He edged across the row. The figure did not move until he took the seat next to him whereupon he turned his head slowly and looked at Priest with bloodshot, sunken eyes.

‘You received my message,’ croaked the figure.

‘I did. Prudent of you to exercise discretion,’ Priest remarked. ‘We cannot of course meet in these circumstances.’

‘No,’ the figure agreed. ‘You being the lawyer on the other side and all that.’

Priest turned again and met Dominique Elias’s gaze. He seemed to have aged ten years since they had exchanged words outside the High Court. His face was drawn tight, with pinched cheeks and an etiolated yellow tinge to his skin.

‘So, what now?’

Dominique swallowed. Didn’t respond at first. Instead, he turned his head back to the stage and seemed at peace staring at the curtain. Perhaps, in his mind, a performance of great merit was playing out in front of him; he was nodding rhythmically to some inaudible tune.

‘I remember this theatre from my childhood,’ he said distantly. ‘Such a wonderful place, full of colour and culture. Now look at it. A ruin. All the players dead and all the audience with them.’

‘I’m sorry about what happened to Alexia,’ said Priest, trying to get him to focus. ‘It was undoubtedly a shock.’

Dominique nodded, but it didn’t seem as though he had taken in what Priest had said. Instead he crossed one leg over the other and turned; regarded Priest thoughtfully.

‘I had no real choice in coming here, Mr Priest.’

‘There’s always a choice, Dominique.’

Dominque laughed. ‘We both know that is a fallacy. For creatures that consider ourselves free, we rarely actually are.’

‘You invited me here.’

‘Me? No, no. I sent you the message, but you’re not here at my invitation.’

Priest glanced over his shoulder. If not you, then who? There was a breeze coming from somewhere undetectable and every so often the dull lighting flickered wildly. He leant forward, suddenly conscious of the semi-darkness, the tense stillness of the room.

‘I spoke to him, you know,’ Elias murmured.

‘Who?’

‘The puppet master. The one who is controlling us all.’

Priest hesitated. He? ‘What did he say?’

‘He told me what would happen if I ignored the tug on the strings.’

Dominique had drifted off into himself and was leaning over, almost hunched double in the seat, his breathing heavy and laboured.

He waited for an explanation, afraid to break the silence, as if Elias might shatter if he did. Without warning, Elias sat up and looked at him, his hollow eyes barely visible.

‘Do you mind if you wait here while I try and get the curtain up? It would give me great pleasure to see the stage once more, even in this appalling light.’

‘I’m not going to stop you.’