We dispersed. I submitted to Maria’s undressing and re-dressing like a doll, my mind busy. I slathered cold cream over my face and neck and removed my make-up, then reapplied foundation, lipstick and eyeliner. I no longer ventured outside my hotel bedroom without what my mam would call my “slap”. An actress had to look like an actress.

Maria handed me my hat and the fox fur I had bought with my first week’s salary. Every society lady had a fox fur, though no one in Haverth had ever worn one, to my knowledge. Mine was very beautiful, the tail sleek and voluminous, the body cosy against my neck, the skull-less head expertly moulded to appear as it had in life. It had a tortoiseshell clip under its tail which, when I wound it round myself, fitted into the open mouth, securing the fur. When I put it on I always felt utterly grown-up, as far removed as possible from the young girl in the second-hand shoes who had waved to the camera on a newsreel only a few months ago.

Once my hat was pinned on and we had checked my stockings for ladders and my shoes for scuffs, Maria opened the dressing-room door for me to pass through. My car would be waiting. “Good evening, Miss Hope,” she said.

I felt unsettled and inexplicably depressed. What if the animosity between Aidan and the rest of us were to appear on screen despite Aidan’s acting skills? What if the money men didn’t like the film, or it didn’t get finished, and everything went wrong? My career as a film actress would be over without anyone even knowing my name. Mam and Da and Frank would be crushingly disappointed, And I would be heartbroken.

The car drew up and the driver opened the door for me. I got in but had barely settled myself when the door on the other side opened and David slid into the seat beside me. “Good God, Clara, I need a drink!” He leaned across me to speak to the driver. “Eddie, the Ritz!”