He walked over to Laure and slipped his hand inside the waistband of her trousers and pulled her to him. She leant against him, feeling every bone against hers. He nuzzled her neck and she inhaled his smell which she so loved. ‘Is it safe?’

‘No. And?’

Milos emerged from the green room bearing plates of sandwiches that had been shipped in from nearby cafes. These were handed around and the audience sat on the benches and floor to eat. Tomas settled on the floor and pulled Laure down beside him.

The lights dimmed. The yellow curtains whisked back.

‘Oh,’ said Laure.

The Pierrot prince and Lucia, his puppet master, faced the audience. Marionette and master were yoked together but, she now realised, she had been mistaken in assuming the puppet master possessed the power. The centre of gravity belonged to the Pierrot and always had done.

The violin struck up, its sensuous, lustrous, grief-stricken notes paving the way. Pierrot stood up to confront his Gethsemane and began his journey to his death.

The wooden limbs were molten with feeling. He was an innocent and, yet, this Pierrot knew everything. He was telling of suffering, of oppression, of loving, martyrdom and of death-in-life. He was baring his soul.

He plucked out the first string. Look at me. To be a resistant you must first know despair.

Only inches behind him, his puppet master was forced to metamorphose from manipulator to impotence. If he, Pierrot, was to look down into the whistling abyss, so must Lucia.

‘Don’t cry,’ said Tomas in her ear. ‘It’s a good thing. He refuses to give in to the master. He refuses to be mastered. He chooses annihilation. He chooses freedom even if it means death.’

She turned her face into his chest and wept uncontrollably. Tomas stroked her hair. ‘But… remember the Pierrot comes back each time. He is us. He is us together.’

She spread out her hand and felt for the heartbeat under Tomas’s pale skin and narrow ribcage.

The curtains shut and what remained of Pierrot vanished.

Speeches were being made. A tall, dark-haired girl was declaiming with emphatic gestures. She was followed by several others equally fervent. The speeches came to an end and Lucia unrolled a film screen in front of the stage.

‘Listen to me,’ said Tomas above Laure’s bent head. ‘The world will survive whoever is in power. But let’s understand we don’t need prophets. What we need is decency and honour. And work.’

A projector was switched on.

‘Forbidden film,’ Tomas explained.