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play.’
    ‘Don’t say that to Miles, will you?’
    ‘Not again. But I don’t tell him lies. I shall just say he’s superb and leave it at that. All I hope is that this thing won’t limp on too long. My guess is that Ashton will tide it over for three weeks, to entitle him to a share of any film offer for it – not that there’ll be one. He’d be well advised to cut his losses and never open in London at all.’
    ‘You could be wrong, Tom. We may get a respectable run.
    ‘Three weeks,’ said Tom firmly.
    They went round to Miles and were tactful, then returned to the auditorium and worked hard on tact to Frank Ashton and the author. Then the second act began.
    Jill had three categories in which she placed dress rehearsals. There was the truly dreadful rehearsal, in which every conceivable thing, and various inconceivable ones, went wrong. This was often followed by a smooth and triumphant first night. There was the almost faultless rehearsal, often followed by a faulty and/or lifeless first night. And in between these extremes was the thoroughly mixed rehearsal, partly good, partly bad, from which it wasimpossible to prognosticate anything. Today’s rehearsal went into the mixed category. Her hopes rose in the second act – to be shattered by the ending, which Cyril certainly could not carry. (Peter was right about that.) Act III had a melodramatic confrontation between Miles’s wife and the mother of the boy which Jill found highly embarrassing, but the end of the play, when Miles accepted the boy as his son while knowing that he wasn’t, was extremely moving. Jill could, with sincerity, praise it to the author and Frank Ashton.
    ‘Let’s get a breath of fresh air before we go round to Miles,’ said Tom Albion.
    They went out through the foyer and stood blinking in the late afternoon sunshine.
    ‘Well, at least it’s over earlier than I expected,’ said Jill. ‘What did you think of the boy?’
    ‘I think all child actors are ghastly – on the stage, that is; on television they can be marvellous, as this kid was. He’s got a certain amount of appeal. I suppose he just might make a hit. But even so, I only give it three weeks.’
    ‘You want only to give it three weeks.’
    They found Miles cheerful. He had already asked Peter to dine with them at the Lion, and Tom of course joined them. The whole of the evening was spent discussing the rehearsal and the play in general. Tom praised Miles’s acting and Peter’s direction but otherwise was non-committal . Jill voiced her optimism and kept her pessimism to herself. But neither she nor Tom really needed to say very much. Peter and Miles did most of the talking andseemed oblivious of the fact that they were covering the same ground over and over again. It was after midnight before Tom was able to coerce Peter back to the station hotel with him, and Jill got Miles to bed.
    Most of her Monday morning was spent in sending wires to the company and ordering flowers; and at the last moment she remembered to buy chocolates’ for Cyril’s understudy – he, anyway, was a real child and would welcome them. Miles had dug himself in at the theatre by eleven o’clock, ostensibly to ‘be around if needed’ but really to continue his conversation with Peter. Jill considered their shared capacity for practically non-stop discussions was the main reason they so much liked working together. And she was thankful that, while still disagreeing about Cyril, they were on their usual good terms with each other. After coaxing them out to lunch she left them on their own.
    She had tea with the Thornton girls, Geoffrey Thornton being absent, and was impressed on hearing that Kit had already done some research about boots – ‘There’s a good library here with a pet of a librarian. White boots were worn during the First World War but they were laced, and often only the tops were white, with patent leather toes and heels.’ Jill was then shown the sisters’ dresses for