He did the same for Mrs. Bainbridge, then sat beside her.

“Claridge’s,” he told the cabbie. Then he turned back to Mrs. Bainbridge. “I must say that I was surprised to receive your invitation, after how we left things at Sally’s.”

“It was very kind of you to accept, especially upon such short notice.”

“Not at all. Who was the unlucky lad who dropped out at the last second?”

“It was nothing like that,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “I am representing the family interests. My father-in-law sells ammunition to the current Greek government. He’s in East Africa, and my mother-in-law wasn’t feeling up to the task, so I’ve put on the old uniform and am going to support the troops.”

“Clearly, I joined the wrong branch of the service,” he said. “So, you need me to be what tonight?”

“My reason to fend off aggressors.”

“And my reward?”

“As many dances as you can muster, Captain, with as much conversation as I can provide.”

“And after? Will there be more evenings together? Preferably without any international arms dealing?”

“Let’s see how tonight goes, Captain.”

Claridge’s was a short ride away, fortunately. Never taking his eyes off Mrs. Bainbridge, Palfrey paid the cabbie as the doorman held the doors for the two women.

There was a trio of photographers lolling about near the entrance. As Captain Palfrey came up to take Mrs. Bainbridge’s arm, the photographers looked at each other, shrugged in puzzlement, then held up their cameras.

“A smile for us, madam,” one of them called.

Sparks stood a respectful distance away as Mrs. Bainbridge radiated towards them.

I live in the shadows, she thought.

She followed them in as the photographers pestered the doorman, trying to find out who they had just captured for the morning tabloids.

They crossed through the lobby over the black-and-white-marble floor, past the mirrors with their Art Deco inlays. Mrs. Bainbridge paused as they reached the center of the Winter Garden, breathing deep as she stared up at the dome.

“You’ll protect me, won’t you, Captain?” she said softly, resting her free hand for a moment on Palfrey’s forearm.

“Of course.” He laughed. “I will be the Troy to your Helen. Let the Greek hordes fall beneath our walls.”

Bad metaphor, thought Sparks. The Greeks won that one. Eventually. But it sounded gallant.

At the entrance to the ballroom, two young men sat at a table. Two others stood by the door, eyeing Mrs. Bainbridge with appreciation but no welcome.

“Let’s see, where did I put it?” Mrs. Bainbridge said, fishing through her bag for the invitation. “Ah! Good evening, gentlemen. Mrs. Gwendolyn Bainbridge, on behalf of Lord Bainbridge. Captain Palfrey is my guest.”

She handed the invitation to them with imperious grace.

“Good evening, Mrs. Bainbridge,” said one of the young men, taking it, while the other ran his fingers down a list, then turned to a second page. A look of consternation crossed his face.

“I’m sorry, madam, but your name does not appear on the list,” he said.