The rightness of having returned to her was reinforced. Usually, the less you notice happiness, the greater it is. This was the best thing that could have happened. In the summer of 1974, the prospect of a child brought us both a redeeming sense of purpose. I was able to settle back down to work and find a rhythm. And so was she. Looking back, it would seem bittersweet that although Michael Blakemore and I remained firm friends the most lasting effect he would have on me professionally was to bring me together with Peter Hall. Two years later, after Michael had presented a paper criticising the way Hall ran the National Theatre – Michael claimed less as a public service, more for his own benefit – these two men were to have a public falling-out which would rankle with them both for the rest of their lives. But in the days when they were getting along, Michael had mentioned to Peter that he was collaborating with a playwright he might like. Peter summoned me to lunch in one of those crepuscular restaurants which were just beginning to siphon up the new middle class’s new wealth.
