‘Oh, please come in.’ Bella stood up, flustered, and found that her eyes were almost on a level with his.

‘You’re tall,’ he said in surprise. ‘You look so small on the stage beside Othello.’

Embarrassed, Bella tipped a pile of clothes off the red velvet sofa.

‘Sit down. Have a drink.’ She got out a bottle of whisky and a couple of glasses. She was furious that her hand shook so much. She rattled the bottle against the glass and poured out far too large a drink.

‘Hey, steady,’ he said. ‘I’m not much of a drinker.’

He filled the glass up to the top with water from the washbasin.

‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

She shook her head and was pleased to see his hand was shaking as much as hers when he lit his cigarette. He wasn’t as cool as he looked.

As she sat down she knocked a jar of cold cream on to the floor. They both dived to retrieve it and nearly bumped their heads.

He looked at her and burst out laughing.

‘I believe you’re as nervous as I am,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you used to entertaining strange men backstage every night?’

Bella shook her head. ‘I’m always frightened they might be disappointed when they meet me in the flesh.’

‘Disappointed?’ He looked her over incredulously. ‘You must be joking.’

Bella was suddenly conscious of how low her dress was cut.

‘The flowers are heavenly,’ she said, blushing. ‘How on earth did you manage to get such beautiful ones in winter?’

‘Rifling my mother’s conservatory.’

‘Doesn’t she mind?’

‘Doesn’t know. She’s in India.’ He smiled maliciously. ‘I’m hoping an obliging tiger might gobble her up.’

Bella giggled. ‘Don’t you like her?’

‘Not a lot. Do you get on with your parents?’

‘They’re dead,’ said Bella flatly, and waited for the conventional expressions of sympathy. They didn’t come.