And as she took her curtain calls, she had nearly reached the limits of her endurance. Three times Othello and Iago led her forward and the tears poured down her cheeks as the roars of applause increased.

‘Well done,’ said Wesley Barrington in his deep voice.

Bella smiled at him. She fancied him so much when they were acting, but now he was Wesley again, living in Ealing with a wife and three children.

Bella would now go out for a cheap dinner with Rosie and in the morning she would lie sluttishly in bed until lunchtime. She avoided the busy, glamorous world that her fans imagined she lived in. It was a question of conserving her energy for what was important.

In their dressing-room, however, she found Rosie in a fever of excitement. ‘Freddie’s asked me out.’

‘I expect he wants to discuss the way you’ve been upstaging him,’ said Bella. She collapsed on to a chair and felt depression descending on her like dust on a polished table.

Not that she wanted Freddie to ask her out. She’d long ago decided his curly hair and neon smile weren’t for her. But if he started up a serious affair with Rosie, there’d be no more cosy little dinners, no more Rosie and Bella, united and gossiping together against the rest of the cast. Still, it was nice for Rosie.

‘Where’s he taking you?’

‘Somewhere cheap. He’s amazingly mean. Do you think one earring looks sexy?’

‘No, silly. As though you’d lost the other one.’

There was a knock on the door. It was Tom, the doorman.

‘There’s a Mr Henriques downstairs, Miss Parkinson. Wonders if he could come up and see you.’

‘Oh,’ said Bella, suddenly excited. ‘What’s he like?’

‘Looks orl right,’ said Tom, fingering a five pound note in his pocket.

‘Not a schoolboy?’