Watching From The Wings

By Christine Webber

Watching From the Wings is a heartwarming tale of devotion, friendship, joy and passion, but also one involving disappointment, duplicity and betrayal. We all have our own journey of love. Katharine’s is more complex than most. And she comes to realise that she has always chosen the wrong door whenever she had the chance to exit by a more promising one. At the age of 62, can she make a fresh start, or is it too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: On Call
• Release date: Apr 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9781739326401

Christine Webber

Christine Webber is a writer, broadcaster and psychotherapist with a practice in Harley Street. She has published a total of twelve books, which include Get the Self-Esteem Habit, How to Mend a Broken Heart and Too Young to Get Old. She has written for a wide range of newspapers including The Times, Daily Telegraph and Mail on Sunday, and has been a columnist for The Scotsman, BBC Parenting, Full House, Best, Woman and TV Times. Currently, she writes for Spectator Health and Netdoctor.

Book preview

To my stepsons, Patrick and Alastair Delvin With much love

First published in Great Britain in 2023

Copyright © 2023 Christine Webber

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic method without the prior written consent of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews, and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Cover by Catherine French Design

Published by On Call

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograph S.p.A.

Typeset by RefineCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk

ISBN 978-0-9954540-9-5

All characters and locations in this book – apart from those clearly in the public domain – are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Previous novels by Christine Webber

About Christine Webber

Chapter One

1982

I stifle a yawn and peek at my watch, hoping that Nicholas won’t notice. I’ve learned that despite his ‘golden-boy’ looks and reputation, he’s quite insecure. I don’t want him to think I’m bored.

It’s half past two. Mind you, the play didn’t come down till gone ten, and then of course we went to The Seafarers. Simon Everitt, our artistic director, encourages us to go because he’s convinced it ‘puts bums on seats’ if we establish connections with the holidaymakers in the town. And the bonus for us is that they often buy us drinks.

I’d have preferred to duck out of it tonight though, but Nicholas likes to wind down with a few pints. Rather more than a few, to be honest. He totally dazzles the punters – most of whom are getting on a bit – and flirts in a cheeky but respectful way with the elderly women. They adore him. He says it’s a bore chatting to them. I don’t believe that for a moment; he laps up attention and affirmation. I get the feeling he didn’t get much of that at home. He told me he had nannies when he was small and was shipped off to boarding school at the age of seven.

Anyway, one way and another we didn’t get back to my digs and start learning lines for next week’s Agatha Christie till almost midnight and we’re supposed to know the second act by tomorrow morning’s rehearsal. ‘God help us’, as my friend Cleo would say.

Nicholas is one of the leading men of the season. He’s young for some of the parts but is such a good actor he can carry them off. He won the gold medal when he graduated from his drama school last year, and I can see why. He’s going to be in a limited run of the Simon Gray play Otherwise Engaged at Richmond after our season. It isn’t quite the West End but, as he says, it’s only a Tube ride away. He’s impatient for more success and feels he should have landed a TV drama or, better still, a series by now. He’s had an agent for over a year but feels she might not be right for him and is on the lookout for another.

So, as usual, Nicholas has a big part next week and I’m reading cues for him and hearing his lines. We’ve been doing this since we started seeing each other. He’s always very grateful. And he keeps saying how good I am at helping. Of course, having a mother in the business means I’ve had a lot of practice. There’s quite an art in knowing when to prompt an actor. If you do it as soon as they hesitate, they tend to snap, ‘Yessss, I do know, I was just deciding how to deliver it’. But if you leave it too late, they shout, ‘Line!’ very loudly, as if it’s all your fault. Nicholas doesn’t often do that, but when he does, I worry about my landlady hearing. This is a tiny, two-bedroomed house, and I can tell she doesn’t approve of him staying over.

At the beginning of the season, when I didn’t know anyone and didn’t socialise much, she would wait up and make me a mug of hot chocolate when I arrived back after the performance. She’s a widow and I think she’s lonely, so I feel bad now that I don’t spend much time with her. But Nicholas happened and, as they say in romantic novels, ‘I was powerless to resist’.

