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sizes, but none of the cards tacked beside them said Miller. After a while, Virginia rang the bell marked Caretaker. She heard a jangling far away in the house, and presently a woman in slippers and a flowered overall looked out of the basement door, and squinted up at Virginia on the steps.
    ‘Doug’s out,’ the woman said, ‘if it’s him you want.’
    ‘I’m looking for Miss Miller. Miss Doris Miller. I thought she lived here.’
    ‘Are you from the furniture company?’ the woman asked, drawing in her mouth. ‘You’re not? Oh, well then, her bell’s the third one up. The name’s Porritt. That’s her married name, you see.’
    Virginia thanked her, and the woman rubbed her hands and observed that it was cold enough to have a white Christmas yet, and went back into the basement.
    As Virginia reached for the Porritt bell, the front door opened and a woman with a shopping-bag came out, leaving the door ajar so that Virginia could go inside. Here was a stroke of luck. She had been wondering how she could get in if Doris Miller felt too misanthropic to answer the bell. She calculated that the third bell up must indicate the first floor, climbed the stairs, and came to a halt on a small landing with two doors. The voices of a man and a woman could be heard behind one of them. Doris Miller was evidently at home in domestic bliss with Mr Porritt.
    Virginia’s knock was answered by Mr Porritt, in a colourless cardigan and baggy tweed trousers. The room went back to the right at an angle, where the foot of a brass bed, hung with clothing, stuck out. Virginia could not see Miss Miller on the bed, but could hear her impatient voice: ‘Who is it, George? What do they want? I’m resting.’
    ‘What do you want? She’s resting,’ George repeated obediently. He was a paunchy man, with a square head of grey hair and a resigned blue eye.
    ‘I’m from the
Northgate Gazette,’
Virginia said. ‘I was supposed to interview Miss Miller at the theatre, but I’m afraid I missed her there, so I thought, if she could spare me a few moments –’
    ‘Go away,’ said the voice from the bed. ‘Get out of here. I’m not seeing anyone from the press.’
    ‘Go away,’ repeated George, softening the words. ‘She’s not seeing anyone from the press.’
    ‘But Mr Askey promised. He arranged for me to see you.’ Virginia pitched her voice to reach round the corner of the room.
    There was a grunt and a creaking of springs, and a foot could be seen kicking under the tumbled blankets at the foot of the bed. ‘Mr Askey can go to hell, and so can you.’ The voice was less distinct, as if it had gone to ground.
    George did not like to repeat this. He smiled uncertainly, and Virginia smiled back, even more uncertainly.
    ‘Has she gone?’ The blankets heaved again, and the voice was clearer, as if Doris Miller had sat up in the bed.
    ‘Please let me talk to you just for a moment.’ Virginia took a step forward into the room. She could not step farther without treading on Mr Porritt’s stockinged feet. ‘I want to write something that will be good publicity for you. You can see it before it’s printed, if you like.’
    ‘Get the hell out of here!’ Miss Miller cried. ‘How dare you come here bothering me, making fun of me. Don’t think I don’t know your kind. The press. I’ve had some. All they want to do is tear your guts out.’
    ‘No, honestly, I –’
    ‘Go away, or I’ll call the police.’
    ‘Go away or we’ll call the police,’ George said half-heartedly.
    ‘Don’t just stand there, George. Go and call them! No, wait a minute – what did she say the paper was? The
Northgate Gazette.
Go downstairs and ring up the editor and tell him what I think of him for sending this woman here to meddle inmy business. She’s trying to make trouble for me, but I’ll make worse trouble for her.’
    ‘You can’t afford, you know,’ Virginia said, trying to keep calm, ‘not to work with the press. Every actress needs