‘I’m told there were difficulties between you.’

‘Someone has been doing a lot of telling where this production is concerned.’ Jordan turned to the mirror and his reflection glanced accusingly at me. ‘Tirian Kirke is a young actor who is just finding his feet and I think it’s significant that he’s had no formal training – which is to say, he did not attend drama school.’

‘What difference does that make?’

‘It makes a great deal of difference, although I would find it difficult to explain to someone who is not in the profession, particularly …’ he looked at his watch ‘… as we have so little time. Let us just say that he is not entirely giving as a performer. Movement on the stage is a symphony. One actor has to be aware of the others. It’s all about eye contact, about empathy, about heart. Tirian will learn in time, I’m sure, but he still has a long way to go.’

‘He’s just got a part in a big Hollywood movie.’

‘We all know about that, Mr Hawthorne. He never tires of telling us.’

‘Do you get on with Ewan Lloyd?’

‘I have enormous respect for Ewan. I remember his production of Much Ado About Nothing in Stratford years ago. He set the whole thing in 1930s Sicily. Don John and Don Pedro were Mafiosi. Dogberry was FBI. I have very much enjoyed working with him.’

He stood up and went over to the wardrobe. He took out the suit that he wore as Dr Farquhar. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I need to get changed.’

Hawthorne and I both stood up. I thought we were going to leave, but as we moved towards the door, Hawthorne stopped in front of the photograph that I had noticed. ‘Your wife?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

The monosyllable was heavy, inviting no further questions, but Hawthorne went on anyway. ‘Does she still work as a make-up artist?’

Jordan was taken aback. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘You are still married.’

‘Most certainly.’

‘I was just surprised she wasn’t in the audience at the first night.’

How had Hawthorne known that? He hadn’t been there and I was sure I hadn’t mentioned it – if, indeed, I’d even noticed.

Jordan Williams didn’t move. His eyes met Hawthorne’s. ‘She was out of London,’ he said. ‘She’s working on a BBC drama in Leeds.’

‘But you saw her after the party?’ Hawthorne asked. ‘When you went home?’

‘It was well after midnight. She was asleep.’

Hawthorne shook his head a little sadly. ‘“Men were deceivers ever,”’ he muttered. ‘“One foot in sea and one on shore, to one thing constant never.”’

‘What are you talking about?’ Jordan asked.

‘That’s Much Ado About Nothing. You mentioned it a moment ago.’

‘I think I’ve told you everything I want to tell you, Mr Hawthorne.’ Jordan got up and snatched the photograph. Without stopping, he turned it face down. It was unintentional, but the movement was so violent that the glass broke and when Jordan lifted his hand, there was a bead of blood on the side of his index finger.