He originally brought a girlfriend with him to Broadburgh, but within days, she went back to London for an audition and never returned. Then, he was pounced on by Esmerelda, who plays character parts and is probably about fifty. But I don’t think that went too well for some reason. He said he didn’t really fancy her, though I wonder if he is just saying that in case I feel jealous. He is so thoughtful. Maxim O’Gara, the oldest actor in the company, had a one-night stand with Esmerelda at the beginning of the season and said it took him days to recover. I doubt if he was quite her type though, as she makes no secret of the fact she’s only turned on by young flesh. ‘I don’t want to get naked with anyone whose skin looks as if it needs ironing,’ she yelled one night in the pub. She’s bedding one of the assistant stage managers now, whose skin is so youthful I doubt he needs to shave. Still, he’s keeping her busy so he must have sufficient testosterone. I notice he was wearing a new and rather lovely jacket this evening, which probably comes from the posh gentlemen’s outfitters on the high street. There’s no way he could afford that on his wages, so she must be feeling very grateful. I’m boggled by how much sex there is in this company. If the rather sedate residents of Broadburgh-on-Sea knew what goes on, they’d have a fit. I suppose it’s because we’re all away from home and our friends, and there’s no time to socialise except within the company. I’m new to all of this as I only graduated in July, so I don’t really know.

Of course, I have been paid for acting before, but not since I was a little girl. My mother was the darling of the British film industry then, so I was roped in whenever necessary. I was a baby in a basket in one of those kitchen-sink dramas, and later, a toddler hanging on to some poor woman’s hem in a Charles Dickens television adaptation. Then, when I was about eight, I was in the Oliver! and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang films. It was awful. Far too much hanging around. I kept quiet about my childhood experience all through drama school and wouldn’t dream of mentioning it to anyone I’m working with. In fact, I’d hoped to avoid anyone in the company finding out who Mummy is, but Maxim O’Gara knew her married name was Boyd, which of course is my surname, so he asked me outright if I was Moira Tresswell’s daughter. What could I say? Everyone knows now.

Anyway, it was lucky for me that Nicholas didn’t hit it off with Esmerelda because around then he began paying me a lot of attention. I was amazed. I’m really tall and, as my mother is fond of telling me, nothing special to look at. I did wonder if the fact I’m Moira Tresswell’s daughter made me more interesting to Nicholas. But I don’t care. He’s so wonderful. I feel as if I’m in a rosy glow when I’m with him. I doubt if he’ll carry on seeing me after the season ends, so I’m going to enjoy it while I can. My dad would say I’m underestimating myself, but then, he thinks I’m great. Just as well someone does. Bless him.

Nicholas is yawning now. ‘We have to stop, Katya darling.’ My name is Katharine, but the play we’re performing currently is Anastasia, and he’s gone all Russian on me, which is rather sweet.

‘Come here, angel.’ He gives me that huge smile which lights up his entire face. ‘I’m going to thank you in traditional fashion! Honestly, I don’t know how I’d have got through these last weeks without you. What a thoroughly marvellous girl you are. Now, take off that skirt and let me get at you.’

He’s spread across my bed now. There’s hardly any room for me but I squeeze in.

It goes well to start with. Really well. Nicholas is very attentive to my desires and seems to know instinctively where a woman likes to be touched. It certainly works for me! But when it comes to the main course, as he calls it, he can’t manage it. This has happened before. I know he’s tired, but I think it’s the drink that does the damage. He thinks that too. ‘Oh, lor!’ he says. ‘Another case of brewer’s droop!’

He’s nodded off now. I’d like to sleep myself, but I haven’t mastered my own lines yet, and I have several long speeches so I can’t busk it. Good thing I’m a quick study.

Obviously, I don’t want to wake Nicholas by leaving the light on so I tiptoe as quietly as I can, in the dark, out to the bathroom to spend an hour or so working on my part. The window is open and somehow the bathroom door slams noisily. I hold my breath. This is the sort of thing that’s always happening to me because I’m awfully clumsy. Luckily, there’s no sound of the landlady or Nicholas stirring. So, I sit down on the loo seat, unwrap the Mars Bar I’ve had in my pocket all day and tuck into it while mouthing the script and trying to get it into my brain. It’s the glamour that keeps me going…

Chapter Two

She could hear Nicholas calling to her from the corridor outside.

‘Kate, hurry up, I’m dying of thirst.’

She continued peeling off her false eyelashes and ignored him. Esmerelda had already gone; she was always away first. But Pat and Sandra, the other two actresses sharing the dressing room, were still gathering up their possessions after a swift toning down of their stage make-up and a change into the jeans and shirts they had arrived in earlier.

