An hour or two later. Dave alone, still at the desk. He holds a bundle of letters in one hand, and in the other hand a single letter, which he is reading. After a time, he grunts, replaces the pile of letters on the desk, pauses, reflects, looks at his watch, takes a small diary out of his top pocket and crosses to the telephone. He looks a number up, dials and waits.

Dave   (North Country accent) ’Ello. Could I have the electrical department, please? … the electrical department … oh, is it? … oh, beg your pardon, mate, sorry … tara. (He puts the receiver down, riffles through his diary, dials again, waits. This time, he speaks with his normal accent.) Hello, Emma? … this is Dave … yes … yes, I know … what you up to this afternoon? … well, I thought you might like to pop round and visit me at the Savoy … that’s right … oh … can’t you put them off? … oh, well, never mind, perhaps next week sometime … well, I’m not sure, I’ll ring you nearer the time … OK, love, have to run now … yes … speak to you soon … bye. (He puts the receiver down, turns to another page in the diary, puts his hand out towards the phone, hesitates, then picks up the receiver, dials a number, waits.) Hello … yes, that’s right … well, I’ve been away … Cyprus … can you make lunch? … (With some relief.) Well, then, this afternoon … well, get your mother round … about three would be good … the Savoy … the Savoy Hotel … in the Strand … I don’t know what tube it is, get a taxi, I’ll pay you back … yes, ask for me at the desk … bring your wellies and half a pound of butter … it’s a joke … yes, all right … all right, love, see you later.