rather think so. I’m sure it went down.’
‘Perhaps my predicament reminded him of the experience.’
‘You know,’ Jeremy said, ‘I can’t really imagine why we’re making such a thing of this. After all, what’s happened? You look at a derelict theatre. You fall into a fetid well from which you are extricated by the owner who is a multi-millionaire. You urge in your simple way the graces and excellence of the theatre. He wonders if, before he pulls it down, it might just be worth getting another opinion. He turns you over to one of his myrmidons. Where’s the need for all the agitation?’
‘I wonder if I should like M. Smythiman if I met him and if I shall take against S. Greenslade at first sight. Or he against me, of course.’
‘What the hell does that matter? You place far too much importance upon personal relationships. Look at the fatuous way you go on about your women. And then suspecting poor Mr Conducis of improper intentions when he never wants to look upon your like again!’
‘Do you suggest that I accept his gorgeous apparel?’ Peregrine asked on an incredulous note.
‘Certainly, I do. It would be rude and ungenerous and rather vulgar to return it with a po-faced note. The old boy wants to give you his brand new clobber because you mucked up your own in his dirty great well. You should take it and not slap him back as if he’d tried to tip you.’
‘If you had seen him you would not call him an old boy. He is the uncosiest human being I have ever encountered.’
‘Be that as it may, you’d better posh yourself up and wait upon S. Greenslade on the stroke of 11.30.’
Peregrine said, after a pause, ‘I shall do so, of course. He says nothing about the letter and glove, you observe.’
‘Nothing.’
‘I shall urge S. Greenslade to get it vetted at the V. and A.’
‘You jolly well do.’
‘Yes, I will. Well, Jer, as you say, why make a thing? If by some wild, rapturous falling-out of chance, I could do anything to save the life of The Dolphin I would count myself amply rewarded. But it will, of course, only be a rum little interlude and, in the meantime, here’s the latest batch of bills.’
‘At least,’ Jeremy said, ‘there won’t be a new one from your tailors for some time to come.’
II
Mr S. Greenslade was bald, pale, well-dressed and unremarkable. His office was quietly sumptuous and he was reached through a hinterland of equally conservative but impressive approaches. He now sat, with a file under his hand, a distinguished painting behind him, and before him, Peregrine, summoning all the techniques of the theatre in order to achieve relaxation.
‘Mr Jay,’ Mr Greenslade said, ‘you appreciate, of course, the fact that your meeting yesterday with Mr Conducis has led to this appointment.’
‘I suppose so. Yes.’
‘Quite. I have here a digest, as it were, of a – shall I say a suggestion you made to Mr Conducis as he recollects it. Here it is.’
Mr Greenslade put on his spectacles and read from the paper before him.
‘Mr Jay proposed that The Dolphin Theatre should be restored to its former condition and that a company should be established there performing Shakespeare and other plays of a high cultural quality. Mr Jay suggested that The Dolphin is a building of some cultural worth and that, historically speaking, it is of considerable interest.’
Mr Greenslade looked up at Peregrine. ‘That was, in fact, your suggestion?’
‘Yes. Yes. It was. Except that I hate the word culture.’
‘Mr Jay, I don’t know if you are at all informed about Mr Conducis’s interests.’
‘I – no – I only know he’s – he’s –’
‘Extremely wealthy and something of a recluse?’ Mr Greenslade suggested with a slight, practised smile.
‘Yes.’
‘Yes.’ Mr Greenslade removed his spectacles and placed them delicately in the centre of his writing pad. Peregrine thought he must be going to make some profound revelation about his principal. Instead he merely said: ‘Quite’ again and after a dignified silence asked Peregrine if he would be good enough to tell him something about himself. His schooling, for example, and later career. He was extremely calm in making this request.
Peregrine said he had been born and educated in New Zealand, had come to England on a drama bursary and had remained there.
‘I am aware, of course, of your success in the theatrical field,’ said Mr Greenslade and Peregrine supposed that he had been making some kind of confidential inquiries.
‘Mr Jay,’ said Mr Greenslade, ‘I am instructed to make you an offer. It is, you may think, a little precipitant. Mr Conducis is prepared to consider the rehabilitation of the theatre, subject, of course, to favourable opinions from an architect and from building authorities and to the granting of necessary permits. He will finance this undertaking. On one condition.’ Mr Greenslade paused.
‘On one condition?’ Peregrine repeated in a voice that cracked like an adolescent’s.
‘Exactly. It is this. That you yourself will undertake the working management of The Dolphin. Mr Conducis offers you, upon terms to be arrived at, the post of organizing the running of the theatre, planning its artistic policy, engaging the company and directing the productions. You would be given a free hand to do this within certain limits of expenditure which would be set down in this contract. I shall be glad to hear what your reactions are to this, at its present stage, necessarily tentative proposal.’
Peregrine suppressed a frightening inclination towards giving himself over to maniac laughter. He looked for a moment into Mr Greenslade’s shrewd and well-insulated face and he said:
‘It would be ridiculous of me to pretend that I am anything but astonished and delighted.’
‘Are you?’ Mr Greenslade rejoined. ‘Good. In that case I shall proceed with the preliminary investigations. I, by the way, am the solicitor for a number of Mr Conducis’s interests. If and when it comes to drawing up contracts I presume I should negotiate with your agents?’
‘Yes. They are –’
‘Thank you,’ said Mr Greenslade, ‘Messrs Slade and Opinger, I believe?’
‘Yes,’ said Peregrine, wondering if at any stage of his tipsy rhapsody he had mentioned them to Mr Conducis and rather concluding that he hadn’t.
‘There is one other matter.’ Mr Greenslade opened a drawer in his desk and with an uncanny re-enacting of his principal’s gestures on the previous morning, withdrew from it the small Victorian writing desk. ‘You are already familiar with the contents, I understand, and expressed some anxiety about their aunthenticity.’
‘I said I wished they could be shown to an expert.’
‘Quite. Mr Conducis has taken your point,
