‘Middleton? Really? I must have dozed off.’

‘It was the direction and the production I criticized.’

‘In that case, it’s the director and the producer who should shoot themselves with their old army revolvers,’ Payne said smoothly.

‘Have you got the flowers?’ ‘Here they are. Should I kiss Melisande Chevret’s hand?’ ‘Certainly not. It will give her ideas. Purple roses – why purple?’

‘I thought purple appropriate for the mistress of Kinderhook somehow. Is my tie straight? I could have toddled along in my dressing gown and slippers… It’s acceptable in suburbia, isn’t it? Neighbours don’t stand on ceremony and so on.’

‘That would definitely give Melisande Chevret ideas.’

‘I must say you paint a somewhat disturbing picture of Melisande Chevret. Is she really a man-eater? I am scared now. I am not sure I want to go.’

They went out. Payne locked the front door. It was a warm evening in early August. The sun was sailing low in a pink and gold sky.

‘One can easily imagine an actress being called Melisande Chevret. It’s a jolly striking name,’ Payne went on. ‘Would you describe her as the kind of woman whose manner is normally faintly histrionic and often more emphatically so?’

‘I would. She likes to strike attitudes.’

‘The kind that either gets terribly excited or terribly upset about things and finds all that is in between sort of beige?’

‘That wouldn’t be a bad way of putting it.’

‘Perhaps you will make her the anti-heroine at the very heart of your next novel. She sounds just right for the kind of murder mystery you write,’ Payne said portentously. ‘Is she divorced or widowed?’

‘Divorced, I imagine.’

Payne gave his man-of-the-world nod and said that actresses were always divorced and, in that respect, minor actresses were the worst offenders. Hadn’t Antonia noticed?