‘Come on, Katharine,’ said Sandra. ‘Buck up. Look at it this way, you’ve given us all the best laugh of the season. It could only have happened to you. But you adlibbed so brilliantly about it, the audience were in hysterics.’

‘I know, but it’s not a bloody comedy, is it?’ She groaned as the image of her opening the cupboard in the corner of the set and somehow pulling it down on top of her, swamped her mind. ‘Don’t wait for me. I’ll be along later.’

They left, giggling. She heard Nicholas murmur something to them which sent them off into more peals of laughter. He joined in, before bursting through her door.

‘You’re nowhere near ready.’ He looked puzzled. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nicholas, you know what’s up. And Simon’s going to be furious.’

‘Don’t be silly. These things happen in live theatre. Tomorrow, something else will go wrong.’

‘Not on this cataclysmic scale.’

‘Sweetie, don’t be dramatic. It was only one moment in a whole evening. Lots of other things happened. I, for example, had a rather good performance. Anyway, we must get along to The Seafarers. Your mother’s turned up.’

Staring at herself in the lighted mirror, she saw a deep crease carve itself into her forehead. ‘No!’

‘Apparently so. She arrived at the interval and Simon gave her his house seat so she could watch the second half.’

Katharine threw a towel over her head and screamed into it.

‘What a fine pair of lungs you have. Now, hurry up! I’ll get you a G&T. I’m off to meet your ma. I thought I’d tell her about us before you arrive. That’s OK, isn’t it?’

She pondered the question. Could anything, she wondered, redeem this particularly doom-laden evening? Maybe Nicholas could. He was so glorious that her mother could hardly fail to be dazzled by him. She removed the towel. ‘Yes, do tell her if you want. I’m sure she’s going to love you.’

‘I’ll say we’re engaged.’

‘But we’re not engaged.’

‘Only because I haven’t formally asked you yet. Now, come along. You’re making a big fuss over nothing. Everyone knows you’re accident prone. It’s part of your charm. God, I need a drink.’

Once he was out of earshot, she sighed loudly. There had been no mention of her father, so presumably he had not come. She sighed again. He would have made the visit so much jollier. Quickly, she amended her make-up but left rather more of it on than she would have done had she not had to face her mother.

I don’t want a lecture on keeping up appearances.

It was a pity she had worn such old clothes today. The flared trousers had seen better days and were no longer at all fashionable, and her T-shirt was more suited to a disco than a coastal inn; its lurid lavender colour had seemed a good idea in the shop but never since. Just put on loads of lipstick, she told herself. Then she brushed out her auburn curly hair, which had been scraped back into a rather unbecoming bun during the play, but obligingly sprang back into shape now. It was her best feature.

‘Get a move on,’ she urged herself. ‘You’ll have to do.’

She could hear the noise of the hotel bar from along the street. Her footsteps faltered and for one mad moment she considered running away. Instead, she pulled her shoulders back, gave herself a swift and silent pep talk and made for the door. Once inside, she insinuated herself into the throng and eventually came face to face with the manager, standing militarily upright behind his polished counter and framed by an array of glinting bottles.

‘You got a famous mother, I see,’ he said. ‘Someone had told me you were Moira Tresswell’s daughter, but I didn’t believe them. Nothing like her, are you? She’s over there with Simon and Nicholas – in the alcove.’

Katharine rummaged in her bag for a five-pound note. ‘Can I have a drink?’

‘They got you one.’

‘I may need more than one.’ She pulled a comic mournful face.

He winked at her and quickly dispensed a large gin and opened a bottle of tonic. ‘On the house. It’s not every day we get a star in here.’

Simon Everitt appeared at her elbow. She braced herself for his fury. He was such a tense individual, and so forbidding with his serious face. ‘Oh, there you are,’ he said. ‘I’m just getting another round. Your mother demolished your drink as well as her own, I’m afraid, so what would you like?’

Indicating the large glass she was holding, she replied, ‘I’m OK, Simon, thank you. If she’s going to get plastered, I’d better stay sober.’

‘Coke then?’ he suggested.

She nodded and stuttered out some words of gratitude before asking, ‘Where’s she staying?’

‘The Maritime, apparently.’

Katharine raised her eyes heavenwards at her mother’s extravagant choice as Simon edged past her to the bar. While he waited, his back to her, she decided to seize the moment to apologise. ‘Simon, I’m really, really sorry about the cupboard and everything.’

