion. Her face looked quite different without make-up, rounder somehow. Harry seldom saw her without her make-up, carefully applied.