At Freddie’s. Simon Callow

      The door opened and seemed to cast forth Mattie, feverishly excited, surrounded by admirers. He was in drag. The grey wig and spectacles and drooping cardigan were a hateful miniature of Freddie; she was faced by her shrunken self.

      ‘Shakespeare would have been pleased, dear,’ shouted Mattie, wound up to his highest pitch.

      The light gleamed on large brooches and semi-precious stones, pinned to his padded breasts. He saw her look at them and his coarse confidence ebbed.