‘Heavens no, never. I saw what it did to my father, being the child of an actor. But I –’ she swept her hand rather theatrically around the reception area ‘– I keep my hand in, as it were, come and sit down.’

In the lounge two old ladies sat in armchairs with covers on them; one was asleep with her mouth open, the other stared fixedly at the television set, which was off. A jaunty upright piano stood in one corner of the room with old sheet music piled on the top and Harry couldn’t help himself, ran his fingers over the keys. The old lady watching the blank screen of the television turned to Harry and smiled at him very sweetly, then turned back to the television. Mrs Beale led Harry to some hard-backed chairs by the window.

‘We have some great sing-songs,’ she said, ‘you’d be surprised how old people remember words of songs even when they forget other things. And how good some of their voices are still.’ She looked at him for a moment and motioned him to sit down. ‘Well, Mr Donaldson?’

Harry cleared his throat, found he felt slightly nervous, as if he was at an audition. ‘I suppose you think this is premature?’ he said. ‘I’m not sixty yet.’

‘Not at all.’

‘I don’t have—’ Harry paused, stared out. There was a small pond in the garden, but it was fenced around by a trellis. Another old woman moved into view walking with a zimmer frame. Oh God, thought Harry, what the fuck am I doing here?

But he forced himself to continue. ‘I don’t have any family,’ he said. ‘And I’ve suddenly realised lately that I haven’t ever really thought about – my future. I don’t want to be suddenly old or ill and have made no – provision.’

Outside in the garden the woman moved infinitely slowly past the pond.

‘Until lately I hadn’t ever thought of being old, being ill, not working. I hadn’t ever thought of – what might happen to me, how I might end up. At least I should know what my options are.’

‘You’ve never been married?’

‘No.’

‘No children?’

‘No.’

‘What about your immediate family?’

‘My parents are dead. I have a sister in Kenya. We exchange Christmas cards.’

‘And what made you suddenly think now, of your future?’

Harold sighed very slightly. ‘My past, I suppose,’ he said. Mrs Beale looked at him shrewdly.

‘Of course we do have medical care, and doctors are attached to Copperfield Hall. But this isn’t a hospital or –’ she paused for a split second ‘– or a hospice.’

‘I understand,’ said Harry. He understood. She had recognised that he was gay.