Death dominates Shadows of the Evening, the better half of a diverse Coward double-bill that includes the vaudevillian Red Peppers, elegantly directed by Sheridan Morley.

Coward wrote Shadows of the Evening when he was in ailing health, in the mid-1960s, and it is the writer offering his last will and testament. His hero George is a publisher who seven years ago abandoned his wife Anne for his mistress Liliane, and who now learns he has only a few months to live. Flanked in a Swiss hotel suite by the two people he has loved most, George cuts through their icily evasive banter and urges them to accept his extinction.

The play tells us a lot about Coward: his indestructible ego, his lifelong secularism and, above all, his joyous state of arrested development. George, as the author's spokesman, equates death with the last day of the school holidays.

Dramatically, the play also shows Coward never lost his touch: Anne's defensive articulacy and Liliane's naked grief are constantly undercut by George's ebullient sang-froid. Excellently directed by Morley and eloquently played by Jeremy Clyde as the dying publisher, Annabel Leventon as the passionate mistress and Jane How as the uptight wife, the play shows Coward confronting death with what John Donne called "a memory of yesterday's pleasures".

Written in 1936, Red Peppers makes an odd companion-piece. I've always been fond of the play, in which a tatty song-and-dance duo fall out with each other, their musical director and the theatre manager, and defend their shrinking world against the incursions of film.

But - although Peter Land and Annabel Leventon jovially conjure up the forgotten awfulness of the halls - the piece demands a real orchestra: Jeremy Nicholas as the vengeful MD spiritedly attacks the ivories but can't match my memory of Hugh Lloyd, in the last West End revival, bobbing up and down in the pit while shooting panic-stricken smiles at the front stalls.

Until June 9. Box office: 020-7287 2875.