He turned, then to her total shock, smiled at her. ‘I’m sure you won’t do it again.’ She shook her head vigorously, knowing she had been let off lightly, and as his focus settled on a barman ready to take his order, she exhaled in relief and took a long gulp of her drink.

Despite feeling that she should join the others, she stayed put while Simon’s order was completed and paid for, then hid behind him as he edged through the crowd, carrying the tray of drinks above his head.

There was a vacant seat opposite her mother whom, she noticed, was chatting animatedly to Nicholas. Unfortunately, her plan to slide into it surreptitiously was spoilt when she hit her thigh on the table leg and sat down with a thump.

‘Hello, Mummy,’ she said, suppressing the urge to wince with pain.

Her mother bestowed one of those ‘don’t show me up’ looks with her eyes but her voice was warm as she played to her audience of the two men. ‘Darling! What talent! I always said you should concentrate on comedy and now I’m certain of it!’

Nicholas laughed rather too loudly, whereupon her mother made a little fluttering apology with her delicate hands. ‘Sorry, dearest. I expect you feel terrible, but you were always very quick-witted and smart, Katherine… And it’s a very good production. Everyone was great. Especially you.’ She turned her full attention to her daughter’s boyfriend, laying a perfectly manicured hand on his arm.

Katherine studied the two of them. She should be pleased they were getting on so well, but somehow she was not. She turned to Simon, who was in the process of lighting a cigarette. ‘Could I possibly cadge a fag off you?’ she whispered.

He seemed surprised but shook a Peter Stuyvesant out of the packet in her direction and then leant over and lit it with his lighter.

‘I didn’t know you were a smoker,’ he murmured.

Forcing a big stage smile she said something about saving them for celebratory occasions. Any irritation she might feel towards her parent must be kept hidden.

‘Always on parade,’ her mother had advised throughout her childhood. ‘People want to believe in magic. I give it to them.’

‘Ooooh.’ Simon reached into his pocket. ‘A letter came for you. Sorry.’ He produced a rather crumpled blue Basildon Bond envelope.

‘Looks a bit battered.’

‘Sorry,’ he grimaced slightly, ‘it might have come a couple of days ago,’ then he smiled apologetically, and she saw suddenly that he had a surprisingly boyish grin when he relaxed, as well as rather attractive dimples. Normally, his expression was fierce and anxious. Perhaps he was younger than she had assumed. She had been too busy being fearful of him to wonder about him as a person.

Taking the envelope, she chuckled when she saw the unmistakable black flowing script.

‘Aww, that’s nice, and very unexpected. It’s from my best friend. We were at drama school together. She’s in the summer rep in Sidmouth. I wonder how she has time to write?’

Simon laughed. That was another surprise. ‘Perhaps her director’s less of a slave driver than me!’

‘What are you two talking about?’ her mother’s voice interrupted them. ‘Goodness me,’ she went on without waiting for an answer, ‘this takes me back. Weekly rep. Exhaustion. No money. Still, I didn’t have to do it for long. I was so lucky.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘Of course, Katharine knows this story, but you won’t mind me telling it again, will you? So, there I was in Oldham. A lowly ASM. Only going on in small parts. But the leading lady ran off with a local businessman, and I got promoted to much bigger roles. Serious material. No Agatha Christie or Ben Travers there, I can tell you. Oh, dear me no. Ibsen no less. Shakespeare too. Frightening. But I worked like stink and then one night one of the Boulting brothers, who had recently taken the helm at Shepperton Studios, was in the audience. And he loved me, which changed my life for ever.’

She sat back in her seat, her face glowing with the memory and satisfaction of her success.

‘How marvellous,’ Nicholas’s tone carried easily through the general hubbub and several people at the next table, nudged and smiled at each other as they recognised him.

‘I say, you were terrific tonight,’ one of them raised a glass in his direction. ‘I’m sure we’ll be seeing you in the West End before long.’

Nicholas bowed his head deferentially and patted his chest in a grateful, yet humble gesture. He was so good with the public. Just like her mother.

‘Right,’ he sprang to his feet, insisting he must buy more drinks.

Katharine fixed her smile. ‘Just a Coke, please,’ she answered.

