Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection. Barbara Taylor Bradford

ever been my pleasure to work with. Really, I mean that.’

      Katharine glowed and murmured her thanks, but nevertheless she began to edge slowly towards the fire door that led off stage. They were standing in an awkward spot, were being jostled by the other actors leaving the stage and straggling back to their dressing rooms, and by the numerous stage hands who were milling around, busily shifting scenery and joking amongst themselves. The noise, the bustle and the heat were enervating, and that peculiar fusty smell, so indigenous to every back stage, seemed suddenly malodorous and suffocating. It was a strange odour compounded of dry dust and damp, the resinous vapours emanating from the varnished sets, the grease paint, the hair spray, the mingled stale perfumes and the effluvium of the actors and the stage hands. Usually it sent a thrill tingling through Katharine’s veins, as it always had since the first day she had stepped on to a stage as a child. But at this precise moment she was filled with an immense aversion to it. And then, quite unexpectedly, she started to cough.

      Terry, who was now talking about one of the other actresses in the play, stopped in the middle of his sentence. He looked down at her in alarm as she spluttered and choked and covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Hey, Puss, are you all right?’ he asked worriedly.

      Katharine was quite unable to utter a word. The coughing and the gasping for breath continued. She shook her head, motioned to the fire door and moved with swiftness out of the wings. Terry helped her down the stone steps to the corridor where the dressing rooms were located. When they reached his, which was one of the first, he flung open the door unceremoniously and called to his dresser, ‘Quick, Norman, get a glass of water for Katharine, please.’ The dresser ran to the basin with a glass, and Terry pressed Katharine down on to the sofa, worry and concern flooding his face. The paroxysms eventually subsided and she leaned back and gratefully took the water, sipping it slowly, breathing deeply between sips. Terry handed her a tissue to wipe her watering eyes.

      Continuing to regard her with anxiety, he said, ‘My God, I thought you were choking, Puss. Whatever brought that on? Are you sure you’re all right now?’

      ‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you, Terry. And I don’t know what happened. Perhaps it was the dust, and my throat was very dry. The combination of the two might explain it, but it was strange.’ Katharine stood up purposefully. ‘I know I’ll feel much better when I get out of my costume, and this rotten wig.’

      He nodded, and stared hard at her, as if to satisfy himself she was completely recovered, and then said, ‘What are you doing tonight? I’ve invited a few chums to the Buxton Club for supper. Care to join us, Puss?’

      Katharine declined, choosing her words with care, not wanting to offend him. An invitation from Terry was rare, and was something in the nature of a royal command when it was extended. ‘But it’s sweet of you to include me,’ she added. ‘Unfortunately, I have a long-standing supper date with Kim Cunningham and his sister.’

      ‘And Victor Mason perhaps?’ The look he focused on her was full of speculation.

      Although she was rather taken aback by this comment, Katharine chose not to show it. She merely nodded. ‘Yes, Victor’s coming along. But why do you assume he would be? I don’t know him all that well.’

      Terry shrugged and half turned away. ‘I heard he was paying court. You know what this business is like. You can’t keep anything quiet.’

      Katharine’s eyebrows shot up. ‘There’s nothing to keep quiet. We’re just friends, that’s all,’ she said lightly. She moved nearer to the door and smiled at Terry’s dresser. ‘Thanks for helping the maiden in distress, love.’

      ‘Any time, Katharine.’ Norman grinned, and picked up Terry’s towelling robe. ‘Sorry it was only London corporation champagne, and not the genuine thing.’

      Terry said, ‘Well, have a good time tonight.’ He sat down on the sofa, adjusted the short Grecian tunic over his knees and started to remove his sandals. His tone had been coolly dismissive and now Katharine thought he appeared to be angry for some reason, although she could not imagine why. ‘Thanks. You too, Terry,’ she replied in a low voice, and slipped out.

      It was with a great sense of relief that Katharine entered her own dressing room and closed the door firmly behind her. She exhaled deeply and rested against the closed door for a moment. Unlike the cluttered and untidy quarters she had just left, here absolute order reigned supreme. Everything was meticulously in its given place. The costumes hung side by side on a metal clothes rack Katharine herself had purchased, considering the regulation wardrobe to be undersized. The collection of sandals was lined up neatly on the floor underneath it, the red wigs reposed on their wig stands on a small card table, and the theatrical make-up and creams and lotions, powders and a variety of other toilet articles were arranged with a military-like precision on the dressing table.

      There was a paucity of clutter in the room: indeed it was sterile in appearance, being devoid of the usual theatrical mementos and memorabilia. Even the mandatory congratulatory telegrams, notes and cards from family and friends, which were always taped to a performer’s mirror in fluttering profusion, were noticeably missing. Actually, Katharine had received only three telegrams on opening night, from Terry, Sonia and her agent. She had no one else to wish her luck.

      The dressing room not only reflected Katharine’s neat, spruce little flat in Lennox Gardens, but was yet another manifestation of her personal fastidiousness. This excessive neatness was becoming a fetish. Her drawers at the theatre, and at the flat, were laden with piles of beautiful underwear, and without exception she changed her under garments at least three times a day during her working week. One set was donned in the morning, was replaced by another for the performance, and this was discarded for a third, fresh set to wear after the theatre. On matinee days she used up four sets, much to the continued amazement of her dresser, Maggie. Other drawers, both at home and at the theatre, contained innumerable pairs of newly laundered stockings, folded and stacked in neat piles alongside clean handkerchiefs, dozens of pairs of white kid gloves of varying lengths, and a staggering selection of silk and chiffon scarves as pristine as the day they left the store. Every pair of shoes she owned boasted shoe trees; her hats were kept on the proper stands; her handbags were stuffed with tissue paper; sweaters were folded into plastic bags; and almost every garment in her wardrobe, from day dresses to evening frocks, hung in a dust-proof bag. Every time an outfit had been worn it was given to Maggie to be sponged and pressed, or was sent out to the dry cleaners.

      Katharine was equally immaculate about herself, and was heavily addicted to perfumes and deodorants as if she was afraid that her own very natural and feminine body odours might possibly give offence, and she used breath sprays, mouth wash and toothpaste lavishly. Not surprisingly, she had an enormous distaste for anyone or any place that was dirty, grubby or unkempt.

      The tranquillity, orderliness and coolness of the dressing room was like a balm to Katharine after the intensity of the lights and the heat of the stage, and particularly so tonight. Maggie had asked to leave an hour earlier than usual to attend a special family gathering, and Katharine had agreed at once. Maggie’s absence was welcome, and she was glad to be alone to collect herself. She struggled out of the Grecian costume, laid it on the small sofa.

      Seating herself at the dressing table Katharine removed the tiresome wig. As she did she experienced a lovely sense of freedom. She unpinned her own hair and shook it loose. After brushing it vigorously until it gleamed, she tied it back with a white cotton bandana, and then creamed off the heavy stage make-up until there was not the merest trace of it left. A folding screen camouflaged a wash basin in the corner of the room, and now Katharine stepped behind this, where she gave herself a thorough body sponging. She then washed her face, cleaned her teeth, gargled, dusted herself with talcum powder, sprayed on deodorant, perfumed herself with Ma Griffe scent and so finished her evening toilette, which was invariably something of a ritual with her.

      Whilst she dressed Katharine contemplated the evening ahead and suddenly she wished she had arranged the supper for tomorrow night instead. The two performances had vitiated her energy, and she, who was normally so full of vigour at this hour, felt ready to curl up and go to sleep. But she knew she had to pull herself together, strike a pose