‘He was only following the correct procedure for a sex symbol,’ said Pauline dryly, ‘leaving a woman of his own age, he was fifty wasn’t he, and so was Elvira, to marry a girl of eighteen. For all we know his agent told him to do it to boost his image, foster the myth of his sexiness.’ She leant back in the deckchair, stretched slightly. ‘Well, that’s the correct procedure for ageing men of course – a young lover. Women who try it only get laughed at.’

Molly started as if she’d been hit, looked sharply at Pauline. Pauline’s eyes were hidden by her sunglasses. Something there still, in the air, in the sunny garden.

‘Anyway,’ Molly said rather coolly after a moment, ‘the point is I very foolishly said something about this to Anthony at the reunion, I mean I just said something silly like Terence couldn’t do it any more, just a throwaway really because we all know Terence used to be the Academy stud. I felt ashamed after I’d said it, wished I hadn’t. Terence genuinely liked women and I think I was lucky – lots of us were lucky – to have our first sexual experiences with someone like that rather than – well – some slob or someone who didn’t know what they were doing. You had some good times with him too Pauly, I remember, you must have some nice feelings about him still.’

Pauline said nothing, stared at the river.

‘And I thought Anthony might have remembered what I said on Saturday and that if I – if I explained it to him he might be able to – I mean Anthony might be able to do something sensible, talk to someone. I mean we’ve known Terence all our lives practically,’ Molly finished lamely.

Pauline shrugged. ‘Anthony’s at Stratford. I told you on the phone. You’ll find him there.’

Molly ignored the chill in Pauline’s tone. She rummaged in her bag for the Evening Standard, thrust it at Pauline: FAMOUS FILM STAR: RAPE CHARGE and Terence’s familiar, smiling face.

‘Look Pauly, we knew him when he was a kid, when we were all kids, he’s part of our past, and we know very well the sort of person he is. Shouldn’t one do something?’

But Pauline only shrugged, looked briefly at the story. ‘People change,’ she said and the newspaper fell on to the grass. Terence Blue smiled upwards.

Neither of them said anything more. Still Pauline’s eyes were hidden by her sunglasses. A boat came into view, slowly and quietly moving along the river, a green boat decorated with brightly painted flowers. They saw its name: Mary Malone.

Finally Molly said, ‘You don’t like me still Pauly, do you.’ It was a statement not a question and it hung there between them in the hot Chiswick afternoon.