I must be nice, she thought. Nicholas was having a good time, and so was her mother. They had quickly become very comfortable with each other, and that was good. Really good. But she would sooner have been back in the digs with Nicholas, on their own. It was Sunday tomorrow so there was no rehearsal and no lines to be learned. She had been looking forward to them getting naked together but now he would be too inebriated. And this little party could go on for a while yet. There was a certain leeway, she had discovered, to the licensing hours in this part of the country. No one ever explained, but there was none of that rushing for ‘last orders’ here. Everyone still drinking at the official closing time seemed to be classed as a resident, though in truth they were not.

She stubbed out the cigarette which she had not enjoyed, excused herself and went in search of the ladies room. She wanted to read Cleo’s letter but felt it would be frowned upon by her mother if she did so at the table.

In the privacy of a cubicle, she tore open the envelope.

Darling Kat,

How is your rep going? Could you put up with a visit from me? Will you ring me? I’m back in London. You probably think I couldn’t hack it in Devon, which wouldn’t be far from the truth, but rather more seriously, I’m pregnant, and I keep being sick, so I had to leave. And guess what? Gorgeous George, who I’m sure fancied you like mad but chose to fuck me instead, has gone AWOL. You know I told you how he was always saying his wife didn’t understand him, well now it seems like she understands him all too well. I don’t think I’m the first of his students to find herself in the pudding club. They’ve closed ranks. And she’s the one who’s swung into action. Of course, she’s adamant that the child couldn’t possibly be his. Honestly, she made me feel a right slag. I thought of telling her that he’d been busy suggesting we live a bohemian existence together in Clapham, but I just felt defeated, so I didn’t. Needless to say, he is the father because there’s been no one else for months. Of course, I never really believed we would have a life together, but it would have been nice if he’d stood by me. I shouldn’t have slept with him, I know. Well, to be honest, we never actually slept together because he would just do me and get dressed and go. He never even bought me dinner. What was I thinking? Sometimes, he had me over the table in his studio which doesn’t sound much fun, and wasn’t really, but I kept telling myself it was arousing and sophisticated. Bad mistake. It’s not as if he’s even a very good actor or voice coach so will the baby have any talent? Hey ho. Obviously being a Holy Roman I can’t possibly consider an abortion. I’m going to have to go to Ireland and tell my mother and all the maiden aunts. God help me. But can I come and see you first? Please ring me. Maybe Sunday? Most people in the house are away and I will listen out for the phone.

Sorry to land all this on you. But I will cope. Women always do, don’t they?

Hope you are having fun? Masses of love, Cleo

Katharine smiled because she could feel Cleo’s palpable energy through the paper. But this was going to change everything. How on earth would her friend manage? How could she have a career?

She thrust the letter into her trouser pocket, left the cubicle and washed her hands before staring at her image in the mirror above the basin.

Nicholas’s words of earlier came back into her mind. She had been so upset at the time, she had barely taken them in. But now she remembered that he had said he would tell her mother they were engaged.

She felt hot then cold at the memory. Up until then, she had assumed she was good only for the season. Was he really thinking of a longer liaison? And what would that mean? They hardly knew each other. Could they be a theatrical couple – like Judi Dench and Michael Williams? She screwed up her nose at the thought. No, she was not in his league. Also, she was so tall. Admittedly he was almost exactly the same height, but she had resisted wearing high heels since she met him. He, with his wonderful voice, abundant blond hair, huge eyes and athletic physique, was definitely going to be a star. But what would she do if they stayed together? Did she want to be someone in her own right, or would she be happy supporting him? It was hard to imagine anyone forecasting a great career for her. Her mother had laughingly suggested she do comedy. That had been an unnecessary comment, she thought. Actually, neither of her parents knew this, but she had thought for a while she would like to be a comedy actress; however, no comic roles had come her way in the drama school years. People did not seem to expect women to be funny. There had been Joyce Grenfell of course, though she was dead now. Even in other aspects of the business, where were the women taking the London Palladium by storm like Jimmy Tarbuck, or forming comedy groups like Monty Python, The Goodies and Instant Sunshine?

‘What on earth are you doing in here? You’ve been ages.’ Her mother arrived in a flurry.

‘Sorry, Mummy. I was just, um… splashing some water on my face. Trying to keep awake.’ She forced a giggle, but her parent’s querulous expression did not alter.

‘Look, Katharine, I’ve come on this visit to talk to you. But I’m too tired now. So, Nicholas is going to walk me over to The Maritime. I’ll see you tomorrow. Can you come and have breakfast? Before I head back to London. I must be away by noon. Come at eleven?’

‘Of course. That’ll be lovely,’ she said but added quickly, ‘And I can walk back with you now too, as it’s on my way.’

‘Oh! Well yes. That would be nice. It’s just that Nicholas offered.’

Visualising her mother buying him more drinks when she got to her hotel, enjoying his adoring attention, and entertaining him with her theatrical stories till dawn, Katharine steeled herself for any possible parental disapproval, beamed broadly and insisted she would join them.

‘I want to see as much of you as I can before you go,’ she lied, knowing of old that flattery tended to sway such an argument.

Chapter Three

He reached for her, as she awoke.

‘Feel that!’ His voice was full of pride as he took her hand and thrust it under the bedclothes. ‘See how much I want you!’ A smile spread across his beautiful features, and she felt her own face and eyes light up in response.

He was confident this morning. Sometimes at night, after too many drinks, he made love to her hurriedly as if fearful that the slightest delay or distraction might cause him to lose his potency. But today, despite the long evening which had lengthened well past midnight while they kept her mother company, he was youthfully energetic, and generously attentive. He spent a while kissing and playing with all the areas of her body that thrilled to his touch. When he was like this, she felt on fire with gratitude, and amazed at the sensations which were swiftly aroused. He was so skilled. But then, he was good at everything. How extraordinary it was that he had chosen to be with her. He could have anyone.

She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle her scream of fulfilment.

‘Clever Katya,’ he giggled. ‘What a sexy tart you are!’

Then she felt his full weight on her and the push of him entering her, and she abandoned herself to another wave of excitement as his movements became more urgent. She watched as his expression focused and tensed and then relaxed into replete satisfaction. They lay, bound together for a few seconds till he moaned with blissful relief and rolled off her.

Her boyfriend at drama school had been more of a flatmate who somehow, at a party where everyone was drunk, became a lover. He had had a very healthy libido and she had caught his enthusiasm. But they had no grand passion for each other, and had parted, without heartache, when they graduated. He was Australian and had always maintained he would go home as soon as the course was over. And he did. He had been fun, and she had been lucky. But what she had now was so much more romantic and thrilling, and Nicholas was such a catch, and so sure of his path to stardom, that she somehow felt more special as a person because she was with him.

He tended to become sleepy after sex, so it was a surprise when she realised he was speaking to her.

‘What?’ She paused in her act of kissing away the sweat on his brow.

‘I was just saying,’ he murmured, ‘isn’t your mother wonderful?’

Her rosy glow shattered. Why on earth would he have chosen that moment to mention her parent? She fought away her displeasure. He was half asleep. It meant nothing. Really, she was overreacting. After all, Nicholas was only eighteen months older than she was and far too young to be interested in a woman of fifty-four.

She had to crawl over his slumped body to extricate herself from the single bed. Edging quietly out of the door onto the small landing, she jumped as the landlady emerged from the bathroom in her quilted dressing gown with her hair still tucked into its shower cap.

‘You were late in,’ Mrs Barnett’s tone was disapproving.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, did you hear us? I never mean to disturb you.’

Mrs Barnett shrugged before adding, ‘I’ve got very keen hearing as it happens.’

Katharine felt herself blush. Did that mean the woman had heard their lovemaking? Probably, she decided as she attempted to banish embarrassment from her mind.

There was time for a bath so she took one, hoping Mrs Barnett would not choose this morning to complain about the amount of hot water she was using. With Nicholas living here full time now, she had felt obliged to suggest she paid more rent and had assumed it would be enough to cover regular baths. Certainly, her offer had moderated the landlady’s hostility towards Nicholas to some degree, but despite him trying all his various flirtation techniques on her, she appeared immune to his charm.

‘She’s probably an old lesbian,’ he had said, more than once, ‘she obviously preferred it when it was just you.’

Katharine had tried to elicit some sympathy for the woman and had pointed out that she must be lonely now she was alone after forty years of marriage. He appeared to agree with her. But somehow she knew, though did not want to know, that he concurred simply to please her. Basically, he needed people to adore him and when they did not, he dismissed them from his circle and thoughts. Mummy is exactly the same, she acknowledged, as her mind moved on to the impending meeting with her parent. Perhaps good actors have to be selfish. No, that was harsh. She meant ‘single-minded’. That was it.

Flushed from the bath,